She disliked this fog-covered path.
She hated the ghosts that wandered at the edge of her vision.
Their silent presence made her skin crawl, sending shivers down her spine.
Even so, they kept their distance.
The burning torches protected them.
Ghosts did not like fire.
What made her even more uncomfortable was the path itself.
It wasn't made of stone.
It was made of countless dead.
The ground beneath their feet was a carpet of ancient skeletons, reduced to brittle bones by the passing of ages.
She didn't like the fog either.
More than anything...
She wished the sun would rise.
Ranar clenched her torch a little tighter and continued walking through the eerie silence.
Then...
She heard a voice.
Someone was calling her.
She ignored it.
But the figure within the fog ignored the flames.
It slowly reached out toward her.
Ranar's eyes widened.
She jerked her hand away and thrust her torch toward its face.
The flames washed over the figure.
Yet...
It didn't retreat.
