2 I N T R O : i don't understand

*Red Poppy Fields - Early 20th Century *

To be in the fog is a scary place indeed, especially when the fog is quite thick. Unfortunately, I find myself to be stuck in a foggy place where not even the shine of a candlestick can penetrate through the misty air around me.

I suddenly flinch when a sound reverberates across the thick haze. The sound is like that heavy ringing you hear when a bomb detonates just feet from you, damaging one's hearing for a few minutes. It plagues my ears like a disease and it throbs like a heart after a marathon. I even have to shield them with my sweaty hands just to ease the pain, although I know all too well it doesn't work that way. But just when the ringing started, it suddenly comes to a halt, and I am left to linger in the silence.

I take my hands off my ears, and to my surprise, they're soaked in blood.

My eyes widen.

And then reality hits me like a tank.

"Ozzy," a faint but panicked voice echoes. I find myself still trapped in the haze, but somehow, my eyes differentiate the shapes and silhouettes around me. I find a dark shadow of a hardened and strongly-built man come up to me, his gloved hands grabbing me by the arm and stabling my trembling body by my waist. I look to find the shadow's head but cannot clearly identify his features. "Ozzy... you... okay?"

The ringing in my ears recommence and the throbbing continues, ten times more vicious than the throbbing from before. I cover my ears.

"Quit... yap... ing... you... " The voice continues. "Keep... unless... want... kill... us..."

The figure drags me into some corner, setting me gently on the ground. I hear a jingle of metal coming from the shadow, and I am handed a round, metal locket too heavy for its small size.

"Repeat... after..." I can't understand him. "Very... ancestors... are... footsteps... follow..."

I shake my head, clueless of his meaning. "I don't know," I rasp. Painful coughs soon drown my words. "I don't... understand."

The shadow groans with annoyance. He grabs my hands in a frantic way.

"Okay..." He says. "Try... different... way..."

The figure grips my hands tightly, his hands getting colder and colder as the seconds drift away from us.

Then a sound, so clear that it overtakes the ringing in my ears, explodes, and I hear the man scream.

The fog is overtaken by darkness.

And I wonder if I have succumbed to death.