Whispers in the Mist

The misty grasslands lay in eerie silence, disrupted only by the sudden, thunderous clap that shattered the stillness. Amidst the towering grass, a young man sprinted, his heart a relentless drum in his chest. He found himself ensnared in a disorienting, shadowy realm he would rather have avoided. As he groped for a source of illumination, his desperate hands found only the cold grip of darkness. Through the shroud of mist, a distant, ethereal voice implored for salvation. He would have lent aid had he known the way, but he remained a lost soul. He continued his headlong rush until one of those plaintive voices caught hold of his pants, toppling him onto the damp earth. A frail voice trembled, "Help us, please!"

The young man's realization struck like a cold wind as he peered cautiously over the precipice. What met his eyes was a kingdom reduced to smoldering ruins. Its surviving denizens clung to the forest, their last refuge against the malevolent forces that had reduced their realm to cinders. These survivors, driven to the brink of despair, sought solace in the ancient forest spirits, their only hope against the darkness that encroached.

Amidst this relentless chaos, Mat found himself at the heart of the tempest, a silent observer to the rapid and brutal decay. The survivors' cries for help fell upon deaf ears, and their pleas echoed unanswered through the desolation. A monstrous, muscular figure emerged before the dark, winged entity, wielding a malevolent axe that summoned enormous, shadowy hounds to hunt down the trembling remnants.

Mat's heart seized with fear as he tracked the ominous procession toward the forest's depths. "Oh no," he whispered in despair, feeling the tendrils of fate tighten their grip.

Then, a voice pierced through the oppressive darkness of his thoughts. "It is time, Mat Adam."

A voice so familiar, yet so distant, eclipsing all else.

"Dad?"

Amidst the enveloping gloom, ethereal lights emerged—first one, then another. They assumed the spectral forms of a man and a woman. Although Mat struggled to see them clearly, their brilliance was blinding. Yet, amid the brilliance, he recognized the faces of his father and the woman as that of his mother. The world around him spun in a whirlpool, as if all existence were being drawn into a cosmic abyss, an unrelenting force that Mat could not withstand. The darkness swallowed him whole.

Mat awoke, gasping for breath, his body drenched in cold sweat. "A dream," he whispered, though the vividness of the vision lingered, as did the thudding of his heart. This recurrent nightmare, its enigmatic message, left him in a state of confusion. Was it an attempt to reconcile the past or a foreboding of future cataclysms yet to unfold?

The clock read 4 a.m., and Mat remembered the couch where he'd spent the night at Mrs. Lily Winterfrost's residence. He tiptoed silently to a nearby room, where a young girl lay motionless, the space resembling a makeshift infirmary. Lily, too, was present, her head resting on her arms atop a table beside the girl's bed, their hands intertwined.

Mat retreated without a word, cautious not to disturb their solemn vigil. Returning to the couch, his thoughts still revolved around the enigmatic dream. This time, though, he could begin to accept his father's untimely demise, and the agony that accompanied it enveloped him. Tears welled in his eyes as he cried himself back to sleep.

Hours later, Lily gently shook him awake, inviting him to partake in a morning repast. Mat, now more alert, realized he'd enjoyed a few more hours of rest.

At the dining table, Mat joined Lily, who was already arranging cups and gesturing for him to help himself. He poured a cup of coffee and reached for a slice of warm bread. His curiosity piqued, he inquired about the young girl he had seen in the makeshift infirmary.

Lily, her gaze distant, shared the tragic story. The girl was her daughter, trapped in an unexplained coma for nearly a week, a haunting mystery that seemed to plague their family. She also revealed the chilling loss of her younger sister to a similar fate, connecting these harrowing occurrences by a common thread of familial misfortune.

Intriguingly, Lily produced a copy of Mat's father's book—the very first one. She pointed out certain passages, pregnant with enigma, their significance known only to her. She intimated that this book held crucial information, suggesting that his father might have been coerced into divulging its secrets, and that refusal could have cost him his life.

"But who would desire this information?" Mat pondered aloud.

Lily's gaze fixed on his, but she possessed no answers, only the knowledge that another might hold the key. She proposed Mat seek out a young master residing in the northern realms. This master, she said, possessed the ability to unravel these cryptic passages and might shed light on the shadowed circumstances surrounding his father's demise.

As Mat mulled over the implications, Lily assured him that he would return in time for his father's burial, which would transpire in a few days, following the completion of an investigation and autopsy.

However, Lily explained that Mat must embark on this journey alone, ensuring both privacy and safety. In light of this, she offered him a scooter bike, though Mat hesitated to accept such a generous gift.

"How can I ever repay you?" Mat wondered aloud.

Lily, her smile gentle and knowing, replied, "Your father was the one who extended a helping hand first. This gift is but a small gesture of my gratitude. We will discuss this matter further another time, young Mat."

As the afternoon sun began its descent, Mat commenced his northern journey. Memories of his father accompanied him, mingling with the rustling winds and whispering trees. After two hours of relentless travel, the city's skyline surrendered to the tranquil embrace of the forest. The map directed him deeper into the woodlands as the road's end heralded a short off-road excursion.

Finally, Mat reached a modest temple-like edifice, encircled by an open expanse akin to a basketball court. Martial arts paraphernalia lay scattered about, invoking the prospect of profound discipline and mental clarity.

In the midst of his contemplation, Mat spied a figure in traditional monk or Japanese kimono attire, meticulously sweeping fallen leaves beyond the temple's walls. Approaching him, Mat inquired after a young master known as Nabi'Sai. The young man, his face adorned with a serene smile, continued his work.

Mat perceived the response as a favorable one. "Very well, I shall await your reply," he said before taking a seat near the gate. The young man, having concluded his task, joined Mat, his gentle demeanor an invitation to speak.

"What is it you seek?" he asked with a calm grace.