The skies remained mostly clear for the remaining two days they traveled through the frozen wasteland, and Maeryn quietly thanked Straith for the unexpected kindness each morning, right before sending her daily Wind Whisper to Jacob. She hadn’t received one back yet, but she hadn’t really expected to, either. It had taken her a week to attune to wind, and that was with her apparently-unnatural speed at learning new magic. On top of that, Jacob had proven himself to be a very patient person, and was earth-aligned to boot. He definitely would not have an easy time reaching a point where his temper would break hard enough that he would break society’s rules.

  Still, she was looking forward to having more good news to share. With any luck, they’d be in and out of drow territory within a few days. At least, that was the hope. Given how thick the Mist was growing as they they kept going, Maeryn was beginning to think they might be in for a rougher time than expected. She and Ernesto were having to cast Purify Mist a lot more often, and the ambient mana in the air was starting to make her teeth itch from its sheer density. By the time they got back to human civilization, she’d be absolutely shocked if the mana levels there hadn’t started spiking upwards.

  She’d just finished casting another round of Purify Mist while breakfast was being served, when Peter cleared his throat. “Hey, so, I’ve got a question,” he announced. “Why haven’t we seen literally any other traces of the drow on our way here?”

  All eyes turned to Veronica, who nodded like she’d expected the question. “According to every resource we’ve gathered-”

  “Lee the Undead from Falan Ruins, and translated records from the dwarves,” Dan clarified matter-of-factly.

  “Yes, them.” Veronica nodded briskly at him. “The drow were very insular, and only really had the one settlement. Their population remained relatively small for their time, numbering several thousand according to the dwarves’ best estimates. While we don’t know why they chose this region as their home, my guess is that they were limited by Straith’s stranglehold over the environment, so they never expanded to try to control the area.”

  “According to the dwarven nobles I spoke with, the drow that ventured beyond the Glacial Expanse were largely mercenaries, or traders accompanied by them,” Dan added. “That said, they were known for being extremely good mercenaries. With a penchant for surviving apparently impossible situations.”

  “That tracks,” Maeryn said with a sigh. “Remember the Drider, back in Brennan Forest? She was tenacious. Tying her spirit to a spider just for the remote possibility of one day resurrecting all of drow-kind? There’s normal ruthless, and there’s drow ruthless.” She received a round of wary nods at that.

  “So, ah… No one’s said anything about it, so I guess I will. There’s an awful lot of Mist around here,” Terrance brought up awkwardly. “And given how the drow were apparently hardcore survivalists… should we be expecting a city of Undead or something?”

  “That would explain the worsening Mist,” Ernesto muttered. “But I sincerely hope not. That would raise a lot of ethical questions about purifying the local mana well, especially if they’re relying on it for their own survival. Un-survival. Unlife? What even is the right word for this?”

  “I like the simplicity of unlife,” Ooble told him.

  “Unlife it is,” Ernesto agreed with a shrug. “But yeah. I get that we’re going to need to do it anyway, but wiping out all that remains of another sentient-”

  “Sapient,” Dan corrected automatically.

  “Seriously, he’s been correcting us on this for months, how are we still making that mistake?” Terrance muttered under his breath.

  Ernesto shot him an annoyed look. “-sapient species, even if it’s so our own can survive, doesn’t leave me feeling good.”

  Maeryn’s lips pressed into a thin line as everyone digested that. “The ethics of survival are always messy,” she said, after the silence had grown a little too loud. “And you all know I’ve spent more than my fair share of time thinking about that. After that fight with the Ninth Legion, and I had to raise my fellows as Undead.”

  Her jaw grew tight, even as she forced the words out. The spirits of those she’d brought back had more than forgiven her; they’d argued that she’d done them the favor of letting them keep fighting beyond the grave. But some scars weren’t so easily healed. It was still a painful memory, though it was easier to live with now.

  She cast her gaze around at her compatriots. “It’s fine if you grapple with the weight of what has to be done. And I don’t mind talking about how I dealt with it, if you want some advice or another perspective. But let’s not borrow trouble until we see what’s there. There’s too much we don’t know. We need to get there and see for ourselves.”

  “That is sensible,” Ooble agreed, bobbing his long, scaly head. “We should leave philosophizing for the philosophers. We must deal with reality as it is, not as we wish it were.”

  Frankie shot him an impressed look. “You say some really cool things sometimes, Ooble.”

  The dragonkin beamed, saying nothing more but visibly sitting a little taller at her praise.

  “Still, no harm in preparing for the worst,” Dan offered with a shrug. “So, worst-case scenario, what’re we looking at?”

  “Can it be worse than a city of Undead?” Terrance asked disbelievingly.

  “Sure. It could be a city of Undead plus a necro-aligned dragon in a rivalry with Straith,” Dan invented on the spot.

  “How about we not hypothesize the existence of draconic rivalries and scenarios which we have almost no chance of surviving?” Maeryn suggested dryly. “Instead, let’s focus on the realistic.”

  “Says the teenage girl leading the charge to save the world from a terrifying threat perpetuated by an Undead elven prince and his millennium-old army. Sure, we can do realism,” Terrance muttered.

  Maeryn glared daggers at him even as the rest of her team looked away to hide their sniggers. Even Veronica politely covered her mouth to conceal her grin.

  “In all seriousness,” Terrance continued after a few moments, “you all should consider what an Undead city would mean. The drow were seriously isolationist, according to every source we have. The drow we fought in Brennan Forest was incredibly racist towards humans, and sexist against men to boot. Think about what a society of them as Undead would look like.” He waited a beat, holding everyone’s attention as his face shifted to dead serious. “And now think about how we’d fare against hypercompetent Undead mercenaries in their native homeland.”

  Peter blanched. “Oh. Yeah, that would be the worst-case scenario, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” Terrance leaned back, looking up at the morning sky. “So, maybe it’s just my rogue instincts talking, but I say we should figure out an escape plan in case everything goes to blight. Which is why I want to get a proper look around.”

  He leveled a questioning gaze at Veronica. “We’re a few hours away, right? From where the drow capital ought to be?”

  She nodded slowly. “Yes. Based on our rate of travel, and my maps, it should be between three and four hours away.”

  “Perfect. Far enough away that we’re not likely to be found by routine patrols, close enough that it’s not too hard to get back.” Terrance turned to look at Maeryn intently. “And the Mist doesn’t hurt you when you’re necro-aligned, right?”

  “Right…” she confirmed, wondering where he was going with this.

  Terrance nodded decisively. “Then here’s what I think. I think you and I should go in alone, scope out the land. No big spells. Use your aura to keep the Mist off us until we get close, then I’ll switch to a Purify Mist enchantment. At that point, Maeryn, you should stay in necromancer mode for stealth.”

  “But the Mist’ll probably be so thick there that it’ll be impossible for you to see,” Maeryn protested.

  “Not an issue,” Terrance assured her. “Wind magic lets me sense the air, remember? I’ll be able to navigate by that. And I’ll have you by my side. You said that necromancers can sense through the Mist, remember?”

  She frowned, but nodded.

  “Once we get there, we’ll look around and see what there is to see. Everyone else stays here, out of the way at the edge of the Expanse. Ooble, Ernesto, Dan, you three can keep everyone safe for one day while we’re gone, right?”

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  “Leave it to us,” Ooble assured him, slapping his chest with one arm.

  “We can handle it,” Ernesto agreed.

  “So long as it’s just one day,” Dan concurred warily. “You two represent half of our combat force. Don’t be gone long.”

  “Noted. Maeryn?” Terrance’s eyes hadn’t moved from hers.

  She took a long, slow breath, then nodded. “You’re right. Let’s do it.”

  The two of them took one SPATT, with Terrance driving and Maeryn riding behind him. Per his suggestion, she didn’t clear anymore Mist directly, instead wrapping them in an unspecialized Holy Aura. With her proficiency in the holy element, her aura extended nearly four meters in every direction: enough to cocoon the two of them, and purify any Mist that wandered into their little bubble of protection, but little more.

  The size of an aura reflected the user’s depth of understanding for the element, and four meters was perfectly respectable. She’d even been proud of that range when she achieved it in fire and necro magic, so she knew intellectually that she should be quite pleased with herself for getting there in the holy element.

  But at the moment? It felt a little small. The Mist was growing thicker and thicker as they progressed, and Terrance had needed to slow down significantly just so he could see the ground they were traversing. Neither of them wanted to accidentally run over a yeti or something. She didn’t offer to purify the Mist ahead of them, though. Terrance was right in that the spell was flashy, and no doubt it would catch the attention of whoever—or whatever—might remain in the ruins of the drow city.

  The hours passed in relative silence. The fog eventually completely obscured everything, isolating the two in the ethereal blue and grey cloud of necro mana. Eventually, the vehicle came to a halt. Maeryn didn’t see any difference at all, but Terrance seemed sure that they were in the right place. “The city’s just over there,” he said, pointing. “About fifteen minutes’ walk that way.”

  “You sound sure.”

  “Because I am. Clairvoyance is a pretty nifty spell.”

  Maeryn blinked, then rolled her eyes. Of course. She’d forgotten about that one, for some reason. “So what are we looking at?”

  “Well, this place isn’t in ruins, somehow.” Terrance frowned, his eyes going distant. Now that she was looking for it, Maeryn spotted the tell-tale flicker of light green wind mana around his hand. He was still casting Clairvoyance, it seemed. “No walls, probably because nobody in their right minds would cross the Glacial Expanse.”

  “Hey.”

  Terrance smirked at her. “You absolutely cannot tell me you think we’re sane.”

  Maeryn glowered at him for a few seconds, then sighed. “I guess not.”

  “See?” The rogue looked away again. “No signs of life, Undead or otherwise, that I can see. The buildings are in decent shape, though, which doesn’t make sense.”

  Maeryn pursed her lips. “Yeah. Being surrounded by the mana of decay should have torn everything down faster. If they’re still standing, that means they’re resistant, somehow.”

  “Probably some kind of holy-based enchantment,” Terrance muttered, shaking his head. “That’s all I can get from here. Time for you to go necro, and let’s get moving.”

  Maeryn took a long, deep breath, and relaxed her grip on holy magic’s paradigm. The concepts of necromancy flowed through her mind: Cold. Acid. Rot. Spirit. Undead. Her holy aura winked out as Maeryn’s face hardened with the ruthlessness of the hunter within. “Ready,” she said curtly.

  They began walking, and the Mist embraced Maeryn like it would an old friend, telling her everything around her like it was gossiping in real time. A mental map started to bloom in her head as her awareness expanded, every dip in the ice and snow, every pebble that the wind had blown around, even the Mistwarped shrubs that somehow thrived in the bitter cold.

  And through the Mist, Maeryn could just barely perceive the outskirts of the drow capital, Delmah. It was faintly unsettling, though, that she couldn’t perceive Terrance through the Mist at all. To her Mist-sense, there was a bizarre Terrance-shaped hole in the air. It was vaguely nauseating, actually, having her eyes tell her plainly that he was there when her mana was quite insistent there was a void.

  She closed her eyes. It wasn’t like they’d be useful out here, anyway. Not with all sight actively obscured by the Mist.

  The two of them walked in silence, and with every step Maeryn started to feel—abyss, she never did come up with a custom word for Mist-sense—more of Delmah. Terrance was right; there wasn’t anything living or unliving around. Delmah was, effectively, a ghost town. Perhaps even literally. A tiny shiver ran down her spine.

  To distract herself, she started brainstorming what to call her Mist-sense as they walked. Ideally, it’d be something generic. Something she could apply to other mana types, too. No sense in having to go through the naming process more than once, after all.

  She considered the problem as they entered the settlement properly, walking between a couple of perfectly-preserved houses. Misting was taken. Mana-ing was clunky, no. Necro-ing? Absolutely not. Which meant she’d need to come up with an entirely new word. Preferably one syllable, like the other senses, like look, see, touch, feel, hear, smell. Just for consistency.

  Maeryn was just starting to mumble nonsense sounds under her breath, trying to find one that didn’t sound utterly ridiculous, when something in the Mist caught her attention. But the moment she turned her attention to it, it was gone. She frowned. Had she imagined it, whatever it was?

  They kept walking cautiously forward, and fifteen seconds later it happened again. Her head whipped to the side, mouth opening, but… no. Vanished.

  “Something wrong?” Terrance asked, keeping his voice low.

  “We’re being watched,” she told him, matching his tone.

  “Blight. We didn’t even get ten minutes in, and we’ve been detected? I’m a failure of a rogue.”

  Maeryn almost opened her eyes, just to roll them at him, but she didn’t feel like dealing with the nausea of contrasting senses arguing about reality. “You’re not a failure and you abyss-well know it.”

  “True, I do. But it’s always nice to hear you say it.” Terrance waited a beat. “Well, if they know we’re here, there’s an awful lack of guards, soldiers, or mercenaries coming our way. Ghostly, Undead, or otherwise.”

  Maeryn nodded slowly. “Yeah. Do we press on?”

  “I think so, yeah. No need to get spooked.”

  Maeryn chuckled darkly. “This would be the best place for that.”

  “No kidding. Just keep us pointed towards the thickest source of the Mist, if you would. If there’s anyone here, they’ll be there. And if there’s not, that’ll be the mana well. Either way gets us where we need to be.”

  “Can do.”

  They continued their exploration, Maeryn feeling more and more like sight was utterly redundant when she was completely surrounded by the perpetual fog of necromantic mana.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Terrance said after a few more minutes. “The drow supposedly had knowledge of holy magic. Why is the Mist even here? They should’ve had everything lined with Purify Mist enchantments the minute they knew the Mist was a problem.”

  “Well, presumably the Legions defeated them. And the enchantments wore out,” Maeryn replied.

  “Maybe, but that doesn’t explain why the buildings are basically pristine,” the rogue pointed out. “Either they had ways of making permanent enchantments, in which case there should be no Mist, or there’s someone here capable of renewing them…”

  “In which case there should be no Mist,” Maeryn finished. “You’re right. It doesn’t make sense. I have no idea what’s going on.”

  The flicker appeared again, right behind her, and she whirled. But it was gone again. “Getting real sick of the jump-scare schtick!” she growled out. There was no response. She wasn’t expecting one, anyway, but it still annoyed her.

  “Okay, real talk, is there a way to like, blend in with the Mist? Become effectively invisible?” Terrance asked.

  “There shouldn’t be,” Maeryn grumbled. “Necromancy is the magic of endings. Heat, material, structure, desire, death, it all ends. I don’t see a way for that to translate to camouflage, do you?”

  The rogue grunted a negative, and they kept walking.

  The further they went into Delmah, the more signs of ancient civilization they found. Ancient gardens in front of houses, utterly devoid of plant life, yet their soil looked and smelled utterly fertile. A rusted fountain that Maeryn was almost certain could spout water at any moment if someone were to turn it back on. A barracks and training ground, empty but with the feeling like some quartermaster would walk in any second. A store that held a fully intact loom, with clothes hanging that were somehow only halfway rotted away.

  “This place feels like everyone just stepped away a day or two ago,” Terrance voiced what Maeryn was thinking.

  “It’s abyssing eerie,” she agreed.

  “The Mist still being weird?”

  “Oh yeah,” Maeryn confirmed with a sigh. “Little flickers in my awareness, completely at random. Had nothing for ten minutes, then three in a row just a bit ago. No pattern at all that I can make sense of. Just… a certainty that I’m being watched.”

  “Yeah, I’m starting to get that prickle down my neck saying the same thing,” Terrance admitted. “But for the life of me, I can’t pinpoint where.”

  “Same.” She grimaced, rubbing her arms. The Mist was cool, almost pleasant to her while she was attuned to necromancy, but her goosebumps didn’t seem to care. “I feel like if I could just get a glimpse of whatever keeps popping up, I’d be able to figure it out.”

  “Well, until then, all we can-”

  “Vel'uss ph'dos?” a little girl’s whisper interrupted. Maeryn looked down, seeing the disembodied head of a drow who couldn’t have been more than four years old looking at her with innocent curiosity. “Ph'dos rivvin?”

  Maeryn’s jaw dropped, and she worked it for a few seconds, trying to come up with something, anything to say. But then the girl’s head… wisped away. Dissolved into Mist.

  “What. The abyss. Was that?” Maeryn breathed.

  “Don’t look at me,” Terrance denied, holding his hands up in the air. “I’m not the necromancer here. This is your territory, not mine.”

  Maeryn bit her lip, trying to connect the dots. After a few seconds, she shook her head and started pacing. “Wraiths. Their bodies are made of Mist. That might mean their form is… malleable. No, no, that doesn’t work. Their own sense of identity would shape the Mist into who they see themselves as. They shouldn’t dissolve like that unless their spirit was banished.”

  “And you’re sure nobody cast anything?” Terrance pressed.

  “Positive. Which means… Agh. I don’t know!” Maeryn ran her hand through her hair in frustration. “This doesn’t make sense! It’s like the drow were summoned back as wraiths, but somehow lost their identity at some point! Like…” It clicked for her then, and her eyes went wide as she took in the Mist around her with new eyes. “Oh. Oh, abyss.”

  “What? What is it?” Terrance demanded sharply.

  “That’s exactly what happened,” she whispered in horror. “They must’ve been summoned as wraiths a thousand years ago. Their final desires weren’t ever fulfilled, so they never vanished. But time… time took its toll.” She let one hand pass through the Mist, letting it glide across her fingers. “Time erodes everything if you let it. Wraiths don’t need anything mortals do. Food, water, sleep, dreams, nothing. But as time marched on, these drow must have… slowly lost all sight of who they were. Why they were here. And the forms dissolved.”

  She looked at Terrance with horror-stricken eyes. “Terrance. The Mist here… we’re literally walking through the ghosts of the drow.”