Echoes of the Mist

The mist thickened.
Each breath I took felt heavier — like the air itself was filled with sorrow.
Shimon stepped in front of us, his eyes glowing faintly as he muttered,
 “This mist… it’s made of memories.”
Before I could respond, the shadowy figure from before lunged forward — swift, silent, and filled with rage. I raised my camera on instinct.
Click.
The lens flared with magical light, freezing the minion in place for a second. That’s all I needed.
Through the photo, I saw its memory — not fully, but a glimpse.
A face, twisted by grief. A hand reaching out. A boy once human, now broken and shaped into a weapon. I felt my chest tighten.
 “It was a person…” I whispered.
But the creature broke free and roared, its form shifting. Tendrils of mist lashed out at us. Shimon raised his arm, trying to block it — but the tendrils struck hard, sending him crashing into a tree.
“Shimon!” Mira shouted.
 “I’m fine,” he grunted, standing. Blood dripped from his lip, but something changed in his eyes — golden runes flickered across his arm. “No more running.”
Then I felt it — a surge of energy from him.
A seal on his body shattered.
He whispered something. A forgotten chant.
Suddenly, a massive spectral blade formed in his hand — not like any normal sword, but one made of flowing magical energy that pulsed with memories.
“You broke my noble house,” he growled at the minion, “But you didn’t break me.”
He charged.
The minion fought back with claws made of mist, but Shimon’s blade cut through it — not the body, but the memory inside. Each slash made the creature howl, like I was hearing ten voices scream in pain.
Then something unexpected happened.
As I raised my camera again, the lens glowed brighter than ever before.
It wasn’t just showing memories now.
It was absorbing them.
I felt something shift inside me — knowledge, instinct, ability. It flooded into my mind.
“I can copy it,” I muttered. “I can copy its powers!”
I raised my hand, channeling the stolen memory — and suddenly, I created my own mist tendrils, just like the minion’s. But mine weren’t filled with sorrow. Mine were pure, solidified intent.
The mist-wielder paused, confused.
That hesitation was fatal.
Shimon struck with a final slash — his blade piercing through the creature’s core memory. The minion let out one last shriek, its form dissolving into silver fragments.
Silence.
Mira rushed to us, panting.
“What… what was that?!”
I lowered my hand. My mist tendrils faded.
 “I copied its ability,” I said. “Not just saw its memories — I became part of them.”
Shimon looked at his blade, then at me.
 “Seems like both of us have grown stronger.”
Mira looked serious.
 “If that was just a minion… what kind of monster is the real Memory Eater?”
We stood there in silence, our powers awakened… but with a heavy truth:
This was only the beginning.