Chapter 5 : Farewell to the mist-covered village

The two weeks following Parazampi's fall were organized around the forge, training and an expectation that no one really dared to name. Mushroom was gradually finding its rhythm. The inhabitants recommended going out without fear, with open doors, chatting outside, as if the territory was simply learning to breathe again. Some had even tried to pass through the recently reopened doors, without going further than a few steps on the other side. For the moment, their priority was elsewhere: to rebuild what years of fear had left abandoned.

New dirt roads began to connect the villages. Trees were cut down to replenish the stocks of wood, buildings were repaired and the workshops were restocked. In some hamlets, the animals, which had been kept until then to protect them from the dangers of the forest, were finally released. Little by little, Mistmroom regained the self-sufficiency that the infection had long since stolen from him. There was something strange about observing all this, knowing that in 404's eyes, I was still a criminal. And yet, here, no one looked at me like that. With Aria and the others, we had only given these people back the freedom that fear had taken away from them.

Briana returned to work as soon as her condition allowed her. His forge occupied a small building of wood and stone behind the house, where the heat quickly became suffocating once the fireplace was lit. The bandage that immobilized her left arm forced her to limit her movements, but her right hand found her tools with the instinctive precision of someone who had never needed to think to grasp them.

Aria and I offered to help her. She stopped us before we even had time to insist.

"I want to work on this mineral alone," she said. "No one else should touch the early stages."

The seriousness of his voice left no room for discussion. We have made ourselves useful in other ways.

Seeing her fight with one arm sometimes squeezed my heart. Yet, every time I found her in front of her fireplace, absorbed in her work, I worried a little less. She still had to learn to do things differently, but it was clear that she had no intention of letting her arm dictate what she could continue to do.

Every morning, Brad would wait for me in the yard while Born corrected Aria's shots. In the evening, we found Briana covered in soot and Bikao a little less tired than the day before.

Brad stopped me on day one, a training weapon on his shoulder.

"You. You come with me. »

"I fought two days ago," I reminded him. "My arms still hurt."

"Exactly. It is when the body remembers its mistakes that it corrects them best. »

He was right, which made me lose all desire to argue.

His lessons had little in common with those that had preceded our confrontation with Albert. It was no longer just a question of teaching me how to use a weapon, to dodge or to strike without dislocating my shoulder. From now on, he forced me to observe: the breathing that shortened, the foot that pivoted before an attack, the almost imperceptible hesitation that was enough to create an opening.

After several exchanges of blows, he lowered his heavy weapon. The sound of wood hitting the ground makes the dust of the training ground shake.

"There's something strange about you," Brad blurted out, staring at me intently.

I caught my breath with difficulty, the blade still raised in front of me, on my guard.

"As is?"

"My blows always brush against you," he explained. "And yet, I'm sure you don't see them all coming. It's as if I missed my target at the last moment without understanding why. »

I reviewed our last exchanges. Several attacks had indeed narrowly missed their target, but nothing had seemed strange enough to catch my attention.

"I didn't notice anything in particular," I admitted, letting my guard down.

Brad didn't answer right away. He squeezed the handle tighter, and all traces of lightness disappeared from his face. Her eyes narrowed.

"We're going to check."

He attacked without warning. This time, his gun hit me in the shoulder before I had time to react and made me take a step back.

Brad examines the spot where he had just punched, as if waiting for a response from my skin.

"That one was normal," he grumbled, disappointed.

I rubbed my aching shoulder, my heart pounding after this sudden attack.

"So what's changed?"

"I have no idea," the giant growled as he took the lead.

He maintains this concentration during the rest of the session and forces me to come back much more often than before. That evening, on returning to Briana's house, I found them in the garden. Their conversation is interrupted at my approach. Neither commented, but Brad had obviously been a part of what he had noticed.

Aria, on the other hand, trained with Born. His sore ribs prevented him from exerting himself too much, but he held the target and corrected his posture with a seriousness that his injuries had not altered. By dint of spending his days surrounded by Brad, Born and the other men of the village, his mistrust had gradually faded. She no longer stiffened at the slightest gesture and now responded to their remarks without immediately trying to distance herself.

I knew that it didn't erase what she had experienced. But at least here, she had been able to discover that not all men were necessarily a threat. And if something ever happened, I'd be there.

"You're pulling with too much tension," Born told him. "Your shoulders betray your movement before you even let go of the rope. Relax, and your shot will become invisible. »

Aria keeps the bow raised, the clamp tight.

"I'm tense because I'm afraid of failing."

"Then miss it. Twenty times, a hundred times if necessary. But fail by keeping your shoulders extended. »

She shot her arrow. She missed the target.

The next one crashed to the ground. Another brushed against the edge. Born approved of every attempt as if failure was as instructive as success, and Aria did it again without complaint, simply because she refused to let a piece of wood have the last word.

The days passed in this way.

One afternoon, on my way back from training, I saw Bikao outside, alone. He had spent the first few days sleeping, eating, and regaining the weight lost during his long shift. He crossed the village square, sat on a bench and watched the children play in front of the houses.

As I passed by the bench, he raised his hand to call me.

"Casimir. Sit down for five minutes."

I left the path and took a seat next to him on the rough wood. Bikao does not turn to me; He continues to observe the children playing further away on the dirt square. He remains silent, as if searching their cries for the best way to begin.

"Then thank you," he finally said in a more serious tone. "And I'm sorry for what you both went through."

I leaned back on the bench, stretched my legs, tired from training.

"I think you heard that done yesterday," I reminded him with a slight smile.

"Not properly."

He turns to me. His face bore the scars of the previous weeks, but something had calmed down.

"You didn't know me before all this. Before Albert's infection, I used to laugh a lot. I also like to cook. Yes, it sounds weird to you, but it's true. Then we lost him, and I started disappearing long before I left the village. Briana held on by making herself useful. I held on by staying away. »

I wanted to interrupt him, but he caught his breath before continuing.

"When I saw you both in the forest, I understood that you were giving me back something that I thought was lost. Not Albert. I knew he wouldn't come back. Me. You have given me back the possibility of being someone after him. »

He looked down at his calloused hands, turning them over and over as if he were looking for traces of his past choices. His words remained suspended between us for a moment. They were much heavier than I knew how to carry them, I who had only acted out of survival instinct.

"You don't have to apologize, Bikao," I whispered as I put my head closer.

"Yes, I do," he insisted, turning his face toward me. "Briana thought I was dead. She cried all the tears in her body as I hid under the trees, convinced that I had made the right decision. »

"You are protecting someone from the village," I tried to clarify. "You watch over Berenice."

"I protect myself too," he admitted, without trying to hide his reasons. "It was easier to observe this parasite from a distance than to come back here without Albert."

A few meters from our bench, the voices and laughter of the children continued to fill the village square, creating an almost unreal contrast with our conversation. I stared at my boots, looking for an answer or advice that would sound neither hollow nor artificial. Finding none, I ended up asking the only question that had been bothering me since the beginning of our exchange.

"Why are you telling me all this?"

Bikao turns his head in my direction.

"Because you're the kind of person you can say that kind of thing to."

"Go ahead. I have kids to look after, and you have a workout to finish," he added, cautiously standing up to stretch his still-stiff back.

I watched him approach the children before continuing on my way.

The following days unfolded at the same pace. Every morning, smoke rises from the forge before we wake up; Every evening we found ourselves around the same table, a little more tired and a little less strangers to each other. I almost forgot that the fight against Albert was only a few days away.

One evening, Briana left her forge before dark. Her face was covered in soot, her right hand blackened to the wrist and her hair held back by a damp elastic. Aria handed him a glass of water. Briana drained it in one gulp before sitting down at the table.

"Are you going well?" asked Aria.

"I'm almost there," the artisan replied, catching her breath.

"Will you show us what it already looks like?"

"No. Not yet," Briana interrupts, placing her glass curtly on the table. "The mineral of the porcini is not an ordinary metal. It must be worked on gently, not forced. If I heat it up too quickly, it manages. If I cool it down too quickly, it becomes brittle. And if I hit it at the wrong angle, it refuses to take the shape I want. »

"Can a mineral really refuse something?" I asked.

"That one, yes," Briana said matter-of-factly, turning to me. "My great-grandmother always said that you had to talk to her to get the most out of her."

"Are you really talking to her?" asked Aria, leaning over her, visibly captivated.

"Not with words. I listen to him. When she sings while heating, I know how her fibers react. When she whistles, I stop. »

"As for Casimir, I already know what I'm going to do," Briana continued, turning back to Aria. "But you... Which weapon would you choose? »

"A bow. I'm more comfortable from a distance, and Born's training would have been useless if I changed now. »

"A greeting for Aria," Briana repeated. "Well rated."

"Can we make a bow with mineral?"

"Not quite. The mineral will form the heart. I will attach to it a fungal preparation which will transmit its poison to any ordinary arrow. You won't need any special spikes anymore. »

Aria was silent for a moment, long enough to understand what it meant.

"All my arrows?" She whispered, to make sure.

"Absolutely all of them," Briana confirmed. "As long as you take good care of the wood and the rope."

Without giving us time to ask any more questions, Briana stood up. Its imposing silhouette hides the glow of the hearth for a moment.

"I'll need another three full days," she concludes as she heads to her studio. "After that, your weapons will be ready."

She crossed the threshold and left us alone in the drawing-room. The wait seemed to stretch and weigh on our shoulders as the date of our departure approached.

Three days later, Briana enters the living room with two objects wrapped in a dark cloth. She places them on the table with an almost solemn slowness.

"Aria. Casimir. It's ready. »

We got closer. Briana lifted the cloth that covered the first object.

An arch appeared.

It was more sober than I had imagined: no ornaments, no engravings, only a dark, almost black wood, curved with a precision that betrayed dozens of hours of work. In the center of the handle, where the hand rested naturally, a fragment of porcini mushroom mineral was embedded in it. Fine golden veins throbbed there with the regularity of a resting heart.

"It's heavy," remarks Aria, taking it carefully.

"No," Briana corrected. "He's balanced. Its weight is concentrated in the center. Lift it properly. »

Aria adjusted her grip. This time, something has changed in the way he holds the bow; its weight already seemed less surprising to her.

"Very good," she whispers. "I can feel the weight of the fabric now."

"Shoot any arrow with this weapon and it will inherit the poison it carries in the heart. The weapon will not correct your objective. If you evaluate your target, you evaluate your target. »

"I understood that," Aria retorted, glancing at him.

"I just prefer to be clear."

We followed her into the courtyard of the studio, where the fresh air hit our faces. Aria slipped her fingers into the quiver Born had prepared for her, shot an arrow, and then notched it in a fluid motion. She leaned on the damp ground and aimed at an old solid wood plank leaning against a wall about ten meters away.

She inhaled, tugged at the rope, then released it.

The arrow sinks deep into the board with a sharp crack. Aria remains motionless for a few seconds, her bow still raised, before slowly lowering her arm.

"Is that all?" she asked, studying the target.

"What did you expect?" replied Briana. "The bow will never shoot for you."

"The poison is now attached to his head," she continued, pointing to the arrow stuck in the wood. "On a board, you won't see any difference. On a living being, on the other hand, the wound will be enough to transmit it. »

"I don't think so... than anyone has ever given me something so beautiful," Aria whispered, pointing the gun at her and studying the dark wood with new attention.

"It's not a gift, Aria. It's your due," Briana replied, her features softening slightly despite their usual functionality.

She then removes the fabric that covered the second object.

My dagger was even simpler than the bow. It was a short, slightly curved blade, of a strange hue between amber and dark red. It was mounted on a black wooden handle wrapped in leather. The whole thing was barely longer than the length of my palm.

When my fingers closed on the handle, a soft warmth spread over my skin. It wasn't a burn, just a little warmer than the air, as if a slight heartbeat vibrated inside the metal itself.

"It's a lot lighter than it looks," I said in surprise as I weighed it in my hand.

"It was the but," Briana replied. "Your sword is useful when you have enough room. This dagger is made for situations where you won't be able to draw it properly. I also incorporated a small dose of fungal poison. Less than in the bow, but enough to slow down what you will bless. »

I swirled it carefully between my fingers.

"And enough to poison me if I sheath it wrong?"

"More than enough."

"Perfect. I like simple objects. »

Briana explained to me how to maintain the blade and prevent the poison from coming into contact with my skin, and then she gave Aria the same recommendations for her bow.

"For your dagger, Casimir, I used less than half of your fragment," the craftswoman continued, pointing to a small iron box placed next to it. "The rest is in there. The village will still be able to forge several premium blades with what you left. Your decision to help us saved us a second time. »

"Briana... I began, moved.

"I know," she interrupted, looking away. "Shut up."

His attention then turns to Aria.

"When are you leaving?"

"Today," Aria replied.

In the last few days, we had observed from afar the two mist gates that had opened in the forest after Albert's fall. Only one seemed to bring us closer to our goal: the one that led to the west.

"Then you go to Argemira," Briana concludes with a sigh.

Aria lifts her chin, her gaze suddenly more piercing. Stating our next destination seems to give him back all his confidence.

"Argémira? Is that the name of this territory? »

"Yes. A gigantic mine, crossed by endless galleries and engulfed by darkness. The passage was closed about thirty years ago. Since then, people here have said that everyone who has ventured there has gotten lost before they can get out. »

"What about the other door, then?" I asked.

"Frost's Prison. The snow is constantly falling and the temperature is unbearable for people dressed like you, without fur. Its access had been blocked for a longer time. »

I looked at Aria's bow, my dagger, and then at our clothes. The choice did not require much thought.

"In that case, we will do it to Argemira."

"That was my opinion too," Aria confirmed as she adjusted her quiver.

Briana nodded before going to get the others.

The village was gathered in front of the house. Not everyone, but enough: Brad, Born, Bikao, Bobby, Ben and several faces crossed without always knowing their names.

Brad shook my hand with that quiet strength that characterized him.

"Are you taking your weapons with you?" he demanded, pointing to my side.

"Why? Do you want it back? I joked.

"No. I just wanted to make sure you understand that they are now yours. »

Born approaches, his face tense with a restrained grimace. His ribs hurt, but he refused to give them too much importance.

"Aria, you look comfortable with a bow," he remarked, nodding approvingly.

"My choice was obvious," she replied, slipping the strap over her shoulder, a hint of pride in her voice.

I had no time to notice his triumphant air. Bikao walked over to us, a quiver of rawhide in his hand.

"These arrows are for you. Ben and Born spent two days checking them. Thirty ordinary arrows, for those times when you don't have time to make them. »

Aria takes the quiver without answering. She will check the shoulder strap before passing it over her shoulder, as if taking care of the object allows her not to let the meaning of this gesture show.

Bobby was the last to arrive. He had two torches longer than we know of, each wrapped in fibrous material near its base.

"I made them for you," he said, handing them to us.

It was the first time I had heard him speak. His voice was deep and composed, the voice of a man who chose his words because he didn't like to waste them.

"If you have run out of fire, rub that mushroom against a pine cone," he explained, pointing to a dried mushroom on the wood. "It will ignite instantly. You'll have enough to relight your torches for weeks. »

"Bobby... I whispered as I took the equipment, moved by the thought.

"No thanks," he cut in with a curt wave of his hand. "It's your due."

He drew back, and I understood that the conversation was over.

While Aria was checking the contents of our bags one last time, Briana had moved a few steps away with Bikao. At first, I didn't pay attention to their conversation, until my name reached my ears.

«… Casimir?" asked Bikao.

Briana turns her eyes to me before answering her in a lower voice. The rest was lost in the hubbub of the village, but a few words still reached me.

«… during the fight against Albert... it must be the effect of his Passive."

I raised my head.

Passive.

I knew that word. 404 had used it as soon as we arrived: each of us had one, which was supposed to reveal itself when certain conditions were met. Since then, I had hardly thought about it.

Why was Briana talking about mine?

In spite of myself, I reviewed the fight. The tentacle that had brushed against me, my foot that had found this root at the right time, Albert that had wobbled just enough for me to reach it... At the time, I had put everything down to luck. Perhaps she had seen something else in it.

I listened, but Briana had already lowered her voice. It is impossible to hear what happened next.

A few seconds later, she came back to us as if this conversation had never happened. His left arm was still in a sling, but his voice did not tremble.

"Good luck, young people. I hope we see each other again soon. »

"You can count on us," I replied confidently.

"I know," she whispers with a slight smile. "That's precisely why I'm letting you go."

With a determined gesture, she pulled Aria against her with her good arm, then did the same with me. Her embrace was brief, but it didn't completely disengage. She kept her hand on my shoulder, her face close to mine.

"Casimir," she whispered in my ear, her voice dropping a tone. "One last one chosen."

"Yes?"

"Whatever happens on the other side of that door..." stay with her. »

I glanced at Aria, who was further away, busy readjusting the straps of her quiver without listening to us.

"I will stay," I promised him.

Briana paused, her dark eyes looking for mine, before adding:

"And be careful."

"Of what?"

"Seeing the way some people there might look at you," she replied, stepping back slightly.

"What does this mean?"

"You'll know when the time is right."

She didn't tell me anything more. Aria and I took the road west, leaving behind the house and the people who had come to watch us leave.

The wind carried the damp smell of the Mist Mushrooms. Golden spores floated in the low morning light as giant mushrooms cast their long shadows across the path.

Halfway through, I turned around. Briana and Bikao were still in front of the house. We were too far away to hear their voices, but neither of us seemed to be in a hurry to get home.

I never thought I would regret a place where I had come close to death. And yet, as I saw the lights of Mushroom behind us, I realized that this village was no longer just our point of arrival. It had become the first place in the Bloc where someone had waited for us.

We had arrived here labeled as criminals, in a world belonging to the one who had treated us like monsters. And yet, behind us, the passages were open again, the inhabitants no longer had to live in fear and the village gradually regained its animation. I find that almost ironic.

The gate was at the end of the road.

She seemed taller than I remembered. Darker too. The black wooden door reinforced with rusty iron that we had examined the day before seemed to have grown during the night, as if Argemira had sensed our approach and decided to show itself in all its splendour.

"Are we really going to leave this place?" asked Aria as she stopped next to me.

"I can't believe it," I replied, gazing one last time at the lights of Mushroom behind us. "We've been here for a hell of a lot of days."

We stood still for a moment. After everything that had happened here, there was something almost unreal about walking through that door.

A black mist escaped freely from the gaping door and spread over the stone like a silent tide. Denser than the day before, it was undulating just above the ground. The air around the opening was icy, much colder than the rest of the way, and my fingers stiffened around the leather-wrapped handle of my dagger.

"Do you have the sense?" asked Aria, stopping beside me.

"The cold?"

"Not only that. There's something else," she whispered. "As a... pressure. »

I take a deep breath. She was right. The air wasn't just cold, it weighed on my shoulders, as if we'd gone down without realizing it. Even the ground seemed less stable under my feet.

Aria didn't take her eyes off the door. His hand had crisped up on the wood of his new bow.

"Shall we?"

"Yes."

She hasn't moved.

"Think carefully, Casimir. Once in there, we will definitely dive into the unknown. »

I turned my head towards her, forcing me to hide the too fast beating of my heart.

"If I told you I was sure of it, I'd be lying."

His gaze fell on me, and the spark of defiance that ignited there dissipated any tension.

"In that case, you will only have to follow my orders."

"Very good," I conceded with a slight smile.

We crossed the gate together, in the same step. Just before the black fog enveloped us and separated us from Mushroom, I caught a glimpse of the triumphant smile she was trying to hide.

At that rate, she was really going to end up taming me.