The river stared back, angry and wild and roaring, just ten feet below. 

Black and grey, the bottom was endless––something Isolde and Warren had no interest in touching if they could help it. If they could manage to cross without falling. 

Yet their lives dangled in the misted air, the forested expanse stretching for miles as they inched closer to the fallen tree, its trunk wide and slick with dew. A bridge. 

And the only way across. 

Isolde’s eyes locked onto the darkened forest ahead. A forest with mist so thick it looked as if a wall had formed. Perhaps it was only her imagination, and yet, the tightness in her chest told her it wasn’t. There was something there and she was bound to discover it.

The myth of Draellor’s Pass.

Where the monsters beyond the mist come out to play and the ones who cross never return. When one crosses, one becomes the monster. Though she felt as if it were only a bedtime story. A nightmare to petrify children.

With trembling hands, their backs scraped the steep, rocky wall behind them, hearts pounding wildly against their ribs. Like the beating of wings against hard glass. Even as it roared below, even as fear stifled her breathing, Isolde felt the tug to cross. 

They made it this far and they wouldn’t turn back now.

_“Welcome, friend.”_ It hissed slowly, the voice growing louder the further they trudged.

Isolde sucked in a slow breath and closed her eyes, twisting her neck to stretch the ache that bloomed from miles of walking through mud. Her skin prickled, hair rising as goosebumps pebbled along her forearms. The voice in her head was only a result of her exhaustion, nothing more, she told herself. And perhaps a little bit of her fear.

She turned to Warren, his feet planted inches from the edge when he shot her a wary glance, sediment disappearing in the water from the scuff of his muddied tennis shoes. 

His blonde hair dripped with moisture, only now the light strands held the color of wet sand, settling just above his brows. Wiping his hands along his worn denim, he grinned a little, small and tight. And despite the grin, Isolde knew he was nervous. 

One slip and he’d be lost to the river, just as she would be.

“I can go first,” Isolde blurted, her words just below a shout as the current sundered the air. 

His brows pinched, lips parting in surprise. “I––”

“I’m the oldest anyway. Just follow my lead,” she said with a nervous laugh and squeezed herself past and stepped onto the damp trunk, bark cracking from the weight. With her arms extended, her pulse pounded between her ears, the pressure almost too much to bear as she tread forward. 

_“A few more steps,”_ the voice said with eagerness and her shoe slipped at the intrusion in her thoughts. She wobbled and gasped, flinging her arms out once again. Balance. 

A slow breath.

“Isolde,” Warren breathed, his tone laced with fear. But Isolde was too frightened to glance behind her, worried she’d lose her footing. So she steadied her breathing and focused on her feet, ignoring her brother entirely.

“Isolde!” Warren shouted finally, sending a jolt of adrenaline through her, scorching her blood as if she’d been set on fire. Isolde gritted her teeth, eyes fixed below as annoyance prickled her skin. Just a few more steps.

One. Two. Three.

The steps continued until she was halfway before finally risking a glance behind her with a wide, proud grin before it quickly fell. 

Warren stood frozen at the edge––eyes wide, face pale. His hands trembled at his sides and the denim he wore had been soaked in the middle. He’d relieved himself. 

He’d… he’d… relieved himself. She swallowed.

Isolde’s pulse thumped erratically, the vein on her neck beating against her skin, and slowly turned. Her stomach twisted, acrid bile settling in her throat and fought the urge to vomit. Then her breath hitched, eyes locked onto the other side.

A figure. 

Man, woman, creature––she didn’t know, but it stood with its head tilted to the side. A hint of curiosity perhaps, hers too.

It melded with the mist, swirling and twisting, as if it were one. As if it was waiting for the next person to cross the roaring river. 

Her breaths slowed dramatically, her hands halting its trembling as she stared into the faceless figure beyond the trees. Muffled silence filled her ears, the roaring river below reduced to nothing but a sight. Her racing heart quieted. No sound entered her mind the longer she stared, lost to the overwhelming urge to become…

Friend, she thought, and exhaled a slow breath.  

_“Yes… friend,” _the voice entered her mind. It was her monster and her dearest friend.

She grinned and her feet mindlessly dragged her toward the other side as if fear didn’t exist. She was nothing but a feather in the wind, so light that a breeze could carry her off. Fear was the myth, and she felt nothing. Not anymore.

“No!” Warren’s muffled shout grazed her ears, though she paid no mind to his pleas as she continued forward, warmth settling in her chest the closer she came. 

One. Two. Three. 

She stood in the haze, mere feet from the thing made of mist and shadow. 

The monster stared back, friendly and inviting and warm, just a few feet ahead. Then it released a soft, grumbly growl and yanked her beyond the mist as they became one and the same. 

The mist of Draellor’s Pass.