Roger, looked around in shocked, as the world around him had suddenly changed.
Thick mist rolled in from nowhere, swallowing the battlefield in a cold, suffocating fog.
Shapes moved in the haze. Shadows without form. Whispers without voices.
And then the cries began.
"AHH! No—NO! PLEASE—!"
The screams were close… too close. Begging, wailing, fading into silence.
"Show yourself!" he screamed. "If you're a man, fight me without tricks! Face me! COWARD!"
But the mist didn't answer.
Only his own voice echoed back, warped and distorted, as if the fog itself was mocking him for his inability.
Just then a small child stepped through the mist. Barely five years old, her dress ragged, her voice soft as wind-chimes in winter.
"Daddy… is that you?"
Roger's eyes widened. "R-Renny?" he gasped, stumbling forward, dropping the dagger. "My sweet girl! What are you doing here?"
She opened her arms wide and he collapsed into them.
