They leave Kirchzarten before sunrise. Frost clings to the grass, and the air feels sharper than it should. As they descend toward the Oberried valley, a pale mist spills between the hills — at first like ordinary morning fog, but soon too dense, too deliberate.
Rothütle slows.
"Is it always like this here?"
"No," Gord answers quietly. "This fog isn't weather."
The path narrows. Trees stand farther apart than they should, yet somehow feel closer. Sounds echo strangely — a twig snaps somewhere behind them, then again ahead of them, as if distance has stopped behaving.
Rothütle presses his fingers to his temple. "I swear we didn't have wine for breakfast."
"We haven't," Gord says. Her hand rests near her cloak, ready. "But the forest is beginning to… bend."
The mist thickens until the world shrinks to a circle of ten paces around them.
Rothütle forces a laugh.
"Lovely place. Truly charming."
"It will get worse near Zastler," Gord replies. "Stay close. And don't trust what feels familiar."
They continue toward Oberried — two silhouettes moving through a valley that no longer obeys simple geography.
Tip of the day. Prevent environment drift to keep your systems reliable and secure.