Old Man Grey looked up—
And his face twisted.
His voice snapped through the group's minds like a whip:
"Shit. The stars are gone. We've lost our heading. If we move now, we'll get lost in this hell."
Panic simmered just under the surface.
Geniuses who had walked into this place with swagger now looked like cornered prey.
One of them asked, voice desperate:
"Should we fly up to get a sense of direction?"
Someone else snapped back:
"Are you insane? Flying is banned! Even if it weren't, flying up is asking to die!"
"Then what do we do?"
"We can't stay here—can't walk either—"
"We'll die either way—"
Their composure cracked.
The fog didn't just choke their vision.
It began to choke their courage.
Just as they spiraled toward panic—
It came.
Soft.
Faint.
Sweet.
Wrong.
A fragrance drifted in first—
Something floral, nostalgic, beautiful, like the scent of a lover from a time that never existed.
And then—
A song.
A woman's voice.
Melodic.
Delicate.
