A Whispering Curse

The Mist Fragment pulsed in Mikhailis's palm like a living heartbeat, tendrils of mist curling around his fingers with a strange, expectant hunger. It wasn't just a trinket anymore. It was something more—something aware. And that awareness clung to him, brushing against the surface of his mind, almost as if testing for weak points. A swirl of voices ghosted around him, disjointed and desperate, like echoes of countless souls lost to the same power he now held.

Take it… use it… wield the mist as your own…