The Final Path Out

Is this… me?

The mist tightened. Accept it. There is no other path.

A sharp pain lanced through his skull. The voice, the mist, the power—they were consuming him, sinking talons of dread into the corners of his thoughts. He could swear he felt them rummaging through his memories, dredging up old fears he'd kept buried. It struck him, oddly enough, that he recognized some of these images—nightmares from his childhood, half-remembered anxieties about failing as a prince. A swirl of panic wrestled with curiosity in his chest. Was the mist truly showing him these things, or was he just imagining it?

Then—

"Hey, Your Highness!"