Standing in the Fog’s church alone, Judai may hear whispers. They’re soft at first, but before long, they grow louder and louder, a steady stream of unintelligible words. Before long, dark swirls of fog gather into the shape of a woman. Black, waterfall-like hair drapes over her face, obscuring her features. As she speaks, the voice seems to emanate not from the form, but from inside Judai’s own mind.

“My child, you’ve done well.”

The dark fog billows out from the form, filling the room and obscuring Judai’s surroundings. When the fog abates, the surroundings have shifted to become a dark corner of Dyster. Judai is now standing above a shadowy crowd, their cheers and applause seemingly muffled by some sort of invisible barrier. Their movements cause them to blink and warp, like shadows cast upon the wall by a flickering flame.

“Do you hear them? They sing your praise—they know they stand in the presence of the truly devoted.”

The fog surrounding Judai forms itself into a cloak, tattered yet beautiful, a physical representation of the power bestowed upon him. The cloak glides itself around Judai’s neck, eliciting a series of cheers from the crowd around him. They’re so happy for him. He’s done so much.

All at once, wind roars by his ears and whips his cloak into a frenzy. The next time Judai opens his eyes, he’ll find himself flying over Ryslig -- no, somewhere just outside of Ryslig -- husks of burned down buildings dotting the barren countryside.

“You restored my power in a time where I thought it might slip away from me,” says the Fog. Her real name, Sarah, echoes inside Judai’s head like a memory. “Look below you to see what’s at stake.”

The wind picks up one last time. The ruined landscape fades away, replaced by the cold, hard floor of the Church.

“Thank you, Judai. Any mother would be proud to have a child like you."

And she's gone.