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Linus took a step back.

It was Kristof Raynor and Daro Bright standing there. The Jailer and the Black Artisan. His two peers in the protection of Ridgemark.

"Hey, Linus," said Kristof in that familiar tone as he slowly approached, as if trying not to spook a frightened animal.

Which was exactly what Linus was feeling like all of a sudden. How had they all appeared out of the mist like that? Had they been there all along and simply been concealed from his senses?

"It's alright," Daro was saying with similar intonations. "We're real. I promise you."

Linus didn't even know what to say to that.

"Graves was hiding us from one another." Kristof was a tall, slim man with an almost beak-like nose. His wavy brown hair was topped with a bowler hat, his pristine black longcoat looked as out-of-fashion as ever. The man hadn't changed his wardrobe in a hundred years, and knowing him, he probably never would again. "Though, in Daro's case, I'm sure that hadn't been very difficult."

"Hey," said Daro. "It's thanks to my seclusion that I was able to see through his tricks."

Kristof scoffed. "It's thanks to Zeff, not your paltry trinkets."

"Pah. Ever the downplayer. Perhaps I'll keep my paltry trinkets to myself the next time you ask to borrow them."

"And when that happens in fifty years, I doubt you'll remember that retort."

Yeah, that was them alright. Bickering, as usual.

"What are you doing here?" Linus heard himself say. He barely felt in control of his own body, at the moment. Like he was still on the verge of waking up after a long night's rest.

"It is as the Water Dragon said." Kristof crossed his arms. Up close, he was able to look down at Linus, which was not something that could be said for many. "We've come to get you. We're going to take Ridgemark back from Graves."

"And the rest of Vantalay while we're at it," added Daro.

Just then, the fog seemed to thicken, and a strange sound arrived--like the reverberating lash of a whip. Not quite a crack, exactly, but Linus didn't know how else to describe it.

The others looked to Zeff, who was standing there with his eyes closed, apparently concentrating quite hard, if the glistening on his brow was any indication. Perhaps that was just the fog sticking to him, though.