REVERSE: 1999 STORY LOGS

01 | The Prison of Fog

…

This city, forever shrouded in fog, prompts the overwrought comparison between Sisyphus’s endless struggle and our own.

The fog that covers this absurdity and unsightliness is like a bell jar imprisoning a cricket. Beyond those invisible intangible borders lie the jeering faces of the gods. They drained every ounce of vitality from the cricket, dispatching the fog as their most faithful instrument. And so, the cricket turned its head to find this thick fog everywhere─up, down, left, right─all around. No escape in sight, no perceptible boundaries… Even its cry would be lost in the fog.

That fog as viscous as snot flowing from a runny nose enveloped the cricket to the point where the poor wretch couldn’t even make a sound. It rubbed its wings in vain, attempting to make even the slightest noise, but the only thing that filled the air was the fog and its silent ridicule.

To this day, no one has responded to its pleas. In this thick fog, there is only silence, the silence of death… That’s what it does, this fog─it invariably forces the individual to face the certainty of their own demise. Walking in this endless fog, with no end in sight, surrounded by a cage of untouchable wire, where even the most furious strikes have no means of finding their target. The only thing one is allowed to feel is extreme loneliness and that deathly still. We, walking through this dense fog for the sake of our so-called mission, might possibly be the most pitiable crickets of all.

How long has it been since I last saw the sun?

…

Vertin: … Oliver Fog?

…

Oliver Fog: Oh… Sorry, Miss Vertin. I lost myself for a moment there. What were we talking about just now?

Vertin: That we hoped you would aid our cause two days from now. With the enemy well hidden within the fog; determining their location will be no easy feat. It looks like we’ll be counting on you and your arcane skill to succeed.

Oliver Fog: The day after tomorrow… That’s a holiday, isn’t it?

Vertin: It is indeed.

Oliver Fog: Before I offer you a response, Miss Vertin, allow me to ask a question. Who was it that proposed I join you in this operation of yours?

Oliver Fog: Miss Vertin, I intend to direct a formal complaint towards Mr. Knight.

Vertin: …

Oliver Fog: Allow me to come straight to the point, Miss Vertin. I would be more than willing to help you in any way, merely due to the goodwill we have fostered through the course of our acquaintance. However, my principles will not permit me to sacrifice my hard-earned time off merely for the convenience of others. I will provide you with any advice you may require, but my practical assistance is out of the question.

Vertin: So then, this is your latest experiment in reformist rhetoric?

Oliver Fog: Not at all. It’s a manner of prevarication that’s been in use since Chamberlain’s day.

Vertin: Look─ I won't try to force you, Oliver. I’m merely here to discuss the matter with you.

Oliver Fog: Then I thank you for your understanding, Miss Vertin. If there’s nothing else I can help you with, I will take my leave. There’s work I’ve yet to finish today.

…

[Somewhere in the suitcase]

A Knight: What someone is about to recount to you is a sworn testimonial of a face-to-face run-in with a dark spirit, a blood-thirsty creature of undeath someone encountered as a chivalrous knight long, long ago.

Sotheby: Brilliant! I love this story─ I mean, Miss Sotheby knows she’s definitely going to love this story!

A Knight: Someone came across a long-abandoned castle with a close friend while journeying the countryside one dark night.

Sonetto: Hm…

A Knight: … The forest around the castle was a mire shrouded in eerie mist, and someone was traipsing right through it, boots tramping on rotten leaves and kicking up the most vile, putrid stink of rancid soil mixed with the damp stench of decay. But our destination was not far off. We had almost reached the castle gate.

Eagle: …

A Knight: Suddenly, someone and that faithful friend spied a shadowy figure up ahead. He was slumped askew against a tree, seemingly unconscious. Back then, someone was still a simple-minded knight. Someone stepped forward and went heedlessly over to the side of the mysterious figure …

Crowd: …

Just as everyone leans in closer, listening ever more attentively to the knight’s story, another figure passes by.

Oliver Fog: I can confirm that there are no problems with the work plan. Everything seems to be in order … The schedule is a little tight, but if we proceed accordingly, we can still finish all work on time today.

A Knight: Someone tapped him on the shoulder, but he didn’t budge an inch. Then, someone tapped him again… He suddenly lifted his head to reveal a ghastly, desiccated face with black holes where his eyes should’ve been!

Crowd: What?!

Sotheby: Miss Sotheby knows! It must’ve been the Chupacabra!

A Knight: If only the truth were so simple. As soon as we saw that living corpse, someone and someone’s good friend knew right away─

A Knight: In the depths of the castle lay a terrifying, treacherous, blood-curdling banshee!

Sotheby: An evil spirit? What a surprise! All the spirits Miss Sotheby has met have been most cordial to her! Though to be fair. I have never had the misfortune of meeting a thirsty one before.

Sonetto: That’s a good point… They might be a bit on the quirky side, but Poltergeist and Click are good souls.

Oliver Fog: Excuse me please, some of us have work to do.

Sotheby: Oh, this way, please─from my side, over here. Mr. Fog, Mr. Knight was telling us about his past adventures just now. In fact, he was right in the middle of a very interesting story when you came in. Would you like to stay a while and listen with us?

Oliver Fog: I’ll pass on the ghost stories; I am very busy. However, I feel I must caution you, ladies.

Sonetto: Oh?

Oliver Fog: There exist people in this world whose mouths are incapable of speaking the truth. Not only do they spin their yarns, boasting about what has never truly transpired, but they may even shirk their responsibilities and force minors to carry out their work for them.

A Knight: Someone doesn’t even have a mouth! Although someone has been wondering for some time now─how does someone even speak without saying anything with which to speak out of?

Sotheby: Through the magic of your arcane skill!

Vertin: …

Vertin: I knew this was going to happen.

Sonetto: Timekeeper? You came to visit, too? Did something happen to Mr. Fog today? He appears to be in quite a foul mood.

Crowd: I see …

02 | Rest Day

Sonetto: All this because Mr. Knight proposed a mission plan that requires working through his day off?

Sotheby: Does Mr. Fog really hate his work that much? If you really dislike your job, then why not quit?

Sonetto: To be honest with you, I have never understood the way Oliver Fog thinks.

Vertin: Maybe he’s dealing with issues that he’s not able to readily share.

Eagle: Timekeeper, perhaps you might try negotiating between Mr. Fog and Mr. Knight?

Vertin: … No, it’s best if we let the two of them sort this out on their own. I believe Mr. Knight will find a way to figure this out.

…

Oliver Fog: …It goes without saying that you didn’t have labor laws in your era.

A Knight: Naturally, this sort of modern dalliance was neither fitting for someone’s era nor for the profession of a knight.

Oliver Fog: Sir Knight, times have changed. We have no need of knights in our time. What we do need is an eight-hour work day and no mandated overtime on holidays or weekends.

A Knight: Oliver, you seem to forget this era is in a state of decline.

Oliver: But surely even our present decline will not regress us back to a time without labor rights and holidays, right? We all need to adapt to the changing of times, Mr. Knight.

A Knight: Too true. Someone needs to learn to adapt to the times. This is why someone has always wanted to change into armor someone might consider to be more in keeping with the times. A more dazzling color, perhaps … By the way, do you think pink would suit someone at all?

Oliver Fog: … Honestly, I wouldn’t advise it.

A Knight: Then how about stickers? Someone heard Miss Regulus say that someone could receive complimentary stickers upon purchasing baked goods from the market. Someone happens to be quite interested in several of these stickers. Imagine sticking them on someone’s sword and armor! How splendid that would be!

A Knight: However, someone clearly lacks the ability to consume such a copious quantity of baked goods alone—or indeed at all. Therefore, someone hopes to entrust the task of devouring this surfeit of biscuits to you on someone’s behalf.

Oliver Fog: Biscuits, really? —Ahem. Don’t change the subject. I won’t be bribed by your biscuits and I expect my complaint to be taken seriously, Mr. Knight.

A Knight: Oh? Oh! Sorry, someone is listening, Oliver. What is it that you are complaining about?

Oliver Fog: Mr. Knight, I am but a child yet I am forced to work, and as such, you must respect the few holidays I have. I would ask you to please refrain from making suggestions to Miss Vertin that may lead to my being forced to work overtime.

A Knight: Holidays? Ah, it seems someone might not be so well-adapted to these times just yet. After all, when it comes to a knight and the things it is one’s duty to do, there are no holidays.

Oliver Fog: If you want to work overtime, that’s your business, Mr. Knight. I however have always refused any unreasonable requests to work overtime, especially during holidays.

A Knight: Someone understands what you mean, Oliver. Someone will strive to respect your rights.

Oliver Fog: Good to see my complaint wasn’t a complete waste of time…

Oliver Fog pulls out his pocket watch once more, glancing over the time as if to appear casual. He then freezes in place, like a Carbuncle eagerly emptying cans, only to find its secretly stashed dust gone without a trace.

Oliver Fog: …

A Knight: What’s wrong, Oliver? You seem somewhat distressed?

Oliver Fog: …My plan is in tatters now.

A Knight: … What?

Oliver Fog: My work plan’s a mess. There’s not enough time to finish all my tasks.

A Knight: Is it because someone has taken up so much of your time with this issue of ours?

Oliver Fog: Your continuous interruptions certainly have not helped!

Oliver Fog: …I never expected my record of not working overtime for 211 days straight to end today.

A Knight: Excuse someone for asking, but where have you been assigned to work today?

Oliver Fog: A forest near The Box. I need to ensure we maintain a good vantage point there, so that if The Box is attacked, we can react in a timely fashion.

A Knight: …Hmm?

Oliver: Is there something you’d like to ask me?

A Knight: No, no, of course not. Only a caution, Mr. Fog, that the forest isn’t safe at night. It would be better to head back early.

Oliver Fog: …Thanks for your concern, but my work takes precedent, I can fend for myself.

A Knight: Someone has heard that no one goes to that forest at night. Therefore, even if you complete your work and clear the fog, it may not necessarily be of any use.

Oliver Fog: Mr. Knight, do you believe that the work of the Fogwalker is to absorb the fog? To keep it at bay?

A Knight: Someone has always believed this to be the case. Is there some flaw in someone’s understanding?

Oliver Fog: The true responsibility of the Fogwalker is to make people believe that the fog is under control. As long as there is a Fogwalker, people will believe that the fog is being dealt with. No one cares about how much fog a Fogwalker can absorb, how it all works, or what a Fogwalker’s purpose really is.

Oliver Fog: Making people believe that the fog is under control is the Fogwalker’s true responsibility. Based on this principle, I must ensure that my working hours align solely with my duty as the Fogwalker.

A Knight: Someone has just thought up the perfect word to describe you.

Oliver Fog: I know what you’re trying to say. In this kind of situation, we commonly refer to such people as “bureaucrats” or “pencil pushers”, those that do their duty to be the letter of the law and nothing more. However, to a civil servant like myself, this term might be seen as a form of praise.

Oliver Fog: Farewell, Mr. Knight. I must leave now if I have any hope to finish my work today.

A Knight: Someone does not see any reason for you to apologize, Miss Vertin. But… didn’t you tell him?

A Knight: I see… Miss Vertin, someone has suddenly remembered another urgent matter someone must attend to. For now, I must bid you adieu.

Sotheby: Oh, Mr. Knight, won’t you tell us the rest of the story?

A Knight: Sorry, everyone. Someone has an urgent matter to deal with and must leave immediately. Please forgive my uncouth and abrupt departure.

Sotheby: Aww? Is that it for now? Thank you for sharing that wonderful story, Mr. Knight!

03 | Dad Jokes

Oliver Fog: Well, that’s everything done, more or less… Let me check my work schedule.

Oliver Fog: Good. Then I can clock off now. It’s not that noticeable during the daytime, but as soon as night falls, this forest becomes excruciatingly quiet.

Oliver Fog: Hm… I hate places that are this silent.

It reminds me of the fog I have to immerse myself in almost daily. Where even my shouts and cries for help are swallowed up by this bedeviled fog.

???: Waaaaah!!!

Oliver Fog: What’s this? It’s too dark to see clearly… Critters! And they’re attacking!

???: Squeeeee!!!

Oliver Fog: There’s even more of them than I’d feared… And there’s no kind of natural shelter around… If I stay put, they’ll eventually surround me.

Olive Fog: Fortunate that I absorbed quite a bit of fog while working this afternoon. It should still be usable… Hah… So this my reward for all that hard work?

Oliver Fog: No, I shouldn’t think like that.

Oliver Fog: But work’s the reason I ended up in this mess. It looks like there are fewer enemies in that direction… I think I just might break through that way.

A dense fog pours out from above his umbrella, quickly enveloping the surrounding area.

…

Oliver Fog: Phew… That was a narrow escape, all thanks to the fog… At last it seem there aren’t as many critters around here.

Olive Fog: It’s too dark now, and with the fog, I couldn’t even make out what kind of critters were attacking me… I need to rest for a bit now… I’ll figure out how to get out of here once I catch my breath.

???: Fogwalker, are you alright, my young friend?

Oliver Fog: ?!

A Knight: Are you truly so surprised to see someone here, Fogwalker?

Oliver Fog: …Mr. Knight!

A Knight: Did you think me a Dullahan? Or else what other vile thing did you see as to elicit that reaction on seeing someone here.

Oliver Fog: I thank you for using the word “surprised” instead of “panicked” regarding my reaction.

A Knight: I have no interest in shaming your reaction, Fogwalker.

Oliver Fog: Well then, Mr Knight, what brings you here?

A Knight: Someone had the sudden impulse to play the part of a stone in the forest. See? Someone’s disguise is quite perfect, is it not? Even your keen eyes failed to detect someone’s presence amid the moss and trees.

Oliver Fog: Don’t you think it would have been even stranger if I had managed to notice you there?

A Knight: Because the night is so dark?

Oliver Fog: Mr. Knight, this kind of banal joke is what we commonly refer to as a “dad joke.” I haven’t heard a line as terrible as that since my father passed. And I’d rather I never heard such a thing again…

A Knight: Please forgive me. Someone didn’t mean to stir up memories from your past. Someone deeply regrets having upset you so.

Oliver Fog: Come on. It was a long time ago. I don’t really care much about it anymore, anyway.

A Knight: In that case, perhaps you might tell someone more about your father? Someone is quite interested in the previous Fogwalker.

Oliver Fog: You want me to tell you about my father? I’d rather not. I can’t think of a single thing worth mentioning about him.

Oliver Fog: He was an ordinary man, and the most ordinary Fogwalker… A Fogwalker who died in the fog.

Oliver Fog: And a failure of a father. He hardly ever spent any time with my mother and me. Every single day, if he wasn’t busy working, he was studying the arcane. And it was only when discussing arcanism that he would display a demeanor alike to an arcanist. He spent his whole life studying and striving to push the arcane techniques of the Fog family forward, hoping to adapt them to the fog we now face in the modern era, but ultimately, it led him to his demise.

Oliver Fog: Ironic, isn’t it?

Oliver Fog: I can scarcely remember what he looked like anymore. The only thing about him that left any sort of lasting impression on me were those few “dad jokes” he made around the dinner table.

Oliver Fog: Terrible, tasteless jokes.

A Knight: But he was a Fogwalker, and there was only one Fogwalker in all London.

Oliver Fog: People have attached a great deal of import to the title “Fogwalker,” but in my opinion, a Fogwalker is not much different from a manure scooper. Devotion yourself or even sacrificing yourself for the sake of your so-called responsibilities… there is nothing more foolish in the entire world.

Oliver Fog: I’ll never live my life the way my father did. He was bound by the title “Fogwalker,” but I won’t let that happen to me.

A Knight: You admire your father greatly. Someone can feel it.

Oliver Fog: I do not…

Oliver Fog: When I was a child, I wanted to become a Fogwalker too, so yes… maybe then I admired my father greatly. But things are different now. It’s only because he used to…

???: Wooooo!!!

Oliver Fog: Damn it! How did these critters ever catch up with me?

Dark shadows rush out from the depths of the forest, encircling the area before there’s time to react. Yet more shadows emerge from the forest depths, like smoke spewing from factory chimneys, thick and relentless.

A Knight: It appears we’ve found ourselves in something of a predicament.

04 | Highbury Stadium

I’m afraid of the fog.

That’s right, the Fogwalker responsible for dealing with London’s fog problems is in fact terrified by it. Is there anything in the world more ironic than that?

I’m afraid of this thick fog that devours everything—voices, wishes, fate… Even that majestic figure ended up being swallowed whole by the fog. That was when I was a child—before I became the Fogwalker.

My mother turned her head for only a second, and I snuck out of the house. I wanted to embark on a great journey, and my destination was Highbury Stadium. Arsenal was the best team in London at the time, and every child in London dreamt of becoming a player. I was no exception. I wanted to go there, to Highbury Stadium and join the team. I was fantasizing about running around Highbury in a full Arsenal kit, imitating the movements of the players, completely oblivious to the fact that I had deviated from my path.

That was when the fog came.

First, a thin and almost invisible mist began to suffuse the air. It was like a clever thief, stealing all sense of direction and setting me on the wrong path. Then another wave of thick fog came rushing in that completely obscured my view.

With a wicked smile, it set me apart from my dreams. It told me that I would never go anywhere—ever again, that I would remain in this dense fog for my whole life.

Finally, that dreadful, clinging, sticky dark fog arrived. It destroyed the last remaining sliver of my courage, imprisoning me where I stood, leaving me unable to move so that all I could do was stand there, crying and praying. Yet, no matter how much I cried, my voice couldn’t penetrate through the dense and clinging air.

After destroying my dreams and my courage, at the last it stripped me of my fragile rights as a human.

The fog gradually turned black from end to end. It sought to rob this cage I was in of its last remaining light. It wanted me to fear it—to fear it as though it were fear itself.

That pitch-black, brutal fog—hung just the way it does now.

…

Oliver Fog: Why are there so many critters? Something’s entirely wrong here!

A Knight: Someone did tell you that this forest was not safe at night, Mr. Fog.

The Fogwalker pauses for a moment, then came to a sudden realization.

Oliver Fog: So that’s why you’re here… You came to protect me?

A Knight: No, of course not! Someone simply came here to play the part of a talking tree.

Oliver Fog: …I’ve caused you nothing but trouble, Mr. Knight. Please accept my apology. My stubbornness dragged you into this mess, and I feel just awful about it…

A Knight: You’re the second person to apologize to someone today, and someone’s response is still the same. There’s no need for apologies, Sir Oliver.

Oliver Fog: I’ve never seen this many critters before in my life… It’s beyond me.

The indistinct mass of shadows piled together surrounds the two of them. Critters cover every inch of the ground a meter away from them in all directions, trapping the two of them where they stand.

A Knight: Are you trembling, Sir Oliver?

Oliver Fog: …They’re just like that cloying black fog—a wicked pitch-dark mass that seems to have no end.

Fog… A heavy dense fog… A terrifying fog which not even light can permeate.

A Knight: Are you afraid, sir? Would you show fear to the enemy standing before you?

Oliver Fog: …Anyone would be afraid to face this many enemies all at once.

Countless critters fold in around the two of them. Blending into the dark forest, making it impossible to distinguish their type as they approach. The swarm seems endless, emerging incessantly from the depths of the forest, expanding and filling the space around them.

But for some unknown reason, they refrain from launching their attack, instead simply forming an ever thickening ring.

A Knight: Hah! This reminds someone of the battlefield someone once stood in mere moments before being slain in combat. Someone was surrounded by an equally large amount of enemies then… No, indeed, take heart—there were perhaps a dozen times more than this.

Oliver Fog: …Mr. Knight, it’s all because of me that you’ve had to put your life in danger once more. I take full responsibility for my actions, good sir, and I shall do everything I can to help you escape.

The young man takes a deep breath and opens his umbrella once more, preparing to take on the endless dark mist. However, his trembling hands and legs betray him.

Oliver Fog: There’s simply no way we can handle this many enemies…

Oliver Fog: The only thing I take solace in now is the fact that at least Miss Vertin was aware of my intentions… Now, all we can do is pray that Miss Vertin realizes the two of us are missing and comes looking for us…

The Fogwalker’s voice trembles slightly.

A Knight: Hah, someone has remembered something rather fitting. Someone once had a close friend with the exact same name as your own.

A Knight: That name used to be one which someone often called. Someone went through countless challenges with this friend—sharing both glories and suffering together. Back in those days, someone was but a reckless boy, but thanks to that friend, someone was able to grow into a true and worthy knight. He saved someone’s life several times too, even though someone dragged him into trouble on countless occasions. When someone looks back on it now, someone cannot help but feel remorseful.

A Knight: Sorry, this rusty old armor is full of useless memories from long ago.

Oliver Fog: …

A Knight: You and someone’s old confidant are indeed very similar. Every time someone sees you, someone can’t help but think of those adventures from a past life.

A Knight: He was an excellent, intelligent, and level-headed fellow, just like you.

Oliver Fog: …Are you having a laugh at me?

A Knight: Someone’s command of irony as a rhetorical device is far less sophisticated than the perfect proficiency you modern Britons seem to possess. Perhaps you should learn to have a more faith in yourself… Although you are still just a child and immature in many ways, one day, someone is sure, you will also become a great knight like he was.

Oliver Fog: But I am no knight.

A Knight: Someone remembers you saying only this morning that knights were a thing of the past. Perhaps your musings hold some truth; however, someone believes that the spirit of chivalry shall never die. And you truly do have the spark of potential to become a knight.

Oliver Fog: It’s a nice sentiment, but I’ll never be an Arsenal player or a knight. Being a Fogwalker is my sole calling. Just like my father, and his father before him, and his father before him… This is the fate of all the Fogs.

Olive Fog: All my hopes and dreams are trapped, never to be set free… Trapped in that unconquerable fog.

A Knight: Unconquerable, eh…?

A Knight: There is nothing in this world that is truly unconquerable, Oliver.

Oliver Fog: …That notion certainly is pleasing to hear at the moment. But if things were the way you said they were, why would you—

Olive Fog: …Sorry, I’ve let my emotions get the better of me.

A Knight: Death may be an end, but it’s not the end for us, Oliver. How about someone tells you the story of Oliver in kind for your bravely speaking about your father?

A Knight: Someone’s closest friend… The story of Oliver, the Knight.

Oliver Fog: What happened to him? …I apologize, Sir Knight… I’m asking pointless questions.

A Knight: He died. And it seems he was not as lucky as someone else. He was not granted the gift of returning to the world, born into a new identity. But he’ll never truly die.

05 | The Story of Oliver

A Knight: Someone served with Oliver in our liege’s army, and it was during one particular foray that we were ambushed by the enemy. To cover the retreat of our main force, someone, along with Oliver, took on the duty of forming the rear guard.

A Knight: Our enemies were legion, and there were but twelve of us. We had to fight without rest to buy time for the others’ retreats.

A Knight: For a knight, Oliver was not much of a fighter. He had always used the better talents of his mind and his eloquence with words to accomplish his ends … Hah, you could say that his methods were very much the opposite of someone’s own at the time. Nevertheless, Oliver fought without fear or hesitation. In order to protect someone he blocked dozens of attacks throughout the course of the battle. Someone witnessed him fight to the very last with someone’s own eyes, and even at the bitter end, someone found oneself receiving his steadfast protection.

A Knight: …Someone still remembers the scene vividly.

A Knight: He lauded peace and glory, calmly accepted his fate, and fought until the end. Someone’s resistance with Sir Oliver ended in our deaths. Though we fought tooth and nail, we could not defeat the overwhelming strength of the greater thousands of men set against us. But we succeeded in our mission. We successfully held the enemy long enough for our main force to retreat to safety. In view of this outcome, the sacrifice someone made, along with the sacrifice of all who stood beside us, was well worth it.

A Knight: Someone sometimes wonders why someone was the only knight resurrected from this fateful battle.

A Knight: Someone has even asked if God knew someone had witnessed the deaths of eleven braver souls that day why still the lesser someone was alone brought back.

A Knight: Upon reaching this line of thinking, someone feels new purpose. Someone is no longer simply living for oneself. Someone witnessed their last moments; thus, someone is duty-bound to preserve the glory of their names and achievements in this world.

Oliver Fog: ... I don’t understand. I don’t understand why you’re doing any of this. Why would you fight on, knowing full well that you stood no chance of survival? Even with such a clear understanding of your inevitable fate, seeing clearly that death was the only ending available to you?

Oliver Fog: Death is like walking into an invisible fog, no end in sight, no boundaries to reach, and nought but silence to hear, to speak, no matter how loudly you wish to scream.

Oliver Fog: I don’t understand how you could walk into that fog so calmly.

Oliver Fog: …

Oliver Fog: Just like… just like my foolish father.

A Knight: Foolish? Perhaps so.

A Knight: However, Oliver, some things are more important than one’s life. This is our duty— our responsibility.

Oliver Fog: I’ve heard enough!

Oliver Fog: You turn your sacrifice and responsibility into virtues, and then march blindly into that fog. Did you ever stop to consider what those that stand outside of the fog have to go through?

Oliver Fog: I hate you all. I’m not even supposed to be here! I’m just a boy, but because of your dreamed-up notion of purpose and responsibility, I was forced to become a Fogwalker.

Oliver Fog: I never wanted to walk amongst the fog. I’m terrified of it… I just want to… I just want to stay alive.

A Knight: To fear death is never something to be ashamed of, Oliver. But if death is the only way we can achieve something greater than ourselves, we must bear it with honor.

Oliver Fog: Something greater?

The suit of armor doesn’t answer. He slowly draws his longsword, which he had previously thrust into the ground. It feels as if in this moment now past they had forgotten they are still surrounded by critters.

???: Gah!!!

Like an endless midnight fog, the terrifying critters encircled us like a rushing tide.

The brilliant light exploded in a starry burst, piercing through the black fog like burning rays of sunlight through shadow. And the black fog, which one seemed boundless and invincible, revealed itself to be more cowardly than a trembling mouse…

It retreated—no, it surrendered to the light.

…

Wherever the light touched, the fog burned away, leaving only the bodies of critters behind. All that could be seen in that forest was the light of the sword, blazing like the dawn.

Only then did I realize the number of critters surrounding us to be far less than I had imagined. They were afraid of us and hadn’t the nerve to launch an offensive. The night and the fog had only magnified my own fears. I shrouded the monsters again in a thick blanket of fog and fled without having to lift a finger to fight them.

Then, that cold steel armor rested gently upon my shoulder with a motion reminiscent of my father’s before he left.

…

A Knight: Hope is greater, Oliver.

The light from his sword was as sunlight, piercing through the fog of my memories. I suddenly remembered. I remembered why I wanted to become a Fogwalker.

06 | The Fog Walker

I had strayed from the main road and wandered into the fog. I wept, but the thick fog swallowed up my pleas for help. All that I felt was fear. The black fog enveloped me, almost devouring me.

Just as I reached my limit, a majestic figure stood out from the depths of the fog. Holding a huge black umbrella and wearing a tall top hat from another time, he approached me with steady, composed steps.

The hopeless black fog howled desperately, struggling futilely to flee from his presence. But to no avail. No one was better at dealing with the dreaded fog than he.

…

He walked toward me with purpose, with warm, hopeful sunlight rising from within him. Penetrating the depths of the fog and casting its light over me. This majestic figure arrived at my side and gently placed its hand on my shoulder.

“Oliver, let’s go home.”

He spoke to me softly. At this moment, I finally understood what it meant to be a Fogwalker. The Fogwalker is one who steps into the fog and brings light to others. Fundamentally, it’s a job like any other, mundane as tightening screws or scooping manure. But that’s not all it is. My father once walked through the fog to bring me hope. On that day, he did the same. “This is my responsibility, and it is our responsibility.”

…

The hand that had gently rested on my shoulder withdrew in silence. He donned his top hat again and stepped back into that fog. The same voracious fog that would devour him whole.

In the same way, he found me in the fog and brought me hope.

On that day in 1952, he also brought hope to the people of London. The hope of survival.

I found myself weeping, the tears falling beyond my control.

…

A Knight: …

A Knight: Excellent work…

A Knight: Oliver, let’s go home.

Oliver Fog: Some day in the future, will I be able to bring hope to the world, just like you and… my father?

A Knight: …

A Knight: Yes. Someone firmly believes that the day will come. Or have you already forgotten someone told you of your potential as a knight?

07 | Time Off in Lieu

Oliver Fog: …

Oliver Fog: …

Oliver Fog: …

Oliver Fog: Ahem, not really. It’s only that I remembered something.

Oliver Fog: It’s not really worth mentioning, it’s just…. Um…

Oliver Fog: Oh?

Oliver Fog: Ahem, please… please don’t concern yourself with that sort of thing. Actually, I came here for another reason. The day before yesterday, you mentioned an operation planned for today. One that required my participation.

Oliver Fog: I… well, what I mean is, if you could… compensate me for my day off in some other way… then I might, well, that is to say it’s not impossible for me to, let’s say, make an exception and take on another shift.

Vertin: Is that so? Well… the thing is, the matter has been resolved.

Oliver Fog: …Resolved?

Vertin: To be precise, on the evening of our conversation, you and Mr. Knight appear to have worked together to resolve the issue.

Oliver Fog: When? Wait… You mean those critters?

Vertin: Yes, we received word about a horde of critters in that forest known to attack humans. Those critters would usually hide in the forest’s fog during the day and only strike at night. Therefore, I had hoped that today, during the daytime, you could absorb the fog to help us locate that particular critter horde.

Oliver Fog: ... And why not at night?

Oliver Fog: …Thank you, Miss Vertin, for so kindly respecting my rights to education.

Vertin: Since you and Mr. Knight already handled the critter situation, there is no need for you to remain at work today.

Oliver Fog: ... I can’t help but feel something is amiss here.

Oliver Fog: That’s right! What about Mr. Knight? You told me he would be unable to participate in today’s operation for some reason, but that night he and I… defeated those critters alone.

Oliver Fog: A day off?

Vertin: Correct. He told me he wished to spend the day paying tribute to his fallen brothers-in-arms… Men who chose to make the ultimate sacrifice in order to give hope to others.

Oliver Fog: …

Oliver Fog: Miss Vertin.

Oliver Fog: Although I still hate the fog and the other Fogwalkers just as much as I did before… I feel as though I understand them a little more. Perhaps there is nothing I can do to put an end to the fog of London. But if I evade my responsibilities and duties like this, then I’ll surely be depriving myself of that hope. The hope my father died trying to preserve.

Olive Fog: Vertin, I’m determined to clear the fog in London. Not only as a Fogwalker but as someone who has seen the glorious light of the sun… I want to become someone who can clear the fog and bring hope to others.

Olive Fog: To this end, I intend to study hard and secure a place at the University of Cambridge.

Vertin: And what motivated you to make this decision?

Oliver Fog: I believe that, compared to pursuing a life engaged in arcanism alone, it would be better for me to become a Cabinet Secretary, guiding our nation’s politicians in the formulation and regulation of our nation’s laws.

Oliver Fog: Miss Vertin, why are you looking at me so strangely? Is there some unseen flaw in my plan?

Vertin: No, Oliver, there’s nothing wrong with it. Perhaps it’s only that your plan is so fitting for you that I’m at a loss for words.

Oliver Fog: Then I shall feel honored to have your approval, Miss Vertin. Anyway, I’ll say goodbye now. I haven’t finished my work for today just yet.

Oliver Fog: … By the way, there was one more thing I wanted to say.

Oliver Fog: Thank you, Miss Vertin.

Oliver Fog: Oh yes, and please convey my gratitude to Mr. Knight for me. Please tell him… that perhaps I will never become a knight, but I will not rest until I become myself.

Oliver Fog: Oliver Fog, the Fogwalker of London.