That fog is not a natural thing. It seeps out from city sewers, ventilation shafts of abandoned subways, and even unattended corners at night, carrying the smell of rust and old rainwater. Deeper, it is mixed with a hint of indescribable sweetness, as if some huge life is slowly decaying. It swallows up color, blurring neon signs into blurry spots of light; it distorts sound, making the honking of distant vehicles become intermittent and eerie, like the whimper of a drowning person. People call it "night miasma" and have learned to walk quickly with their heads down when it spreads, closing doors and windows tightly, pretending that it is just another innocuous annoyance of urban life. However, there are always some things that will leave slippery drag marks on the glass windows when the fog is at its thickest, or make the pipes of the old apartments make a rhythmic, muffled sound like the beating of the heart late at night. No one digs into it. Most of the people who studied deeply disappeared, or became... Quiet.
In the shadow of this fog-soaked city, there are struggling "awake people" who have not been completely swallowed up. They are not heroes, but more like the unlucky ones who were lucky enough to glimpse a corner of the curtain, but were unable (or unwilling) to completely slip into chaos for various reasons. Cost follows closely behind. Some people rely on the "Old Seal" pendant passed down from their family, with blurred and faded strokes. It occasionally generates heat to warn and dispel the overly thick fog, but the wearer will gradually lose the perception of bright colors, and the world will eventually only be gray and black in his eyes. Some people get a moment of peace by silently reciting unspeakable rhymes with unclear meanings, but the price is irreversible damage to their language ability, and they may eventually become mute who can only utter meaningless murmurs. Power and knowledge are here
