The mist still lingers in caves and deep valleys, though its source is gone; it still gives rise to wild monsters, and it can still be gathered, as the books in Dali instruct, clarified and compressed into something new.

The place still scares him, with its tangled pipes and conveyers that don’t let him forget it was meant as a factory for weapons. He isn’t sure it’s right, making use of this knowledge and these machines – until the first Mist-born infant blinks bright eyes and grips his finger in a tiny, gloved hand, and he knows he’s brought something good into the world.