Welcome,
My dear friends,
To tonight's magical bedtime story.
My name is Jacob Evans,
And it's an honor to guide you into the mystical Misty Mountains,
A sacred realm where the fog dances like breath,
Where mist-woven creatures drift between trees,
Seen only by those who truly look.
There are moments in life when the path ahead disappears,
When the way feels clouded,
And the only thing guiding us forward is something quiet inside,
A pull we can't quite name.
Tonight,
You'll walk beside someone answering that call.
As the mists deepen and the forest shifts,
They'll encounter creatures born of vapor and silence.
And at the mountaintop,
Meet a presence unlike anything they've ever known,
A being whispered about in legend but never fully seen until now.
So soften.
Let your breath slow and your body rest.
You have done enough for today.
Truly,
It is enough.
Close your eyes now and let the mist carry you the rest of the way.
The path curled upward like a ribbon unraveling into the clouds.
I couldn't see far ahead.
The fog thickened with every step.
But something in me knew to keep walking.
The air was hushed,
Not with silence,
But with something softer.
Like the mountains were holding their breath.
Moss cushioned the earth beneath my feet.
And the scent of rain lingered,
Though no rain had fallen.
Trees stretched up on either side,
Their tops lost in the drifting white veil.
It was neither morning nor evening.
Just a pale glow that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
They appeared first as shadows.
The mist waltzed,
Silent and watchful among the trees.
Their eyes flickered like starlight behind thin layers of fog.
Observing without threat,
Without judgment.
One stood at the edge of the path,
Then turned and padded ahead,
Leading me onward without a word.
Further along,
I caught a glimpse of leopards made of mist,
Gliding across the rocks like wind given form.
Their movements were slow,
Graceful,
As if they too were made of breath.
Above me,
Hummingbirds of fog darted through the branches.
Wings leaving trails of silver through the air.
Every creature I passed felt like a dream the mountain was having.
A stream wound its way alongside the trail.
Its waters humming,
Not a sound,
But a vibration,
A song.
The kind of sound you feel in your bones more than hear.
I paused beside it.
I closed my eyes.
And let the rhythm settle into my chest.
It didn't tell me where I was going.
Only that I was meant to keep going.
The higher I climbed,
The quieter everything became.
Not empty,
But full in a different way.
Like the world was growing denser with meaning.
Each breath felt like drinking in something sacred.
I could no longer tell if I was alone or entirely surrounded.
Somewhere above,
I sensed a presence.
Not waiting exactly,
But expecting me.
At the summit,
The world opened into a wide,
Quiet space.
The trees thinned,
Giving way to open stone and cloud.
The mist was denser here.
Alive with movement.
Not swirling in chaos,
But in soft,
Deliberate patterns.
As though the mountain were breathing.
The wind stilled.
And then,
He came.
Out from the folds of fog,
The Mist Keeper emerged.
Vast and silent.
His paws touched the sky.
Stone without sound.
His form shimmered.
A great leopard of mist.
Larger than any creature I'd ever seen.
His fur patterned like the clouds themselves.
With each step,
The fog swirled beneath him.
Forming sacred shapes that vanished the moment they were made.
Antlers arched gracefully from his head.
Wide and silver.
Catching threads of starlight and weaving them into the fog.
Animals of mist gathered at the edges of the clearing.
Leopards.
Owls.
And tiny hummingbirds hovering near the edges of his breath.
And his eyes,
They were blue.
Not cold,
But endless.
Like looking into a still lake that remembered everything.
They met mine.
And I felt more seen than I had in all my life.
He did not speak at first.
He simply stood there.
His presence filling the space like a heartbeat.
I felt my own breath slow to match his.
And something deep within me settled.
The mist didn't lift,
But I no longer needed it to.
Then,
In a voice like distant thunder rolling gently across a sleeping valley,
He said,
You came.
Though you could not see.
I swallowed,
Unsure if he expected an answer.
He tilted his head slightly.
Why did you climb?
I searched for words.
To find something.
To be free.
To remember who I am.
But I said only.
I didn't know.
I just felt it.
He stepped closer.
And his breath rolled over me like a cloud,
Cool and comforting.
Not all fog is meant to be cleared,
He said.
Some is meant to be trusted.
And my heart ached.
Not from pain,
But from recognition.
The kind that lives just beneath the surface of silence.
The mist keeper lay down before me.
Enormous and quiet,
Eyes holding mine like a mirror.
You've been searching for clarity.
Looking outward to see within,
He rumbled.
But the heart sees best when the eyes are still.
He blinked slowly.
And the mist around us shifted with him,
Like it breathed through his body.
Then,
After a pause,
His voice came low and tender.
When the path disappears,
And all you can do is feel,
Breathe.
The breath is the voice of the soul.
It will carry your truth when nothing else can.
In the stillness,
Memories rose.
Not as images,
But feelings.
A longing I hadn't named.
A sadness I hadn't let myself hold.
The fog inside me matched the one around me.
I felt it swirl,
Not to hide me,
But to embrace me.
You are not lost,
He said.
You are becoming.
Tears welled.
I hadn't even known I needed to hear that.
The mist keeper did not speak again.
He simply breathed.
And I breathed with him.
The silence between us was fuller than words could ever be.
A deep,
Living stillness.
The kind that doesn't answer questions,
But makes them unnecessary.
I closed my eyes.
And in the dark behind my lids,
I saw light.
Soft.
Shifting.
Sacred.
The mist keeper did not rise.
He simply closed his eyes.
And as he did,
The fog deepened once more.
Not with weight,
But with warmth.
His antler shimmered once,
Catching the last breath of moonlight.
Then faded into the mist.
Until all that remained were those blue eyes.
And then they,
Too,
Were gone.
But something remained in the space where he'd been.
A hush,
So complete,
It felt like being wrapped in a prayer.
I stood in it for a long while.
Breathing.
Just breathing.
And in each breath,
I felt the soul of the mountain.
And perhaps my own.
Humming like the stream below.
Eventually,
My feet turned back toward the path.
The descent was slow.
Not because the trail was difficult.
But because I didn't want to leave.
The mist was still there.
Curling gently around my ankles.
But it no longer felt like a veil.
It felt like a companion.
I could not see far ahead.
But I didn't need to.
There was a light within me now.
Small and steady.
Like an ember held close to the chest.
I didn't know where the road would lead next.
But I trusted that when I listened,
Truly listened,
I would hear the way.
And somewhere behind me,
High in the mystical misty mountains,
The breath of the mist keeper still moved through the trees.
