Part 4: Highbury Stadium

I'm afraid of the fog.
That's right, the Fogwalker responsible for dealing with London's fog problem 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.
A Knight: 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.
Oliver Fog: Critters cover every inch of 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.
Oliver Fog: Fog... A heavy dense fog... A terrifying fog from 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.
Oliver Fog: The swarm seems endless, emerging incessently 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.
A Knight: Someone was surrounded by an equally large number of enemies then... No, indeed, take heart- there were perhaps a dozens 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.
Oliver Fog: 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...
Oliver Fog: Now, all we can do is pray that Miss Vertin realizes the two of us are missing and comes looking for us...
Oliver Fog: The Fogwalker's voice trembles slightly.
A Knight: Hah, someone has remembered something rather fitting.
A Knight: 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.
A Knight: 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.
A 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...
A Knight: 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.
A Knight: 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.
Oliver Fog: Just like my father, and his father before him, and his father before him... This is the fate of all the Fogs.
Oliver 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.
Oliver Fog: But if things were the way you said they were, why would you—
Oliver 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.
A Knight: 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?
Oliver Fog: ...I apologize, Sir Knight... I'm asking pointless questions.
A Knight: He died.
A Knight: 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.
A Knight: But he'll never truly die.