The fog never lifts... It never has, not for you, not for the ones before you, not for whoever will come after.
You'll keep walking, telling yourself the next bend is the last one, while your legs go numb. Then, a feeling in your lower abdomen: the hunger start, as a slow rumbling at start, then much more louder.
That's how it works here, since the first guest arrived. Why hurries? Meat is better after a bit of tenderisation.
Somewhere close, or maybe not? Distances stopped meaning anything, but this time is different, this time the sound is different, more intense, more... hungry, something is waiting, you are sure.
And somewhere else, on a road just like this one, someone else is opening their eyes for the first time, surrounded by fog.