The fog pressed down on the world like a shroud, swallowing light and sound alike. Every scream of pain, every clash of steel, every ragged breath seemed muffled, dragged into damp silence. The company's shield-ring still held, but it was fraying, men sagged on trembling legs, their shields splitting under relentless blows, horses shrieked and reared against the press of bodies. The ground itself had turned treacherous, slick with mud, blood, and trampled grass, sucking at boots as though eager to drag them all beneath.
Leo stood at the heart of the storm, one hand clutched tight to his chest. The shard pulsed there like a second heart, burning, each beat a drum of fire in his veins. His breathing grew ragged, every inhale fanned the blaze within, every exhale carried whispers curling ever closer to his ear.
Come. You were never meant to cower in the dark. Take. Devour. Rise.
The voice was not one, but many, a chorus coiling in the marrow of his bones.
