Tonar advanced with a firm stride, but his stomach clenched as if invisible fingers had dug claws into it. Each breath felt too short, swallowed by the heavy mist that blanketed the village. His men formed a wall of steel and flesh behind him, disciplined, yet he knew how quickly discipline splinters when the invisible begins to whisper.
Already, he could hear it.
Not words. Not yet.
A faint rustling, like the brushing of insect wings inside his very bones. It tickled the nape of his neck, crawled along his temples. He furrowed his brows, straightened to his full height, and gripped his sword's hilt tighter. He would not allow those voices to dig into his skull before the battle had even begun.
Ahead, the first blades had already struck flesh. War cries mingled with the monsters' howls, a brutal music that rattled Tonar's ribs. Metal clashed, flesh burst. Yet, despite this orgy of real noise, the whispers persisted, seeping through like water in cracks.
