The fire had died to embers, but the silence lived on.
It pressed heavier than steel, heavier than the scars carved into me. Men dozed in fragments, some staring at nothing, others shivering though the air held no cold. The gorge had swallowed laughter, had swallowed song. Even prayers had dried on lips.
I sat alone at the edge of the camp, sword across my knees, its weight the only steady thing left. Fever gnawed at me, gnawed so deep it blurred where wound ended and where sickness began. Every breath rattled as though my ribs were splintering from the inside. Sweat clung to me like a second skin, soaking the bandages, chilling me despite the heat crawling beneath.
The system whispered always. "Vessel weakens. Cracks widen. Soon the circle closes again."
I ignored it, but ignoring was not silence. Its words remained, dripping slow, a poison not yet killing but corroding, eating.
