The mist had weight now. It pressed against their chests and filled their lungs until every breath tasted of damp stone and river rot. Dawn should have been close, yet the fog smothered all sense of time. No horizon, no sun, just the pale shroud, and the endless waiting.
Kaelen felt the company unravel by inches. He could hear it in the way men shifted too often, the hiss of blades being checked and re-checked, the dry coughs, the nervous clearing of throats. Even silence had its limits.
Roran limped along the ranks, leaning heavier on his spear than he would ever admit. He stopped beside Kaelen, his voice pitched low.
“They’re not going to let this stretch forever. Men can’t hold in a noose without snapping.”
Kaelen’s jaw tightened. “That’s what Malrik wants. Panic first, steel second
