40
When night came, Emil lay stiff on his bunk, staring at the dark rafters. Sleep refused to come. The barracks was too quiet — not the breathing of men at rest, but something strained, brittle. Then he felt it. A tremor. Subtle at first, then again, stronger. The stones of the citadel shivered under him like the earth itself exhaling. He sat bolt upright, heart hammering. Around him, the other squires shifted uneasily in their sleep, some muttering, some turning. Joran’s eyes opened across the aisle, meeting Emil’s in the dark. They stared at each other, neither speaking. The tremor passed. The silence that followed was worse. *The wall is not stone. The wall is flesh. You hear its heartbeat now.* Emil pressed his palms hard against his temples, but the whisper seeped through regardle
- Writer
