23
The citadel grew quieter after the day’s training, but silence never meant peace. That night the wind keened around the stone towers like a living thing, rattling shutters, worming cold fingers through the cracks of the barracks. Emil lay awake on his cot, the longsword at his side as Kael had commanded. His muscles still trembled from the drills, his blistered hands throbbed, but sleep would not come. Something pressed against the air, a weight without form. He turned onto his side, staring at the row of cots. Most of the boys were asleep, their breaths ragged and uneven. A few muttered in dreams, whimpering as if chased by invisible hands. The candle stub at the far end of the hall flickered low, shadows stretching long and crooked across the floorboards. Emil closed his eyes, trying
- Writer
