Whispers of the Void

The air in the Soul-Hunter barracks was thick with the metallic tang of sweat and something else, something acrid and vaguely sweet, like burnt sugar. It clung to everything – the rough wool blankets, the chipped metal cups, even the dust motes dancing in the scant shafts of light that pierced the grimy windows. I’d been here for three days, three days of forced marches, brutal sparring, and a constant, gnawing anxiety. Niku, bless his massive frame, was doing his best to keep my spirits up, but even his booming laugh sounded strained.

“You’re looking pale, Eli,” he rumbled, clapping a hand on my shoulder that nearly sent me sprawling. “Needs more protein. That’s what it is. You need a good slab of roasted boar.”

I managed a weak smile. “It’s not the food, Niku. It’s… this place.”