Chapter 8
Whispers of the Living
As they near their goal, echoes of William's former life resurface. He receives a message from London, a stark reminder of the world he left behind, forcing a poignant reflection on his past and his chosen path.
The air in the Deadlands, once a chilling symphony of silence and decay, now hummed with a different sort of resonance. It was a subtle vibration, a tremor that ran beneath the cracked earth and through the skeletal trees, a whisper that seemed to carry the faint scent of something William hadn’t realized he’d missed until its phantom touch brushed against his senses: life. He found himself pausing, his boot hovering over a patch of phosphorescent moss, listening intently. Ena, ever a step ahead, turned, her shadowed eyes questioning.
“What is it, William?” Her voice, usually a silken murmur, held a hint of unease.
He shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Nothing, Ena. Just… a memory, I suppose.”
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