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Previously

…She waited. The minutes stretched. The wind picked up, rustling the leaves, and from somewhere deep in the forest she heard it again—not on the recording, but in the air itself: a whisper, clearer now, almost musical. The world will be cleansed. And the ones who remain will be remade. Dzeze’s breath caught. She kept the camera rolling, her hands steady despite the fear coiling in her chest. The forest breathed around her, patient and vast. And then, far down the trail, a light flickered—warm, golden, like a lantern swinging in someone’s hand. It moved once, twice, and then vanished. Erzvilkas did not come back that night. But the whisper did.