Whispers of Existence

Previously

…Alistair leaned closer, the scent of aging paper and dried ink filling his nostrils. The author spoke of "the Watchers," of "the Veiled Gate," and of a "dormant hunger" that stirred when the veil thinned. He tried to dismiss it as the ramblings of a fevered mind, but the meticulous detail, the chillingly precise descriptions of rituals and wards, lent an undeniable gravity to the words. He felt it now, a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, a subtle shift in the air that was more than just a draft. The sunlight seemed to dim, as if a cloud had passed overhead, though the sky outside his window remained an unblemished azure