The whispers began three nights after my encounter with Erebus in the library.
I was lying in bed, Kaelen's arm draped over my waist, his breath warm on my neck. The fire had burned low, casting the room in a soft, amber glow. The fortress was quiet, the warriors resting, the healers tending to the wounded. For a moment, there was peace.
Then the whispers came.
They were not words, not sounds, but something else: a presence at the edge of my consciousness, a voice that was not a voice, calling to me from the Rift. I sat up, my heart pounding, the ember blazing in my chest.
"Rosalind?" Kaelen's voice was thick with sleep. "What is it?"
I shook my head, unable to speak. The whispers grew louder, more insistent, filling my mind with images. I did not understand darkness, fire, or a figure shrouded in shadow.
"I hear something," I said finally. "A voice. From the Rift."
Kaelen sat up, his hand on my arm. "What does it say?"
