Kael began hearing the whispers more clearly. The dead outside and inside the enclave called to him. Faces pressed into his mind, memories bleeding into his consciousness. Hunger pulsed, urging him to consume, to gain clarity, to end the whispers.
He resisted, but the cost was visible: Kael forgot small details of the living world. Names of the enclave's residents slipped from memory, replaced by alien recollections. He struggled to remember the layout of the walls, the smell of the fires, the sound of a child laughing. These details blurred, slipping away as the Sight demanded attention.
Each night, he sat alone, trying to reconcile what he had become with what he still wished to remain. The dead whispered constantly, and Kael's mind felt like a battlefield with no frontlines.