By the time Liam was fifteen, he had learned to trust his instincts. For several nights, he sensed a threat creeping closer—a whisper that plagued his dreams and a chill in his gut that wouldn't go away. On the third morning, Liam went straight to the village elders. "Something bad is coming," he insisted. "Soon."
The elders exchanged doubtful looks. There were no obvious signs of danger—no wolves howling or bandit tracks. Elder Marta shook her head slowly. "We can't alarm everyone over a feeling, Liam," she said.
Liam's chest tightened with frustration. "Please, just be ready," he urged. Tomlin, now sixteen, chimed in at his side, "Better safe than sorry. We can at least keep watch tonight."
Marta nodded reluctantly. "Alright. We'll keep watch. But let's not panic anyone yet."
Unwilling to sit idle, Liam and Tomlin prepared on their own. They hung a few makeshift chimes around the village boundary—tin pans and dried shells that would clatter if something approached. They quietly warned families to keep children and livestock indoors after dark, hinting that wolves might be prowling.
That night a heavy silence fell over the village. Clouds smothered the moon, and not even crickets chirped. Liam and Tomlin stayed awake on the porch of Liam's house, weapons in hand. Every rustle of wind put them on edge.
Sometime past midnight, a faint clang rang out from the eastern fields. One of their alarms had been triggered. Liam shot to his feet, heart thumping. Moments later, another rattle sounded to the west. It was no false alarm—something was encircling the village.
Tomlin grabbed the iron bell in the square and rang it hard. The sharp peals cut through the night, rousing villagers from sleep. Lights flickered on in windows. Liam took a flaming torch and ran toward the nearest disturbance, Tomlin close behind with sword drawn.
At the treeline, Liam saw a low, sinuous shape slink out of sight. Then he heard it: a soft whisper that seemed to come from everywhere at once. The voice was soothing, almost familiar, tugging at the edges of his mind. Come out… come here… it beckoned.
"Whisper Beasts," Liam muttered. He had to be right—these had to be the shadowy predators that lured prey with hypnotic voices. Now he could see a pair of eyes glinting in the darkness like black mirrors.
A guttural scream suddenly broke the night. Liam whirled to see one of the creatures had skirted to the village's far side, where a few families gathered in confusion. The beast's whisper had entranced a small boy who wandered away from his mother's frantic grasp, drawn toward the creature's black, inviting eyes.
Liam's pulse surged. He sprinted across the village square, shouting, "Cover your ears! Don't listen to it!" The boy continued toward the looming shadow, as if in a trance.
With no time to waste, Liam tapped the deepest well of his power. Planting himself between the boy and the beast, he met the creature's gaze. The violet ring in his right eye blazed to life. A beam of uncanny purple light flared from Liam's right eye, striking the shadowy creature. The beast recoiled with a hissing shriek, its illusion over the boy instantly broken. The child blinked in confusion and stumbled backward into Tomlin's waiting arms.
Seizing the opportunity, one of the hunters hurled a spear, grazing the creature's flank. With an angry snarl, the injured Whisper Beast melted into the darkness. Its companions, confronted by torch-wielding villagers and the failure of their whispers, faded back among the trees with eerie, chittering cries.
For a heartbeat, all was still. Then a wave of relief swept over the gathering. They had driven the monsters away.
The boy's mother sobbed with joy as she scooped her son into her arms. She rushed to Liam, grasping his hands. "Thank you," she whispered, tears on her face. Others crowded around, voices overlapping.
"You saved him!"
"We should've listened to you, lad."
Elder Marta approached, looking humbled and grateful. "Liam," she said softly, "you were right. I'm sorry I doubted you. And thank you... for protecting our village."
Before Liam could reply, he felt himself pulled into a tight embrace. His father's strong arms encircled him, nearly lifting him off the ground in a bear hug. "That's my boy," his father said, voice thick with pride.
Liam laughed in relief, hugging him back. Over his father's shoulder, he spotted Tomlin a short distance away. His friend was muddy and bruised but alive, a shallow cut on his arm. Tomlin gave Liam a thumbs-up and a lopsided smile.
As dawn broke, painting the sky with pale light, the villagers gathered around Liam and Tomlin. They offered pats on the back, grateful handshakes, and countless thanks. The fear and distrust that had once shadowed their faces were nowhere to be seen. In its place Liam saw only gratitude and respect.
Standing amid his thankful neighbors with his best friend at his side and his father's arm still around his shoulders, Liam realized something had changed. The Eye of the Abyss had proven to be a blessing after all, a shield for the village rather than a curse. He had earned his people's trust, and with it came a profound sense of belonging.