The pounding stopped.
For a heartbeat, the silence was worse than the noise. Every ear strained toward the barricade, every muscle taut with dread.
Then—CRACK.
A jagged line split across the upper plank of the door, splinters raining down like brittle snow. Someone gasped. The wounded stirred, some crying out in panic as the chanting outside grew louder, fevered, hungry.
"Get more wood on it!" Lareth barked, already moving, Renna at his side. Several knights, still limping from their injuries, forced themselves to join, shoving tables and heavy crates toward the entrance.
The second blow came harder—BOOM—snapping another plank clean in half. Through the widening gap, a sliver of darkness seeped in—not shadow cast by light, but shadow that moved of its own will, curling like smoke seeking prey.
Aurean was on his feet before thinking, Verethian drawn in a sharp, ringing note that cut through the chaos. The blade's glow flared faintly, pushing back the tendril as if it feared the weapon.
The thing outside hissed, a sound that scraped against the inside of their skulls.
"Hold the line!" Lareth shouted, though his voice shook. The knights slammed more planks and furniture against the breach, sealing it just as another shadowy claw reached through—only for Aurean to slice it clean off. The severed wisp dissolved into ash before it could touch the ground.
For now, the barricade held. But the pounding resumed immediately, relentless, as if whatever was outside had all the time in the world.
And inside, no one could shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.
Night inside the barricaded hall was a strange thing—there was no true darkness, only the dim orange glow of scattered lanterns and the constant shadows swaying across the walls, thrown by the restless figures who couldn't sleep.
The pounding outside had faded hours ago, replaced by a low, distant rumble—like the sound of waves breaking on a shore no one could see. But no one believed the danger was gone. The air itself felt thick, like it was listening.
Aurean lay on his side at the table they'd all claimed as their own, the blanket Serin had given him wrapped tight, though the cold still seeped through. He could hear Thalan's quiet murmurs as he spoke to Maleus, Lareth's heavy boots pacing in slow arcs, the occasional groan of the injured from the far side of the hall.
Then—
A sound.
Not from the hall. From the door.
Aurean's eyes snapped open, his grip instinctively tightening on Verethian's hilt.
"Aurean…"
It was a whisper. Soft. Urgent.
He sat up slowly, scanning the room. No one else reacted—they hadn't heard it.
"Aurean… let me in…"
His blood went cold. The voice was wrong. Too smooth. Too perfect. It was Rythe's voice—yet not.
He rose silently, moving a few steps toward the barricade.
"I'm hurt," the voice continued, just above the thinnest breath. "Please… open the door."
Something scraped against the wood—fingers, or something pretending to be fingers. Aurean's knuckles whitened around Verethian.
The sword's faint light pulsed once, warning him.
Another whisper came, sweeter now. "It's safe out here… I promise…"
Aurean took a step back.
The voice stopped.
In the silence that followed, the cold deepened.
The stillness didn't last.
A sharp thud rattled the heavy wood of the door. Aurean froze, every instinct screaming at him to move—but where?
Another thud, louder this time, sent a shiver through the barricade. The sound carried an ugly rhythm, not like knocking, but like something testing the strength of the wood.
Lantern light flickered as people stirred. Mira was the first to lift her head, her voice groggy. "What was—"
The third blow hit hard enough to make dust rain from the beams above.
Now everyone was awake. Chairs scraped. The injured cried out in startled pain.
A low hiss came from the other side of the door—long, serpentine, and layered with too many voices speaking at once. The words weren't human, but the malice in them needed no translation.
"Stay away from it!" Aurean barked, moving between the door and the others. Verethian's blade flared to life in his hands, its pale light casting jagged shadows over the barricade.
The thing outside slammed against the door, a wet, cracking impact that made the timber groan. The iron bars holding it shut screeched in protest.
Serin clutched the blanket tighter around her as Thalan moved to shield her. "How many of them are out there?" she whispered.
No one answered.
From outside came a final scrape, like claws dragging slow and deliberate along the wood… and then, sudden silence.
The quiet was worse than the noise.
No one slept after that.