They sat up, heaving and drenched in sweat, blinking in the dim light of their warrens, the lingering shadows of their terror slowly receding. Meanwhile, the guards on the ramparts, their faces pale with recent fear, blinked rapidly, their gazes sweeping over the empty spaces where phantom figures had danced. They realized, with a profound sense of relief and lingering unease, that nothing had been there at all.
Among the ogres, the tension that had bristled between them evaporated as if by magic. Their raised weapons slowly lowered, and a deep flush of embarrassment spread across their rugged faces. They averted their gazes, unable to meet each other's eyes, the echoes of their harsh words and suspicions hanging heavy in the air.
It was at this precise moment, cutting through the lingering silence of realization and the murmurs of recovery, that Kaelen's voice resonated, clear and accurate, in the ears of every soldier, every mage, every ogre, and every ratfolk.
