The drifting wind screeched, sweeping past steel and tin. Loud wails echoed from everywhere; source found nowhere.
The warehouse of gloom and lingering danger twisted the minds within. Their hearts raced inhumanly, drifting on an endless trail of fear. Drenches of sweat stained the floor damp, pilling, never to end.
"They're coming," Alistair said while sitting above the warehouse with legs sprawled. By his sides, Amilia stood at attention and gazed ahead. Her eyes dimmed, cold.
She had also seen the carelessly approaching individuals, less like traders and more so slaves to the task. Like a free kill for the Beheaders to easily take the goods: things weren't looking good.
"Alas, we must remain calm regardless of the changes," Alistair added, resting his forehead on his index and middle. "We have nothing to fear if we believe it does not exist."
"Is that why you're seated here? You have no fear in your heart?"
