The day was calm and secure, accompanied by quiet snoring sounds echoing from cozy sleeping bags.
In the dark forest around the campers, silence was heard, and movement was chained. Peace at guard, allowing their nightly dreams to go on.
Yet, this safe zone did not guard against what lay inside man, beyond the material plane's reach… demons.
The things we call voices.
Accompanying Alistair were those demons. His eyelids fluttered, face in apparent struggle, body in preparation to move… to fight.
The sleeping bag on him started to tremble, legs shuffling inside without aim. It grew worse, worse and worse. Rampant. Chaotic.
D R E A D F U L.
The sleeping bag ripped open, and Alistiar sprung up in alarm, sweat-stained and gasping for much-needed air.
He scanned everywhere in alarm, surfing through the grasses and bushes…
…and he found nothing, not what he was looking for at least. His enemies.
