At the western wall of Azkai, and outside it, a silence settled.
This quiet, so perfect it morphed and coalesced with the encroaching darkness, could be smelled in the cold evening air and felt in the ever-so-gentle touch of the wind.
It was, however, only the first layer of a larger silence.
The second, and most likely the faintest, stemmed from the hitched and suffocated breaths meant to hide fear, the squeezing of weapon hilts, and the rhythmic drops of sweat – all background noise to the chaotic harmony of pounding hearts.
All of this was a necessary foundation for the true silence to exist: the unmistakable hush of uncertainty laced with the acrid tang of fear.
Then, the sun dipped below the horizon, plunging the land into absolute darkness.
Only now did the final silence truly emerge, the one foreshadowed by all that came before. It resonated in the perfect blackness beyond the Vanguard lines.
