The battlefield was alive with chaos as Gerhardt stood surrounded by his comrades, their collective breath catching in their throats.
The old mage's hands trembled, gripping the reins of his magical lizard as a deep, ominous rumble echoed through the smoke.
At first, it was faint, barely noticeable above the din of battle, but it grew louder, deeper, more insistent with each passing moment.
"What... what is that?" one of the mages whispered, their voice barely audible over the low-frequency hum that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.
Gerhardt didn't answer immediately. His sharp, weathered eyes scanned the horizon, his magical senses tuned to the eerie fluctuations in the air.
His heart pounded as the pressure built, heavy and oppressive. It wasn't just sound—it was weight, like a mountain pressing down on their chests.
