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MillionNovel > Whispers of the Fallen > Chapter 9: Whispers in the Fog

Chapter 9: Whispers in the Fog

    The streets of the town were eerily quiet, bathed in the pale light of a crescent moon. Elias walked with his head low, his steps purposeful. The medallion hung heavy around his neck, hidden beneath his shirt. Father Bennett''s words echoed in his mind: “The price of truth is always blood.”


    As he neared the cemetery, a thick fog began to roll in, swallowing the gravestones and pathways in its cold embrace. The air felt heavier, pressing against his chest with each breath. Elias gripped the spade tighter, his eyes scanning the murky gloom.


    Then he heard it a faint whisper carried on the wind.


    It was indistinct, like a voice heard through walls, but it was there. Elias stopped, his pulse quickening.


    “Who’s there?” he called out, his voice cutting through the fog.


    The whispering stopped.


    For a moment, there was only silence. Then the sound came again, closer this time, like a chorus of voices murmuring just out of reach.


    Elias turned in a slow circle, his heart pounding. The fog seemed alive, shifting and swirling as though hiding something within its folds.


    Then he saw them.


    Figures began to emerge from the mist, their forms barely discernible. Cloaked in black, their movements were slow and deliberate, as if they were gliding rather than walking. Their faces were hidden beneath deep hoods, and the air around them seemed to grow colder with each step they took.


    Elias backed away, the spade trembling in his hands. These were the Watchers—the enforcers of the Black Veil.


    One of the figures stopped, its hooded head tilting as though studying him. “Elias Thorn,” it said, its voice smooth and devoid of emotion. “You have meddled in affairs that are not yours.”This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The other figures stopped as well, forming a semicircle around him. Their presence was suffocating, a weight pressing down on his very soul.


    “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Elias said, though the lie sounded hollow even to his own ears.


    The lead figure took a step closer. “You carry what is ours. Return it, and your transgressions may be forgiven.”


    Elias’s hand went instinctively to the medallion beneath his shirt. “This?” he said, his voice steady despite the fear coursing through him. “This belonged to Abel Carter. And it’s not yours.”


    The figure’s head tilted again, as if amused. “Everything belongs to the Veil. You are merely a keeper of borrowed time.”


    Elias tightened his grip on the spade. He knew he couldn’t fight them—not with brute force. But he wasn’t about to surrender, either.


    “What is the Veil so afraid of?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm. “Why are you hunting me?”


    The figure paused, as if considering the question. “Fear is a mortal construct,” it said. “We do not fear; we control. And you, gravedigger, are an anomaly—a thread that does not belong in the tapestry.”


    Elias took a step back, his mind racing. If they viewed him as an anomaly, it meant he was more of a threat than he realized.


    He glanced around, searching for an escape, but the fog was impenetrable. The Watchers seemed to move with it, their forms blending into the mist like phantoms.


    “You think you can resist,” the figure continued, its voice colder now. “But the Veil sees all. There is no hiding, no defying what is inevitable.”


    Elias’s jaw tightened. He could feel the weight of the medallion against his chest, its strange energy pulsing faintly.


    “What if I don’t return it?” he asked, his voice defiant.


    The Watcher tilted its head again. “Then you will cease to exist, as all anomalies must.”


    The words struck Elias like a blow. He didn’t know if it was a threat or a prophecy, but he wasn’t about to wait and find out.


    He swung the spade in a wide arc, the blade slicing through the fog. The lead Watcher didn’t move, but the others stepped back, their forms flickering like shadows in candlelight.


    Elias seized the moment and ran.


    The fog seemed to thicken as he sprinted through the cemetery, the gravestones looming like sentinels in the dark. The whispers grew louder, a cacophony of voices that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.


    He didn’t look back.


    The shed came into view, its outline barely visible through the mist. Elias threw open the door and slammed it shut behind him, bolting it with trembling hands.


    The whispers stopped.


    Elias leaned against the door, his chest heaving. The silence was deafening, broken only by the sound of his ragged breathing.


    He turned to the table, his eyes falling on the journal. Abel’s words seemed to mock him now: “Do not run. Do not hide. Draw them into the light.”


    Elias sank into the chair, his hands shaking. He had seen the Watchers, stood in their presence, and survived. But he knew this was only the beginning.


    They wouldn’t stop.


    And neither would he.


    As the first rays of dawn pierced the fog, Elias made a decision. He couldn’t keep running, couldn’t keep hiding. If he was going to uncover the truth and fight the Veil, he needed allies, knowledge, and most importantly, courage.


    The Watchers were powerful, but even shadows needed light to exist.


    Elias lit the oil lamp on the table, its flame casting long shadows across the walls. He opened the journal to the last page and began to write.


    The Veil sees all, he wrote, his hand steady. But they have not seen the end. Not yet.
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