Silence filled the place heavy, suffocating. No light penetrated the walls, no breeze slipped through the cracks. The room that Irkalos had taken as his shelter wasn't a room in the usual sense; it was more of a den, a clay cave specially prepared by the organization to contain his untamable instincts.
His body was sprawled across the cold ground, twisted in a strange shape, limbs wrapped around himself like a primitive beast. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, barely audible, while his breath cast faint vapor in the darkness.
Irkalos doesn't sleep… he floats in states between slumber and wakefulness. His sleep is not rest it's dormancy. His mind never rests, even when his body does. The echo of blood spilled by his hands still rang in his head…
Suddenly… something changed.
He opened his right eye first. It glowed with a thread of flame, shining beneath the lid. He didn't move, didn't utter a word, just listened.
The atmosphere had changed.
