The winds had shifted, carrying an acrid scent of decay across the enclave. Kael's Sight stretched outward, mapping distant threads of souls that moved unnervingly as if aware of his presence. The horde was regrouping, larger and more organized than before, their whispers forming a chorus that clawed at his resolve.
Kael walked along the walls, surveying the defenses. Every barricade, every trap, every Warden was placed with precision, yet he knew that brute strength alone would not save them. The battle ahead would demand strategy, patience, and control. Hunger stirred, insistent, offering a simpler path: feed, obliterate, and claim victory. Kael clenched his jaw and focused on the living, threading control through the remaining scattered souls, preparing them for the coming storm.
The Witch of Tallow appeared beside him, her presence calm but firm. "You have learned restraint," she said. "But remember: the horde will adapt. Every choice matters. The living and the dead are intertwined now, and every act will echo far beyond this battle."
Kael nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility pressing on him like a physical force. He watched as the horizon darkened with movement, knowing that this confrontation would test every lesson, every ounce of strength, and every fragment of his humanity.