The bell didn’t ring this time. Nobody really knows when was the last time. Does it mean that they will not eat today? Or maybe the cook was asleep?

They went deep into the holes after the first attack. Why did they do so? Most of them only saw a gigantic cloud, speeding towards them across the desert. How do you fight a cloud? You can’t defend against it, weapons go through, and it infiltrates everything. So they did what they learned at the academy: they left the Wall, closed the gates, and went into the holes. They would come out later when commanders would give other orders.

They weren’t holes per say. Sure, from outside the Wall, you could only see small openings in the mortar. But come closer, and you’ll see massive openings, balconies, guard posts. Those defenses dot the Wall, providing a fantastic network of openings from where the Guardians could make the fire rain on their attackers. It was impenetrable. When one hole was attacked, another would open. Nobody from the outside could know how many manned the Wall, but the number was always greater than you would hope for. But it was not true anymore.

The first days after the attack, morale remained high. Commanders ordered to lit up all the passages, and you could hear sounds, music, the clanging of forks and knives. It was a siege situation, nothing more, and the cloud would pass over the Wall. They were confused, maybe a little afraid, yes, but alive. And they had plenty to survive.

But quickly, the sounds became dimmed.

The music faded. The forks and knives could still be heard, but they were scraping sounds now.

They would not come out, as the cloud was still upon the Wall. It was just a cloud, but it terrified them. It made them feel alone, hidden in their holes, even with thousands of others around. Music was always a good distraction for that, but no music is heard now. And with no music, they noticed a noise, constant, uninterrupted. They now hear the cloud whisper in their ears, their minds, louder and louder each day. It filled all the empty spaces, put out the torches, poked at the empty stomachs. It talked about fear, about hunger, about abandon. And now, most listened.

They could have left. Most of them spoke about trying their luck outside, with the cloud: why was everyone afraid of stupid fog? They would tell their mate about getting their shit together, gather gear, remaining torches, a few scraps of food, and open the gates.

A few prepared for it.

Nobody opened the gates.

Gear went missing, and fewer torches remained. The food vanished. The braves quieted, and now they listen to the deafening whisper of the cloud, more intently than everyone else.

That day — or was it night? Who could know, the cloud do not whisper the time. In any case, the bell didn’t ring. Nobody asked why. The cook was nowhere to be seen, and no one seemed concerned.

You could only see Guardians bent on their plates, their heads low, avoiding the glances of others.

You could only hear teeth and mouth, gargling noises of food ingested too quickly.

You could only smell meat, blood, sweat, tears.

And the cloud kept whispering.

“No need for a cook.”

“Eat him.”

“Still hungry?”

“Look…”