The words echoed through his mind in an interminable rhythm, the words growing stronger with each utterance. The voice that spoke those words was hushed and cold, like a whisper creaking out from a crack in the ice. 

With a start, Garrun awoke, breath shuddering, two of his hands grasping his delt-hide mattress while the third nursed his shocked face. All around him was darkness, lit faintly by the glow of his and his fellow Orr'uns' silver skin. He was bare-chested, every pec and abdominal tensed as if he was about to spring into war. 

Calming himself, he glanced about at the other slaves, many Orr'uns like him. They were fast asleep in their beds; many were snoring. All were oblivious to him. 

Garrun sighed, reflecting on his dream. He knew that voice. "The Whisper", the legends called it. It was said it greeted warriors in their sleep, to prepare them for their future wars and legacies. 

Garrun had never been much of a believer in the fantastical, unlike many of his people. Orr'uns were big believers in myths and legends; they were ruled by the prophecied words of wizened elders and seers, whose inane mutterings carried with them enough weight to make emperors kneel. 

It was on the words of the elders that we knelt to the Vorion Imperium, surrendered our conquests of Kela Major and Sihko to them, Garrun thought ruefully. The elders claimed it would bring us glory, but all the Vorion have brought us are chains. The Orr'un Conquest has collapsed, and the rest of our territories are now theirs. 

His chest tightened. His people had once been a glorious, warring race. They had conquered entire systems, faced down even the most furious of beastly entities. They had fought in great wars such as the Great Human Civil War; joining with the Ivoravi Federation and the rest of the so-called Allied Liberation Front in their fight against the Ethloriaans, the Orr'uns had achieved key victories in the Saturn Campaign. Garrun himself had marched on the bloodplains of the battlefield, following in the footsteps of his warrior father. He'd fought on the grass-deserts of Kela Major, in the warpholes of Vhoru, and on so many other worlds. Private Garrun, then Sergeant Garrun, and later, Commander Garrun. His only regret over his military career was that he had failed to become a general - though not for lack of trying. 

But no longer did the Orr'un wage war. Two years ago, following their failure to conquer the world of Vadkerheim in the Orr'un-Sacodiar War, the Orr'un Conquest had been on a downward spiral, eventually leading to the Great Betrayal by the elders and the Conquered Territories being absorbed into the growing Vorion Imperium. The Conquest had been dissolved and the Orr'un people conquered by the Vorions. 

Now the Orr'uns were weighed down by the chains of the Vorion Imperium, their backs broken and their lives spent. The thought made Garrun's insides coil in fury as he looked about at his fellow silver-skinned Orr'un slaves, lying peacefully in their beds. In time the Orr'un Conquest shall rise again. We will recover from the elders' Great Betrayal. 

Even now, a year after the Great Betrayal, many Orr'uns still believed in the elders' myths and legends. They were willing to forsake their lives for them. They believed in them, as if their very concepts were as sure as gravity or mass. 

In the past, Garrun had looked upon these people with scorn. But now, it had changed.

For two weeks, the Whisper had appeared in his dreams. Sometimes it had incarnated itself in its bestial form of tentacles and fur; other times, like tonight, it simply whispered icy words. 

But what does it mean? Garrun's square face twisted as he thought. But after many minutes thinking, he had found no answer. Determining that this was thought for another night, he flopped back onto his bed and fell promptly to sleep.