The village was nothing but ruins now. Roofs had collapsed inward, beams sagged and split, and whatever had once filled the buildings had long since rotted away. We moved slowly through what remained, stepping over rubble and ash-stained stone, searching for anything that might still tell a story.

  There was nothing.

  If evidence had existed once, it had been eaten by twenty years of weather and neglect. Wood had turned to pulp. Cloth to dust. Even metal showed only rusted ghosts of what it had been.

  After checking the last of the buildings and the nearby campsite, we turned toward the mass grave.

  As we approached, my unease deepened. The ground didn’t look right. The soil was uneven, disturbed, as though something had clawed its way up from below rather than been laid gently to rest.

  Cain crouched near the edge and examined the churned earth.

  “Hmm,” he said quietly. “Looks like we may have an undead problem. Hopefully they’ve moved on, but stay alert.”

  We began digging.

  It didn’t take long.

  The first thing my hands uncovered was small, too small. A child’s bones, fragile and pale against the dark soil.

  Illara recoiled sharply, a hand flying to her mouth.

  “I believed you about this place, Drisnil,” she said, her voice shaking, “but seeing it… seeing this makes it real. I can’t imagine what happened here.”

  Neither could I. And worse, I didn’t need to imagine.

  We kept digging.

  One body became five. Then ten. Then more. In the end, we laid out twenty sets of bones, arranged carefully on the frozen ground. Infants. Children. Adults. Families, reduced to brittle remains.

  Silence hung over us, heavy and accusing.

  Illara swallowed and stepped forward.

  “I’m going to cast Converse with the Dead,” she said. “This is the miracle Jenna’s been training me on for the past two weeks.”

  She knelt beside the bones of an adult and began to chant, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. A soft white light bloomed above the remains, casting long shadows across the clearing. Slowly, the bones shifted, lifting and aligning as if pulled by unseen strings.

  Illara drew in a breath.

  “What happened to you?” she asked.

  The response did not come aloud.

  Instead, a voice formed directly in my mind. Flat. Detached. Human.

  I was eating my lunch. Then I felt dizzy. After that, everything went black.

  Illara stiffened.

  “Do you know who did this to you?”

  No.

  “What was your name?”

  Elijah Varos.

  The light flickered. The bones collapsed in on themselves, turning to dust before our eyes.

  Illara staggered back a step, breathing hard.

  “It seems we only get three questions,” she said, wiping sweat from her brow. “And I can only cast that miracle once more today.”

  The effort had clearly drained her. Training or not, miracles took a toll.

  “Take a rest,” I said gently. “We can choose another body more carefully when you’re ready.”

  While she recovered, we examined the remains more closely, looking for anything that suggested their deaths hadn’t all been the same.

  That was when we found it.

  One set of ribs bore clean, deliberate cuts.

  My stomach twisted as recognition settled in.

  From my memories, there was only one reason for that.

  A mother, trying to spare her child from something worse.

  After nearly an hour of rest, Illara straightened and nodded to herself.

  “I can cast it again,” she said quietly.

  She knelt beside another set of bones, hands trembling only slightly this time, and began the chant. The familiar white glow gathered once more, slower than before, but just as steady.

  “How were you killed?” she asked.

  The answer formed in my mind, blunt and immediate.

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  I was stabbed through the chest.

  Illara swallowed.

  “What did your killer look like?”

  He was a soldier in black armour. Red beard. Pale skin.

  The description settled over us like frost.

  Barnabus.

  There was no doubt now.

  “What was your name?” Illara asked, voice barely above a whisper.

  Samantha Varos.

  As before, the light faded, and the bones collapsed into dust, scattering on the frozen earth.

  Norman exhaled slowly.

  “I think we have what we need,” he said, unusually quiet.

  He knelt near the edge of the grave, already pulling parchment from his pack.

  “I’ll sketch the site and write everything down while it’s fresh. Then we should leave.” He glanced at the remains around us. “Would you please rebury them?”

  I nodded. Cain was already moving.

  The two of us worked in silence, returning bones to the earth with care, this time giving each set their own grave. It felt… necessary. A small attempt at dignity after so much wrong.

  I was lowering the last of the remains when a sharp crack split the quiet.

  A twig.

  I spun around just in time to see them emerging from the trees.

  Skeletons.

  Ten of them.

  They moved with unnatural speed, empty eye sockets fixed on us, crude clubs clenched in yellowed hands.

  “Skeletons!” Cain shouted.

  Despite the ache in my arms and the fatigue weighing on me, I reached for my weapon instantly. The dead were already charging.

  Behind us, Illara raised her hands and chanted, her voice strained but resolute. Light flared, and five of the skeletons froze mid-stride, collapsing where they stood.

  Norman reacted a heartbeat later. Arcane symbols flared around his hands as he released four bolts of crackling energy. They slammed into the remaining skeletons, shattering bone and scattering fragments across the ground.

  One was left.

  It rushed Cain, swinging wildly. Cain sidestepped the blow with practiced ease and countered in a single smooth motion, his sword cleaving through spine and rib alike. The skeleton collapsed into a lifeless heap.

  We didn’t hesitate.

  Together, Cain and I moved through the immobilised skeletons, destroying them swiftly before the spell could fade.

  Silence returned.

  “Good work,” Cain said, sheathing his blade. “Skeletons aren’t formidable foes, but that was cleanly handled.” He turned to Illara. “Thank you for your help.”

  Illara didn’t answer right away.

  She swayed slightly, then dropped down onto a nearby rock, breathing hard.

  “You’re… welcome,” she managed before lowering her head, clearly spent.

  Cain’s expression softened, but his voice remained steady.

  “I’ll keep watch for anything else. Drisnil, please finish the reburial. Illara, rest. Norman, stay alert.”

  As ever, Cain took command without needing to raise his voice.

  I finished burying the remaining bones, including those of the animated dead. When it was done, Illara forced herself to her feet and whispered a prayer over the graves, her voice trembling but sincere. The air settled afterward, heavy but calm.

  Norman shivered.

  “I vote we leave soon,” he said. “This place gives me the creeps.”

  Cain nodded.

  “Agreed. We’ll return to the last campsite and rest early.” His gaze swept the treeline. “I have a feeling tonight won’t be easy.”

  The walk back to our previous campsite felt shorter than it had any right to. Fatigue dulled the distance, and we arrived with plenty of daylight still clinging to the sky.

  Cain set his pack down and looked between Illara and me.

  “Drisnil, Illara, you should sleep now,” he said quietly. “Norman and I will take first watch and leave dinner ready for you. We’ll wake you when it’s your turn.”

  I didn’t argue.

  Despite the lingering light, sleep came easily. Exhaustion won out, and this time I had Illara curled against me, her warmth a quiet comfort against the cold seeping up from the ground.

  It felt like no time at all before hands were shaking us awake.

  “Your turn for watch,” Cain whispered.

  We settled near the fire, keeping it low. Illara murmured her prayers under her breath while I scanned the treeline, forcing my tired eyes to stay focused. Shadows danced and twisted just beyond the firelight, every movement threatening to become something more.

  Nearly three hours passed before I saw it.

  A flicker of motion. Too smooth to be wind.

  Something slipped from one tree to another and froze there, half-hidden by shadow.

  Without taking my eyes off it, I reached out and gripped Illara’s arm gently but firmly.

  “It’s back,” I whispered.

  She stiffened at once and slowly reached for her bow.

  “Where?”

  “Tenth tree from the fire,” I murmured. “The one with the branch halfway up, pointing toward us.”

  Illara squinted into the dark, breath held.

  “I can’t see it,” she whispered back. “It’s too dark.”

  “That’s alright,” I said quietly. “I’ll keep watching it. You watch for anything else. If something rushes us, warn me.”

  The shape didn’t move.

  Minutes dragged by, then longer stretches of stillness. Doubt crept in. Had I imagined it? Fatigue had a way of making ghosts out of shadows.

  I resisted the urge to wake Cain or Norman. If it was gone, better not to spread panic. If it came closer… then we’d act.

  Nearly an hour later, when I was almost convinced the forest had won the staring contest, the shadow moved again.

  It didn’t advance.

  It fled.

  The shape darted deeper into the trees, slipping beyond the reach of my night vision and vanishing completely.

  “It’s gone,” I whispered.

  Illara exhaled slowly.

  “I was hoping it had given up,” she said. “Seems we’re not that lucky.”

  The rest of the night stretched on painfully slow.

  Every sound felt sharper. Every rustle set my muscles tight again. I forced myself to stay alert, even as my thoughts dulled and my eyes burned.

  I couldn’t keep doing this forever.

  But at least there were only two nights left.

  And if the creature was waiting for weakness, it was going to have to wait longer still.