No one was there to listen. She collapsed across the tomb, too tired to move. Too afraid, too weary to go on.

She might have lain there forever.

But for the light. It came from the tombstone ahead of her. An anomaly among the endless similarities.

Illuminated. Not by her iPhone’s light, not an artificial brightness, but gentle. The words turned into shining letters, etched into stone.

She pulled herself upwards, staring at the engraved words. The material looked like…sunlight. If you could write with it. And the light was soft. Beautiful. She caught her breath in a sob. The tomb was no different than the others in shape. Yet at the same time, it was. The stone was smoothed, an illustration carved into the front. A sigil. A…coat of arms? Someone had taken more care with this grave. And the words…

Arteis Ladel. Lost her parents to sickness and grief. Her sister to the Goblin Lord’s ravages. Yet she burns.

May the world never forget her name, the Crusader of the Dawn Patrol. She falls, but evil cannot remove her. [Paladin], Level 43.

The words burned. They shone golden. And they made the visitor’s head rise. It was just chance. A story told in deaths.

But this unknown woman, this Arteis, had lived. And out of all the innumerable graves, she had not let grief crush her. She had risen. So too did the young woman rise. On limbs that shook from fatigue.

“Never. Arteis. I hope you were real. Because I won’t—die. Not yet.”

She stood up. And rested for a second on the slate sarcophagus. Taking strength from the glowing letters in the darkness. Then she walked on.

She was tired. She was dying. Her throat burned from lack of water. Her mind conjured nightmares. But if she died—let it be proudly. So she pressed a button. The iPhone glittered to life. Artificial power, not as beautiful as the…magical engraving. But still, it shone.

And—the iPhone had multiple functions. Not just a phone call that didn’t work, or light to chase away the darkness. She had almost forgotten it, in the need to save energy.

39%. She hadn’t turned it on in hours. But now, she did. She called on the failing device. Called upon its magic as she unplugged the earphones and pressed a button.

A song began to play. It was not her first choice. It was a product of the ‘shuffle’ function. Chance let the music blare out of the tiny speakers.

That was alright. It was the right song. Perhaps—most songs would have been the right one. But this one spoke of home.

A guitar began to play, a repetitive melody. And as the melody played—the young woman began to sing.

In the silence. Among the dead. The song had no voice. But it needed a voice. It was—karaoke. Meant to let someone fill the gap.