Lantal laid Risel to rest. He made sure no one would wake her again. He saw himself do it, and carefully folded her hands. His own hands were so calm, despite the blood.

Then he stood. The world was flashing white around him, but Lord Lantal had something to do. He turned as the door caved in. A monster came through it. A Draug.

No. One of Afiele’s sons.

Lantal greeted him.

The Draug died. Lantal walked past the body and leaned against the doorway. He stared blankly ahead, at the bodies of his friends and people. Then at the trail he left behind. He fumbled with the broken wood with one arm. The other hung limply. He didn’t feel it.

More undead were waiting for him. Zombies. Skeletons. Ghouls. Each one Lantal knew. Thronebearers.

Servants of the keep. Villagers.

One by one, they met and the [Lord] put them to sleep.

He walked down the stairs, limping. Lantal kept staring at his left foot. Counting his toes. It seemed like each step took hours, but he had something left to do. Each step…one after another.

Towards another familiar place. There should have been laughter here. Music and good food and joy, even under darkest skies.

They filled the banquet hall. The [Lord] leaned on a table as they turned to him.

The tables were broken. Bodies lay scattered around. The only light came from dead eyes.

A ruined place. Yet he thought he saw it, for a second. A vision of what had been.

There they were. Coming to him, the last living person in the keep. The [Lord] who bore the weight of their lives and deaths. Fitting. They had every right to him.

Lantal looked around. It was just—another second. Another moment of distraction. He saw so many familiar faces. He had known them all. The man’s eyes ran with blood and tears. His lips moved as his sword slowly rose in a hand almost as bloodless as the faces around him.

“I truly am sorry. Come. Let me put you to rest.”

He lifted his blade. The [Lord] greeted each of his subjects. He was smiling. A false smile at first, from a man trying to bring light into dreary days.

Then—genuine. Searching each face, each life, and giving them their due. His subjects crowded around him.

Lantal lost his footing. He stumbled, trying to catch himself, but he had lost one of his arms. He fell. Got up again.

Not yet. They were so tired. So was he. He saw it on their faces. So—Lantal’s arm rose and fell. He lost his sword, and reached out. Rest. Sleep now.

Again, they bore him down, but, somehow, he stood up. Picked up a blade, letting them hurl their grievances and hurt against him. Lantal stood for another second. Just one more minute. He was so weary. They all deserved eternal slumber.