She started, began to call out and realized it wasn’t people.

The village had been abandoned. But the henhouses—some of the Gloomwrens must have been left behind. Violetta’s…Cara backed away. She walked away.

Towards the forest. It wasn’t dark. It was just black and white. Devoid of color. A few things moved, and Cara halted again.

She saw…a rabbit looking at her. It fled as soon as it saw Cara. It was alive. Not the same as the last one; this one had some white at the tips of its ears. But not everything had died. The animals had fled the undead and hid successfully—at least this one.

Through the forest. Cara stumbled over roots, but the way was familiar. She traced her path back to the beginning.

The Tomb of Afiele was still there. The dirt collapsed. The stone broken. But—Cara saw how the opening had been widened. The countless undead and the giant had excavated the tunnel.

Inside…the Tomb was in ruins. Every sarcophagus, each grave had been opened. The stone lids broken, tossed to the ground. Defaced. Cara stared around in shock.

The bodies were gone. The Necromancer had…she walked forwards.

Rows of graves she passed, each one now empty. The dead stolen. Cara tried to count.

Hundreds…thousands…his army, almost limitless in number.

He hadn’t even used all of them. Cara had barely walked for half an hour before she saw, in the fading light, an unbroken casket. It was almost a relief. It—it was intact. The ones before it had been plundered. But this one remained.

He hadn’t needed more. Saving this for later. Cara rested her hand on the cool lid and jerked it away.

She looked around. She had walked for days here. The [Necromancer] could come back and raise a second army, a third. He’d never be stopped, even if, by some miracle, Grishen managed to kill that giant and the thousands of undead.

The [Necromancer] had to die. Cara shuddered. It was such an obvious thought. She had never—she had daydreamed about it, with terrible people, her bosses. But this was the first time she had calmly, coldly, decided someone needed to die, no matter the cost.

If she had a sword she would have killed him. If she had a match and fuel, she would have burned the entire tomb to ash and dust rather than let him have it.

But if she could have done anything, it would not have come to this. She was too weak.

Cara sat there, in front of the grave. The light from the entrance was almost gone, but there was enough to see by.

“What am I supposed to do? I wish…”

She bowed her head. At last, she began to weep. As Ser Dalimont had done. That was how she gave up.