Cara—no, that wasn’t her name—Sid had always believed it was people who could do what had to be done in this world or any other. That—magic, miracles, didn’t exist. Hard work, rather than exceptionalism, had changed the world. That the greatest of history’s villains and champions had been people. Lucky, talented, but no different than she was.

But she had seen the army of the dead. The giant, made of malice and rot. Dark magic. The young woman closed her eyes.

“What are we supposed to do? What could I have done?”

She hit the stone coffin and felt her skin tear. The stinging pain wasn’t enough. The world was unfair. Sid had known that. She had just—believed it was unfair, equally. Everyone was a petty Human. Not with the power to bring back the dead.

The young woman buried her head in her arms as she sat there. She could see—even as dusk fell. She had been walking so long. Soon it would be night. She would…leave? Just run away?

Maybe she’d wait in the tomb. Crawl into a coffin and wait for the [Necromancer] to come back. If he did—she’d leap out and kill him, even if he brought back all the undead. It wouldn’t redeem her. But it would be something. Sid looked around for the hatchet and realized she’d left it behind.

She could still see. Dusk had claimed the entrance of Noelictus and the sky was never bright. Sid blinked back towards the entrance. Light had almost faded completely and it was so far away; just a glow.

Yet she still saw. Why? She wasn’t singing. No light came from her. She looked around and then saw it at last.

A pale glow. The [Singer] stood up slowly. She saw it, in the distance ahead of her. A…shape. A familiar light.

It couldn’t be. She stumbled towards it. And found him there.

Ser Dalius knelt on the cold stone floor. The [Knight]’s eyes were closed. His head bowed. His ancient armor covering his body looked—broken, as did the man.

At first, Cara thought she saw a web. A strange pattern of darkness around his familiar, glowing form.

She almost called out—and then hesitated. She didn’t know what she was seeing.

A dark…web? Cara stumbled forwards, and saw lines criss-crossing the ground around Dalius. The ghost never spoke. Nor was he standing or kneeling. He was…hanging.

Hanging, she realized, from a pattern of thread.

The ghost was bound by dozens of glowing strands of darkness. Blackness, given color and luminescence; it was darker than shadow itself. They shimmered, anchored to the coffins and ground around him. An unsettling vise, and Cara knew instantly who had created it to capture him.