Then she reached out and touched his cheek. Her fingers froze. The ghost’s very being froze her skin, turned her blood to ice.

She didn’t pull away. Dalius looked at her. He said something. Sidheag sang on. She cupped his head in her hands as she bent, smiling. Until he rose, she held him.

He was as immaterial as a breeze. As frozen as the coldest moment of winter. But there was something there. He was more than a ghost. More than just magic and memory. She reminded him of that.

Touched him, as she saw her fingers turn pale—and then begin to turn dark from the fingertips. He told her to pull her hands away.

She refused.

Cara whispered to him, as frost covered her arms. The magic sapped her energy. The touch of death.

Sidheag tried to lift him up. The [Knight] cried out her name as she closed her eyes. Her heart…she reached out and pulled.

Dalius saw Cara fall. The [Singer]’s voice faltered. He felt the magic of Afiele running through the ground, around her. The magic of death, which was meant for him. Not for her. Yet she called on it. Called on him and Afiele with her song.

Then her voice trailed off and she fell. Collapsing soundlessly as he reached for her. Dalius tried to catch her.

But he had let her down.

She lay on the ground as the ghost raged. He was too weak! And—he felt it. Heard it.

A coffin’s lid moved. It tumbled to the ground with a crash. The [Knight] saw a body rise. Something crept out of the grave made for him.

A body moved in death. Eyes glowed bright blue with fire. A Ghoul moved. Dalius tried to reach Sidheag as she lay there. He—

Failed. And wept as he saw more shadows moving. The [Knight] cursed his existence. His worthless second chance! He saw the dead figure moving. He saw the undead face turn.

A man. A [Farmer] in life. A son of Afiele! Dalius saw the undead reach out—

And grab the spells that bound him. Skeletal bones touched death without fear.

The [Knight]’s eyes grew round. A grave face—rotted, but a man’s—looked down at him. The eyes focused on the [Knight]. Dalius saw the man pull. And then another hand joined him.

A young woman, half-skeleton, her eyes shining with purple fire in their sockets. A daughter of Afiele.

Another hand. A young man, still wearing the armor he had died in.

The dead of Afiele rose to fulfill their promise. They stood, shaking off dust, coming back through the veil. They stood, stumbling, reaching out, and took hold of Dalius’ chains.