The living drew back in fear, Dalimont shielding Seraphel. Yet the ghost drew no weapon. He knelt as the dead halted before the living, and looked up at the [Lord] of Afiele. He beheld the living, so few in number, and his features twisted in grief. Though he did not need it, he took a slow breath before speaking, head still bowed.

“Lord Afiele. I beg your forgiveness. I was the guardian of Afiele’s Tomb. My weakness let the

[Necromancer] raise an army. But for the aid of the [Singer], I would have remained imprisoned. I come to you now, with Afiele’s loyal dead, to make amends.”

The boy stared at him. He stared past the [Knight]. At Cara. She stood there, as the dead of Afiele waited. They looked…like they had in life. Their eyes were bright. Their features changed by time and death, yet still familiar. But still they stood.

Culin gulped and pointed at the ghost with a shaking finger.

“What are you?”

“Milord. I am Ser Dalius Bedornial of the Order of Shadowed Blooms. A son of Afiele in ages past! I died millennia ago. But I swore to defend Afiele and I still yet exist, though my bones are dust.”

His eyes blazed with life. The [Knight] stood and drew his greatsword. He knelt, planting the blade deep in the soil. He spoke, head bowed, gazing at the distant [Necromancer].

“I have failed Afiele once. Never again. Sire, allow me to fight until the end. Until the last fiber of my soul perishes or the enemy is vanquished. Please, Lord. Allow me my redemption. Give me the command.”

Culin turned to Seraphel. Then past Dalius at the dead. At Sidheag. His empty, focused gaze sparked. He glared at Dalius with grief, hands clenched into shaking fits.

“Father called for you. Where were you?”

“I could not answer his call. I failed.”

Dalius closed his eyes and bowed his head. Culin reached for the little dagger he carried and then let his hand fall away. He looked at Dalius.

“You were too late. You were too late. But—my sister is there.”

He pointed. His eyes shone. He looked at Dalius, pleadingly. The ghost shone in the fading light.

The [Necromancer] had halted his giant. He stared at Dalius. And at the [Singer]. With hatred. Anger.

Fear. He tried to control the dead, but someone was interfering with his magic.

A song.

“Please. Save us.”

Culin whispered. Ser Dalius nodded. He rose, lifting his greatsword. Ser Dalimont backed away. He stared at the ancient [Knight] of old as Dalius turned his head to him.

“Ser Knight. I know not your Order or sigilry. Yet, throughout the ages, our vows endure. I salute you in the name of the Order of the Shadowed Blooms of Noelictus. To whom do I speak?”

The [Knight] looked at Dalius, at a loss for words. Then, he slowly lifted his sword and tried to salute him.