“…Dalimont of the Thronebearers of Calanfer.”

Dalius’ head bowed. The ghost traced an ancient greeting in the air with his left hand and looked Dalimont in the eyes.

“Then I beg you, permit me the first charge against the foe.”

“Of—of course.”

The [Knight] nodded weakly. Ser Dalius took a breath, though he was undead, and rose upwards. Into the sky. The ranks of the living parted as the dead of Afiele advanced. Cara walked with them. The wordless song still in her throat. She could feel the [Necromancer] fighting her.

He was snarling, fighting with his magic against her music. She met his eyes across the distance, across the souls bound to this world to destroy it, and those who had returned to guard it. His eyes and hers.

His desperate, hating, wretched stare. Wavering as she looked at him. Cara sang louder, drawing on her anger. Her grief. Her fury towards him that no words could express fully.

She refused to give him Afiele’s dead. And the greatest among them, Ser Dalius, floated in the air.

The [Necromancer]’s army still outnumbered them. Mindless undead moving forth. Yet—as they drew closer, their stumbling march slowed. Burning flames, glowing eyes, locked on Dalius.

As if they recognized him.

The ranks of Afiele’s dead slowed, and the ghost halted. He floated above the ground, and his greatsword rose. One-handed, he pointed it upwards. Marking his foe.

The Zombie Giant was moving. Advancing. A pallid mass of rotten flesh, sloughing off, discolored, stinking, blotting out parts of the sky itself. Destruction of the living embodied. A foe no normal mortal could face.

Dalius’ eyes glowed with a burning anger. The [Knight] cried out, his voice ringing with fury and grief such that the living and dead heard him.

“Sons and daughters of Afiele, forwards! In death or life—defend your home! Remember your vows! Let none of these abominations live. [Singer]—give us the strength to bring death back to Afiele!”

Dalius looked back towards her. Sidheag raised her voice in reply.

The undead in the [Necromancer]’s army shifted. For a second, their blank hatred faded. Some of them shook themselves, like dreamers beginning to wake.

——

Feremont cursed. He fought to control the vast horde. But he had not the power to control each one.

And they were turning—zombies clawing at Draug, who smashed them down. Skeletons attacking Ghouls. Only the Crypt Lords were united, controlling the undead around them with dark malice and hatred.

The song. It woke the dead. The swaying little figure next to Feremont slowly raised her head. Yet the

[Necromancer] seized the minds of the dead, ordering them forwards.

“Kill them. Slaughter them. For revenge! For…”

He thought he heard an echo of his voice. Until he heard the voices and realized the call for vengeance came from them.

Feremont blinked. He looked up again and saw her eyes. Living eyes, not reversed by death magic. Yet…