The other ghosts turned their heads. The [Paladin] seemed to recognize Ser Dalius by instinct. She pointed, rising into the air. Her voice rang out across the battlefield as the [Necromancer] stared in horror. She raised her blade, shouting to the ghosts. Now, a confidence returned to it. A determination that was fiery even beyond the grave.

“To the Gravewarden and your home! For Noelictus! Fight! Honor your vows, until the last shadow dies!

Charge!”

Her scream was met by a roar from the ghosts of Afiele. They streamed into the air, following her. They howled as they flew, and the ghost they followed turned.

Ser Dalius saw the other ghosts for the first time. His eyes went wide. He nearly dropped his greatsword, hand reaching out.

“It can’t—”

Dalius saw the woman flash past him. She went through the giant’s head and out the other side, her blade carving a hole through its flesh. Arteis turned, catching herself, and caught his eye. She laughed and saluted him.

“Gravewarden! Lead our charge!”

Dalius was lost for words—but then he dove at the giant, sword descending. The other ghosts followed him.

The Zombie Giant swung its arms, but struck nothing but incomporeal forms, while the ghosts surrounded the undead. They threw spells and began hacking it to pieces.

An army without blood to share or lives to lose. Invulnerable. Unstoppable. Yet Sidheag had eyes only for one. That woman who led the others, the [Paladin] who blazed against her foes. The [Singer]

whispered.

“Arteis Ladel.”

The [Paladin].

Arteis circled, striking at the faltering giant again. Long-dead. Buried. She wore her death: a piece of shattered armor almost dead in the center of her chest. Fallen ages ago.

Yet she burns.

She burned even in death. The [Necromancer] backed away from the sight. The dead—the dead of Afiele! Ghosts!

“Impossible! So many? Where did they come from? How—how is this—”

They were besetting his army. Tearing apart his forces with contemptuous ease. A higher class of undead than he could summon. Not mindless figures but—people.

The folk of Afiele stared. Seraphel, the Thronebearers, the people of House Ladel—all lowered their blades. They had never dreamed of such a sight.

Duchess Grishen stared at the [Paladin] as she landed and cleaved through a group of Crypt Lords, roaring her fury. The old woman rubbed at her eyes with a gore-covered gauntlet.

“Arteis?”

She only stirred from the sight when she saw the figure in black robes fleeing. He left behind a silent little girl, running. No one was following him; the ghosts were attacking only the other undead, protecting the living. And the living were mesmerized.

“Necromancer!”

Grishen pointed. Her voice stirred the soldiers. They chased after the fleeing man, on horseback. The

[Necromancer] tried to make his undead mount go faster. The undead covered his retreat, fighting, holding back his pursuers.