Annel awoke in a makeshift graveyard. He was beside a shovel, and a pile of dirt. It seemed he'd run out of energy while reburying his mother.

He sat up, brushing dirt from his hair, and looked around.

It was morning, now. A soft mist hung near the ground, but the rising sun would soon burn that away. Birds were chirping and calling in the distance.

There was no sign of the spectre -- his mother.

He found himself on his feet, sobbing and screaming her name. "Mom! Devra!"

The mania passed slowly, until his sobs trailed off. He swayed, staring out at the forest. Gradually, rational thought returned.

She had been out the night before, blunting the edge of her hunger. Who knew the depth of a spectre's appetite? He certainly didn't.

He lowered his head, closing his eyes against the brightening sunlight, and thought. There was a link between an undead and its creator. He'd felt it before, during experiments, when he briefly returned small animals to life.

The soul was a limited domain. He sat back down and began methodically searching his own for clues.

After some time, he found something. A thread of energy, leading away from his soul into the ether. Its essence was distinctly different from his soul, allowing him to place a mental finger to keep track of it.

He reopened his eyes, lifting his hand to shield them against the growing intensity of the light. The direction he sensed the thread leading was toward the forest.

After a moment, he shook his head, deciding not to tweak the thread. He was light-headed, dizzy, prone to emotional outburst -- in part because he hadn't eaten for over a day. After regaining his feet, he trudged back toward the village.

The sheep lay where he'd left it outside the temple, the blood from its gashed throat hard and dried, flies crawling in and out of the open mouth. For some reason, larger scavengers had stayed away. Looking at it reminded Annel of the blood on himself. He began to scratch at his stubbled face, dark bits falling away as he contemplated what to do.

Of all his varied experiences -- he'd seen animals slaughtered as a child, but he'd never been the butcher. But now, there was nobody to teach him. He'd have to learn through practice.

Having retrieved his ceremonial knife from the temple, he began sawing through the spring wool and skin, cutting away the top layer. The carcass had begun to rot, but the smell wasn't what he expected. It exuded a nearly sweet scent, almost absent of the sour smell of decay. He raggedly cut away a chunk of tough meat and carried it in his hand to his cookfire.

Thankfully, there was still wood. He piled up all that was left and lit it with a mageflame in several spots, impatient to begin cooking. Then, while the flames grew, he found his small cast-iron pan and its wire stand, setting it up over the fire and placing the meat in it.

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As it begin to sizzle, he felt something. Turning to the forest, he watched carefully.

A shadow flitted over the ground, picking up speed as it moved past the trees. In moments, it reached the shade of the temple's wall, where it regained depth, rising up and flaring two blue dots.

"Mother," Annel said respectfully.

"Son. I have hun-ted. There are no more ani-mals nearby. Are you hungry?"

The voice was still a bit uneven, the words clearly being sounded out syllable by syllable. But it was stronger now, speaking almost at human volume.

"Yes, mom. I'm cooking some meat."

"It looks... dead."

He paused. "Isn't meat usually dead?"

"Yes. But things look different now."

He nodded. That was to be expected. Then his mother spoke again.

"I have eaten my fill. Let me try to give you-"

The shadow floated closer. Annel felt a chill invade the air around him -- not exactly a chill. Something more profound than mere coldness. But he held still, trusting her.

Sensations rippled across his skin. None were pleasant. Then he felt a trickle of something.

She was feeding him. Not food; his stomach was still empty. But he felt more energized. He stayed motionless for a while, until he his head cleared somewhat.

"Thanks, mom. I feel better now. I should still eat real food, though."

"You might want to stop burning it, then."

His mother drifted away, leaving him to see the pan clearly again. The hunk of mutton was making popping noises, and smoke was billowing up from it. Annel frowned, then edged closer, using the tip of his knife to try to flip it over. Hot grease hit him in the arm, prompting him to pull back and wipe it off before he was burned too severely.

One of his teachers, Master Gimson, had been able to handle red-hot iron with bare fingers. Annel regretted not following the path of Fire for longer. Then again, if it were just for cooking...

He managed to stab the meat onto the tip of the knife and flip it, revealing a burnt underside. Then he quickly pulled back, wondering how he'd get the pan off the fire.

Mentally, he called up his list of people to resurrect. Perhaps his Auntie Ulla, one of the village's best cooks, should be moved up in importance.

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Later, after Annel had eaten as much of the charred, tough mutton as he could stomach, he relaxed back against a wall. He was sitting inside the temple, while his mother floated nearby.

"Mom, I'm low on components. We'll need to go and gather more."

"What is your goal, son?"

"I'm going to raise everyone. Not as Spectres, like you. I'll start with lesser forms of undead."

"Everyone?" She billowed gently. "Surely the bodies are rotting away."

"I placed preservation runes on all the bodies that weren't lost in fires. Even those that had been dismembered."

"That will stop rot, but not keep away insects. Unless it's a type of spell I don't know."

Annel snorted in amusement. The spectre's raspy, directionless voice almost sounded like it had a speech impediment, making him hear "incest" instead of "insects". It had been weeks since he'd felt amused by anything, but his mother's presence was helping him to finally relax.

"You're right, mom. So it's important that I continue to move quickly."

"Maybe I can help destroy whatever pests are in the earth, tonight."

"Yes, please do. I buried our family near the middle of the field, but everyone else is in rows."

For a moment, Annel's mind returned to the day he'd reached the village -- arriving to find the remnants of the orcish raid, then the feverish hours after, as the Charunian army had arrived. He pushed the memory away. That, too, was something he hadn't been able to do before.

"About the components. I think we'll need to go to another human settlement for them."

His mother moved fitfully. "We?"

"Yes. I don't have money and... I'm also a wanted criminal now."

"My son. I thought you were the successful one. A black sheep after all?"

A strange noise sounded out. Annel looked up, warily.

"That was me. I need to practice my laugh."

"Oh." He chuckled.

"So, tell me your plan. What will a rogue mage and a spectre do to collect components?"

"Well, here's what I have in mind..."