Trath stares at me intently from across the makeshift bonfire he lit using the broken carriage wheel. He clutches a long silvered blade under his arm, leaning his weight onto it as he bends over. It reflects both the moonlight and the firelight, even covered in part by his blood. Man, all these intestines and innards are serious weak points for humans. I sit opposite to him, letting the fire dry the mud on me.

“You're actually a skeleton,” he mutters. “I thought I was just seeing things…” He pulls the weapon a little closer.

“I am a skeleton, yes. You act as if you've never seen one before.” I realise as I watch him speak, that he's moving his jaw and I'm not. Weird. What makes my voice?

“I have,” Trath replies solemnly. He takes a large gulp from a water jug he had on the carriage. “Hundreds, in fact… Perhaps thousands. Armored undead taller than pine trees, sieging my city, breaking down walls and slaughtering the innocent like ants. None of them ever talked to me before though.”

“Or saved you.” I add.

“Or saved me,” Trath confirms. He scans me over again. “Why do you want to go to a city? Do you carry diseases? An evil spell that will activate?”

“I need to find a glassworker,” I say, staring back.

“You take me for a fool?” Trath growls. He makes to move, but winces, using the sword to point instead. “What's that on your crotch then, if not rocks inscribed with runes?”

“Gold to pay him.” I open the sack and show him.

Trath just stares, jaw slightly open. Trying to articulate something difficult, perhaps?

“By the council, there must be hundreds in there!” Trath gives me another judging look. “This reeks foul.” He pauses, before adding. “Alph.”

“Listen, I carry no diseases, I wish death to no one of your people and I don't even think I can crush anyone like an ant or tear down walls with these boney old arms. I just… I want to be. You know?” I stand and draw a little closer, and Trath stirs, palm gripping the hilt of his weapon. I clear some of the mud from my chest and point to the core. “And to continue being, I need to seal the crack in this. I know you humans like money, so I brought it with me to pay.”

[ Charisma has been increased by one.]

Trath leans back and seems to think for a long time as he stares at me. Eventually, he chuckles. “Lucky you met me… A lesser, dishonourable man would have cut you down where you stand and taken your gold.”

“Lucky you met me too, aren't you?” I reply. “Otherwise you'd be dead. And not the moving kind.”

“Also a reason you're still standing. Tradition of my family demands that I respect your wishes and what you may ask for in return for my life.”

“Then you'll take me to a glassworker?” The core within me tingles with excitement. When I set out on this quest, I didn't expect it to be this easy.

“It won't be that easy.”

Of course.

“Finding an artisan skilled enough to repay the arcane core won't be an issue if I utilise my guild connections, especially if you're willing to part with that amount of gold.” Trath rubs his temple, causing wrinkles on the skin of his forehead. Disgusting. “The problem is that it'll be hard to explain… Well, you. There is a destroy on sight policy for undead in Paroxa.”

“Bummer. Where's the nearest city that allows them?”

“I… Hate to break it to you Alph, but no city permits them. No city that's still standing, that is.”

“I see. From your tales, I guess the humans have suffered at their hands, so that makes sense.”

“Not their hands.” Trath shakes his head slightly. “The unseen hand that moves them. The damned liches are at fault, unearthing ruin wherever they are. The corpses… They're mindless, dead things. They used to be brothers, parents or friends, but after death they are nothing but bone and tissue that moves.”

So that confirms my suspicions! Mistress was controlling us for her own nefarious schemes after all. I stare at Trath as he pokes the firewood with a stick, before throwing it in. Despite being stuck and starving, his muscles are visible beneath his clothing, and his hands seem calloused and bruised. The hair on his head is long, stuck to the side of his head by the roadside filth. I can't help but wonder if I looked like that once. If I had such muscles covering me, blood running through veins and hair.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

This is the longest conversation I've had in… well, ever since I can remember. Despite fearing me at first, he seems to understand. He tells me important things that he knows. For a human, he's not that bad. Despite not feeling the warmth of the fire, I feel a strange sense of companionship as we sit there.

“We do think,” I tell him after a bit. “Even as we're controlled.”

Trath stands a bit straighter and looks at me, eyes growing a little wide. His knuckles turn white as he grips the hilt of his sword.

“Simple thoughts, things that those who brought us back want us to think. But every once in a while… there's glimpses. Memories of our past life. Of people and places.”

Trath stares at me, and his hand rubs over his mouth. He seems to be reminiscing as he leans forward, into his palm. The fire cackles and I can almost see the scenes playing out reflected in his eyes.

“Let's go,” he says abruptly, sitting up with difficulty. “I know how to sneak you into the city.” He throws dirt on the fire to it out, before limping to his carriage.

“How?” I ask, following after him.

“First, help me out with this.” With a huff, he pulls on a wooden crate and it drops to the dirt hard. “It’s pure voght-ore. Worth way more than the carriage or anything else on it. I’ll hide it for now and send someone to fetch it later.”

“Okay.” I move to the other side of the crate, squat just like he is and try to lift, but the metal is too heavy for me. Makes sense, considering I got only 7 strength and all. It seems my attempt was Trath needed. With a pained huff, he lifts one side of the crate and drags it into the forest, setting it behind some trees and bushes.

I steal a jealous glance at his muscles as he does it, then back at my own. My intelligence, wisdom, and now even my charisma have all grown, but none of my other three stats have done that. They have to do with my body… And I get this feeling that no matter how many dead-lifts I manage, my strength won’t increase. Am I doomed to be frail and weak my entire li– existence?

“You coming, Alph?” Trath asks, throwing a saddle on the horse and climbing over with some difficulty, clutching his wound.

“Yes.” I walk over and pause in front of the creature. From this angle and with the time to observe it, I can see the beading, smooth muscles. My jealousy intensifies. This thing could probably shatter every bone I own with a single kick.

“Don’t worry,” Trath says, patting the side of the horse, mistaking my jealousy for apprehension. “Balri over here jogar-born. He can carry many times the load of a normal horse.”

I look at the beast again and jump, fingers trying to find purchase… anywhere. Balri neighs out a laugh as I fall on my pelvis, coin pouch jiggling. Before I have time for another attempt, Trath grips one of my side bones and hauls me up with ease. Did I really weight that little?

“Go boy! Yah!” Trath wastes no time, delivering a poke with his heel.

Balri neighs, and I can discern some joy in the animal’s cry to be moving again. It gallops, and the trees turn into a blur around us, dirt road a constant stream of brown. I grip Trath’s clothes a little tighter, fearing I’ll fall off. My core whirrs as yet another unknown feeling swells inside me. My thoughts rush ahead to the city we’re about to visit. Paroxa, Trath had called it. Was certainly my first time hearing of that name, yet I give it a thousand different forms in my mind. Trath remains mostly quiet on our way there, not alleviating any of my curiosity. All that comes out of his is the occasional huff after each pit Balri crosses.

“What’s jogar-born mean?” I lean forward and ask. If it made the horse strong, could it make me too?

“Jogar is a famous bioarcanist, probably the best one this side of the kingdom.” Trath kicks Balri’s behinds, eliciting the horse to go even faster. “He breeds animals together, creating toughened beasts of burden and war.”

“Huh, that’s interesting. Can I meet this jogar?”

“Bwahahahaha!” Trath let out a guttural laugh. First time I’ve heard him do that. “Not even provincial kings can meet him. The council barely gets to. I’m sorry friend, but I doubt you gor a chance.”

“What’s the council?” I ask. I’d heard that mention several times, usually when the villagers tried to threaten Mistress. But considering she had me gut them whenever they did, I never learned much about it.

“You really know nothing, huh?” Trath asked. “How about the great light curtain? The sunlight massacre? Do they ring a bell?”

“I– Well, no.” Suddenly, I felt lacking. Why were there no books in Mistress’ library about these topics if they are so important?

“To cut it short, we– The light won.” Trath said with some pride, leaning forward on the saddle. “All good aligned mages and knights formed a coalition that struck against the dark hard and fast. And though powerful, all the liches, shamans, death knights and other dark forces were too disorganised. Too slow to respond. But while crushed, evil is an oddly resilient thing. Darkness still clings to the far ends of the world and slowly grows, my mentor says. Well, the Cilian council consists mostly of past heroes that fought in the war, too old to fight but wise enough to rule. To guide the new heroes against the encroaching dark. Just a couple of days ago, Wilmot crushed an evil witch who was terrorising a village south of here.”

Probably not a good idea to mention I am– was part of her minions, then. Besides, after Mistress’ betrayal my thoughts of revenge against Wilmot weren’t so all consuming. He did ruin my home, but I guess revenge about that could wait. We reach a clearing, and the sight of a city in the distance puts my thoughts to rest. Seeing it up close is really different. Stone walls, smoke rising from chimneys and towering spires with weird sigils on them that glitter under the first rays of dawn. It feels so alive. So… human. But not in a bad way.

“Aye, boy.” Trath pulls on the reins and Balri slowly stops galloping.

“Why are we stopping?” I ask. “We’ve almost reached the city.”

“Exactly.” Trath dismounts and cracks his knuckles. “I’m sorry about this.”

Then, without a hint of hesitation, he grips my femur and dislodges my left leg.