A few minutes later, the boy ceases his cries and lifts himself to his feet. “Sir.” He says to the knight between sniffs. “What do I do now?”

“You need to go back to the gate.” Atticus says bluntly.

“But... what about my father's body?” The lad asks as he turns to the deceased man, desperation reigniting in his eyes.

“You can't drag it with you. Are those yours?” The knight points to the ground next to the older man's corpse. There's two shortswords and a round leather shield sitting on the ground.

“One of the swords is mine. The other sword and shield belonged to my father.”

Atticus walks up to the equipment and picks up one of the swords. It's cheaply made, but serviceable, as is the shield. He hands both of the items to the young man.

“Here. Take these and go.”

The boy hesitantly takes the sword and shield with a bewildered expression. “But... There's no way I can make it back on my own.”

“Let me ask you something.” The knight becomes stern. “Why were you and your father out here? What's your reason?”

“We...” The boy stalls with reluctance, but soon forces his story out. “We used to live in Newmanstead, the village further up north. We left in a blind rush once we we heard of the mist coming towards us. Our family now shares a home with my uncle – father's brother – and aunt, in Evatica. We're grateful to them for taking us in, but... My father recently decided he didn't want to impose any longer, so he began searching for work, and I joined him, but we couldn't find anyone who would hire us.

“Then I remembered my grandmother's treasure; a small box of silver cups, necklaces, bracelets, and rings that we kept hidden underneath our dining room, beneath the wooden floor and a layer of bricks. I told my father we should retrieve it. He said that it surely would have been looted by now, but... I urged him on and on until he gave in. So he decided to go, and I said I would go with him. He said he didn't want it, but I said if the both of us were beyind the barrier, we'd both make a wage, and he eventually conceded that, too. So we used the little coin we had to buy these cheap swords and shield and hire a carriage to take us to the gate, and we left for Newmanstead this morning, and... And...” Once again, tears start to well up in the boy's eyes.

“Continue.” Atticus urges him on in a calm voice.

“We... we got to our old house, and...” The boy's crying continues to escalate, but he pushes his words past his sobs. “Father was right. The treasure had been looted... Someone plundered our home and took it.” He begins to weep again, and occasionally screams out his blame. “It's my fault! I should have listened! I forced him to come here! I knew of the dangers, but I forced him anyway! For nothing!”

The knight, now informed of the situation, approaches the boy and place his hands on the lad's trembling shoulders. “Listen. When you are faced with a great loss, the best thing you can possibly do is pick yourself up and continue on. Do not let grief sap your spirit from you nor take away the parts of you that made you the son your father loved.”

He speaks sincerely from experience, but he also wonders if he is being hypocritical. Did running away from his home automatically take away from the person he once was? Did it mean the grief did take his spirit? His sympathetic lecture continues.

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“It hurts, and it will continue to hurt for a long time. You may feel the need to search for something to fill the hole in your heart, but the worst thing that you can allow is for the heartache to take your life. Men can only die once, so do not die in vain.”

The boy's glassy, moist eyes meet with the knight's expression of deep empathy, and knows his words come from a place of authenticity. He takes a deep breath and calms his voice down. “So what do I do now?” The boy asks.

Atticus nods lightly in approval at the boy's attempt to steel his resolve. “First, did your father have his card on him? You'll need to take it to headquarters so they'll know he has passed.”

“I... I think so.” The boy turns to look at his father's body timidly, but is unable to search for the card himself.

The knight walks up to the corpse and begins to pat it down thoroughly. He eventually finds the card tucked into the waistband of the father's trousers. “Your father is 'Willard Reese?'” The knight asks.

“Yes.” The boy answers.

Atticus stands up, and hands the card over. “Take this card, and that sword and shield, and follow the road south.” He points to the direction from where he came. “Do not stop for anything. If you come across an undead, run past them if you can. I cannot take you there myself, for I must reach the first Legion checkpoint by nightfall.”

“Are you sure it's safe?” The boy asks, hesitant to go anywhere alone.

“On my way here, I only came across one of them, which I killed. You should be fine. But you need to hurry. The sun will begin to set before you get there, and due to the mist blocking some of the light from the sun and moon, it will become darker earlier. What is your name?”

“Willard Reese, just as my father.”

“Alright. Willard, son of Willard, make your way back to Zenith Gate. Live on, not just for yourself, but also for your father. He said you have a sister and mother to look after, right? Do it for them, too.”

The boy pauses for one more reluctant moment as he looks to the misty southern path back to the gate, but he looks back to the confident knight and nods with his new resolve. “Okay. I will.”

“Good. Here.” Atticus retrieves his coin purse from one of the saddlebags, and pulls out one silver coin, which he hands to the boy. “With this and the coins you will get once you turn in your father's card, you should have enough for an overnight stay at the inn, some food, and a carriage ride back to the capital.”

“Thank you, sir knight.” The boy's face turns from grief and panic to gratitude and relief.

“Think nothing of it. Now go. Hurry.” The knight nudges Willard down the southern road, and the boy begins his journey with a jog. “Stop for nothing, young Willard!” He shouts one last piece of encouragement, before the boy's figure slowly fades into the cover of the grey fog.

As Atticus places his helmet back on, thinks about whether or not he really helped the boy enough to ensure his safety. Maybe he should've taken him to the gate with Annaliese, but, as selfish as it may sound, the knight does want to catch up to the mage's group, and escorting Willard would have undone all the progress he made today. He isn't completely sure why he feels so inclined towards that unknown pyromancer, but after hearing more of the dangers of the affected region, he feels more compelled to possibly join up with a group of fellow Mistwalkers, though that might just be an easy excuse. The knight thinks about the unfortunate boy and his ill-fated father, and quietly hopes the lad has the courage and will to survive and carry on as a son and brother once he returns home.

After the knight's introspective moment, he hears the rustling of dirt and grass nearby. He notices nothing that he hasn't seen around him already, until the sound is heard again, and his attention is drawn to the body of the elder Willard. He watches the corpse attentively for a brief, perplexed moment. The body's limbs twitch and spasm grotesquely until its motor functions develop the wherewithal to move in slightly more natural motions and with intent.

The undead Willard manages to push himself up to his feet, where he leers at the knight with threateningly mystifying yellow eyes constrasting with his grey, pale skin. He pathetically shuffles towards Atticus one short, awkward stride at a time with unintelligible, bestial snarls and growls coming from his mouth. The knight is frozen in both puzzlement and keen interest in this birth of a new undead, but once the walking corpse nearly enters arm's reach, he unsheaths his heavily worn straightsword and unleashes a strong horizontal swing at neck level, severing the formerly living man's head from his shoulders as easily as cutting through the air itself. The cadaver falls where it stood with a thud, and the head rolls several feet away.