Once the group puts a safe amount of distance between themselves and Levinburg, they slow their speeding horses and finally gather their thoughts for the first time since their narrow, nearly unsuccessful escape.

“I didn't expect something like that to happen this far south.” Veros speaks his thoughts.

“What the hell were they all doin', crowded in front of the chapel like that?” Kellar asks what everyone else is wondering. “You think there's any reason?”

Veros shakes his head, “We haven't seen anything to suggest that there's any rhyme or reason to anything they do. But it is curious.”

“Is it the only chapel in the area?” Atticus asks, attemptong to find and connect any dots.

“It is.” Veros answers. “Levinburg's the largest town in about a forty mile radius, and the only place with a chapel.”

“Do they worship any specific god there?”

“Not just one, but multiple.”

“Maybe something in the mist compels them to be there?” Royd chimes in with his own theory.

“I won't rule out the possibility.” Veros responds, not completely convinced either way. “But figuring out why they're there isn't as important as simply surviving them.” Veros looks around to examine the condition of his comrades. “So, is everyone good?”

“Aye. Better than ever.” Royd responds with a nod.

“Heart's still goin' about ten miles a minute, but I'll be fine.” Kellar replies, still appearing exhausted.

“I'm alright.” The knight announces.

“I hope the next checkpoint sells arrows to passing Mistwalkers.” Erik confirms his condition with a veiled complaint of needing to use so many arrows in so little time.

“...I'm fine.” Zyra responds in a near whisper-quiet voice, her face still drenched in sweat.

“Good.” Veros continues. “We're just past halfway to the second checkpoint. The worst of the day's journey is behind us, but we still have several hours of travel ahead.”

“As long as we aren't cuttin' through another town, I'm fine for another five hours of sittin' on my ass.” Kellar resumes his griping. “It's safer on this empty road than it is being chased by an army of corpses in a crowded town.”

Royd begins rummaging through the food bag hanging from his horse's side. “That little chase worked up quite an appetite, though.” He pulls out a massive peach and takes a huge, enthusiastic bite out of it, causing its juices to spray out in multiple directions. The muscular warrior continues to speak while his mouth his full. “I think now is probably a good time to eat. If all the undead in the area really tried to gather at the chapel, we should be free to enjoy a meal without any interruption.”

“But the northern gate was closed-off.” Kellar replies. “Wouldn't there be more undead on this side of the forest?”

“They might've fallen into the river trying to enter the town.” Royd listlessly hypothesizes as he throws away the core of the huge peach he's already devoured in record time. He reaches into his food bag for a second.

“'Might've'? Are you daft?”

“Royd has a point.” Veros interjects. “It's highly unlikely we'll run into a worse situation, so now's as good a time as any to fill your stomach.” The team leader reaches into his own food sack and pulls out a healthy red apple.

“I'll pass.” Kellar looks away with a sour expression. “That whole ordeal turned my stomach. I feel like I'm closer to bringin' up my last meal than I am to downin' another one.”

Erik quietly decides to dig into whatever he can grab from his own sack, but Atticus looks over to his quiet mage partner, who seems to be sulking. Her gaze is fixated downward, toward the dirt slowly passing underneath her. Her nervous sweats seemed to have stopped, but now an expression of mixed worry and deep disappointment has washed over her face, frozen in a state of pensiveness and brooding. He wants to offer words of encouragement, but ultimately decides against it, not wanting to put a light on her insecurities in front of the others and risk embarrassing her further.

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The group spends a few more hours trudging through the dense, misted forest, cautious of any surprises that may be lurking behind the tree line at either side of the empty road they journey on. Veros, Kellar, and Erik each maintain an increased state of alertness, no doubt unwilling to find themselves in another dire, unexpected scenario; closely examining almost every stone their steeds step over, and every branch of every tree they pass. Royd doesn't seem too bothered at the idea of another fight, as one might expect from such a sturdy and eager fellow. Zyra, who has fallen to the back of the group with Atticus, has finally lost the look of self-defeat she had earlier, but the feeling is almost certainly still lurking beneath her skin. The knight can't help but throw multiple curious and concerned glances her way. Suddenly, she turns her head in time for her eyes to lock with his.

“...Are you okay?” Atticus asks without being specific.

Zyra looks to the other men, who are a small distance away, facing forward, preoccupied with keeping an eye out for undead. “Not really.” She finally answers in a soft, but listless voice.

“Does it have something to do with what happened earlier?”

“You saw me, right?” The pyromancer looks toward the ground again, dejected. “I'm... no good.”

“We can talk about it, if you'd like.” The knight offers his sincere assistance.

“You can help me?” Zyra slowly brings her gaze up at him with a hint of desperation in her eyes.

“I can try.” He replies with a nod. “It's been a long time since I last used pyromancy, though. I can't guarantee I can tell you anything your teachers already haven't.”

“I'll take what I can get.” She responds, returning her stare down towards to ground in front of her.

“Why did you become a Mistwalker despite knowing how much trouble you have?”

“It's not despite my trouble. It's because of it.”

Knowing the implication of her reply, Atticus pries further. “Why such desperation, then?”

“I...” Zyra hesitates to answer initially, as she looks at the men in front of her again. She finishes her response in a very hushed voice. “I'm on the verge of failing...”

“At the university?”

“Yes.” She nods lightly, and continues to go into detail in a whisper. “My second year there is coming to a close, and if I don't improve soon, I'll get kicked out. I only barely passed my first year exams.”

“You'd risk your life in such a dangerous manner just for your grades?” The knight can't help but be perplexed at the situation the mage finds herself in.

“I have my reasons.” Zyra closes off the explanation. “So will you help me?”

“Sure.” He nods. “I'll do what I can.”

“Thanks.” She replies somberly.

“Hold!” The conversation is halted by the sound of Veros's commanding voice. The group stop their horses. “There's a small group ahead.” He points forward, where the figures of four shambling undead wandering onto the road from the forest can be seen.

“They haven't noticed us yet.” Kellar adds.

“Let's get a closer look. There could be more ahead of them.” The stern leader announces, and the group proceeds forward slowly and cautiously. As they close in on the group of walking corpses, the mist begins to clear and allow a better view of them.

“Wait a minute.” Veros suddenly speaks again. “I recognize those robes.” Two of the undead before them are wearing long, bright blue robes, and though they've become covered in dirt and filth, it's still easy to notice the intricate patterns and embroidery on them.

“I think I've seen 'em, too.” Kellar interjects with agreement. “Those robes are worn at the monastery in Evatica.”

“Yes, by the monks.” Veros adds in an inquisitive delivery. “What are monks of Idrid doing out here?”

“Look at their faces.” Kellar points with the tip of his dagger. “There's almost no flesh left on 'em. They've been dead for a very long time – practically skeletons now.”

There's virtually no skin left to be seen on the cadavers' faces, only small patches here and there, and few strands of hair still attached to their rotted scalps. However, their pondering is cut short when the closest undead, one of the monks, notices the Mistwalkers, and begins to walk at them with deliberate aggression.

“Well, let's get them off the road.” Veros declares as he dismounts his horse.

“I'll join you.” Royd announces, with a hint of his usual eagerness for a fight. “I need to stretch my legs.”

The two men take their weapons and approach the corpses. Veros first uses his shield to bash the undead clergyman away, then follows up with a strong horizontal swing of his sword, cleanly slicing its head off as it struggles to regain balance. Royd is more straightforward, opting to simply bring his axe up, and swing it down vertically with immense power on the first undead he encounters. The amount of force practically crushes the walking stiff as if it were made of paper. Each man repeats the process once more on each of the two remaining enemies.

“I don't see any others around. Guess it's just these four.” Royd proclaims after examining the surrounding tree lines. Veros stands next to one of the supposed monks to get a closer look at him.