It was for honor.

My brother died for honor, and I perished in vain trying to save him. My second death, however, was for honor.

Allow me to introduce myself. My master calls me Joe, and I am a reanimated skeleton, a soul torn from the grasp of the afterlife to serve him. Before, I was called Galen, and I was an archer in the army of the Marquess of Dravenholt.

Life had not been easy, but neither was it without happiness. My younger brother, Gavin, lived and worked on our parents' farm with his wife, Eda, and their three-year-old daughter. Just days before my first death, I had gone to visit them during a week of leave.

For me, returning home was always a source of joy: gathering together for a hearty meal by the fire, listening to their jabs about when I, at thirty, would finally find a wife, teasing Gavin for being hopeless in combat… But on the second day of my visit, Gavin approached me with a furrowed brow. He looked furious and worried.

“Galen, Eda returned in tears. A stranger tried to rape her, but she managed to get away. Come with me to find him. I want to challenge him to a duel.”

“Brother, you’re no master with any weapon. Let me handle it. Someone like that doesn’t deserve a duel. Even an arrow would be too merciful, but it will suffice.”

“Normally, I’d thank you. The problem is that he’s a nobleman, a baronet.”

“That just makes it trickier if I get caught.”

“If you get caught, you’d be charged with murder, and you know as well as I do that no one in this village, not even among the guards, has your skill with the bow.”

“And you can’t report it to the guards because, I imagine, that bastard’s men would testify in his favor…”

“That’s why I want a duel.”

“It’s suicide. Give me some time to think of another solution.”

“No, I can’t bear to watch Eda fade away day by day. If I do nothing, she might start to believe it was her fault. I’ve seen it happen before. This affront must be washed away with blood. If I don’t act, it would be like admitting that bastard has the right to abuse our women.”

I saw the furious light in his eyes, fueled by anger and the desire to protect the woman he loved. There was no convincing him to wait. Not even Eda could have persuaded him.

“Fine, let me fight in your place.”

“No. You’re not a master swordsman either.”

“At least I’ve wielded a sword before.”

“No, she’s my wife. It’s my duty.”

I couldn’t argue with that. I understood him. If I had a partner and someone had tried to harm her… I wouldn’t let someone else handle it for me either. But I would’ve waited for the right moment, the right opportunity to take him down with an arrow, once he understood why he deserved it.

So, I accompanied my brother to the village, where we found the attacker in the tavern with his entourage. Gavin publicly challenged him to a duel for his wife’s honor. He wanted it to happen right then and there in the street, but the noble refused. He gave us a time and place: the village square at dawn the next day.

Only, we never made it.

The next morning, we left the farm early. I had lent him my sword and spent the previous afternoon teaching him some basic techniques. We’d also done some research: this noble was a coward. He had some basic swordsmanship training but had never developed it. He avoided combat, preferring to let his men fight for him. That’s why, if my brother showed determination and attacked as I’d tried to teach him, he might have a chance. Plus, the guards would be overseeing the duel, which would prevent the baronet from cheating.

But we never made it.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

We were ambushed on the way. I should have expected it—that a coward without honor who would assault women would try something like this.

Several of the baronet’s men emerged from the trees lining the path connecting the farm to the village, while others shot arrows at us. When I heard the whistling sound, I reacted quickly, throwing myself on my brother to knock him to the ground. It saved him, but I took the projectile in the back.

For a moment, the impact—a sharp blow that hadn’t yet begun to hurt—froze everything. I noticed more arrows falling and the attackers closing in, swords drawn. I knew the archers wouldn’t fire again. I thought that the two moons, still shining in the sky, would be the only impartial witnesses to recount what happened here tonight. I was wrong—at least about the witnesses.

The moment when time seemed to stretch and pulse with my heartbeat vanished. I found myself pulling my brother up, even though I was the one wounded.

“Draw your weapon,” I instructed, as I drew my dagger, since he now held my sword.

But it was futile.

There were too many of them; they knew what they were doing, and I was injured. My skills lay in ranged combat. The only small mercy was that I didn’t see my brother fall—that I went first, that the frenzy of the fight spared me the pain of seeing his eyes go lifeless. Empty. Knowing his wife’s honor remained tarnished, that he’d left her alone with a young child, and that his death was in vain.

For honor.

But in vain.

When Ronan found my corpse, buried alongside my brother’s by the side of the road, and raised me, I didn’t remember any of this. The memories and pain came back slowly.

----------------------------------------

The skeleton finished the last stroke with the quill held between the bones of his fingers. He set it down on the wooden table and handed the parchment to the young woman waiting patiently beside him. The candlelight illuminated her feminine features. She was blonde and beautiful, but what stood out most about her was the genuine kindness in her smile and the warmth in her voice and gestures. A few tears slipped down her cheeks as she finished reading.

“Thank you so much, Joe. I imagine it must be hard for you to share your human memories. I really appreciate it.”

If the skeleton could smile, he would have. Instead, he opened his jaw wide, and the small black flames in his eye sockets seemed to burn a little brighter.

The young woman had a high affinity for light magic. Any undead presence triggered an instinctive revulsion and irrational fear in her; but she had learned to ignore the former and calm the latter with reason.

Joe wouldn’t hurt her, and neither would Ronan, his master. She needed Joe’s help to track down the kidnapper.

“Please, I need the name of that baronet so I can continue the investigation.”

Cedric Thornspire, Joe wrote.

“And why do you think he’s behind the kidnappings?”

The skeleton continued moving the quill.

My brother told me when he also regained his memories: his wife was with his daughter when it all happened. At first, before attacking her, he tried to take the child.

Mary’s eyes widened as she read. Ronan, the only student at the academy with a high affinity for dark magic—the only one capable of raising the dead—had three skeletons. Were two of them brothers?

“Your brother?” she dared to ask.

Bob.

Mary sighed.

When she had taken this mission from the academy’s board, her only thought had been to help. There were simpler missions, like gathering flowers. They gave fewer points, sure, but you could complete them multiple times. Then there were those involving hunting monsters that had escaped from dungeons. But there was only one mission where civilians had pleaded for help in rescuing their kidnapped granddaughter. She couldn’t refuse it. Mary had a high affinity for light magic. In her world, those with an affinity for light magic were considered good, and the opposite was true for those with dark magic.

She and Ronan… they were opposites. At first, the young woman had looked fearfully at the scrawny boy who always sat alone in the dining hall, friendless. When her friends invited him to their table, though it had taken all her willpower not to leave when he sat nearby, she stayed. She would never discriminate against someone based on the color of their magic. And Ronan, despite supposedly being evil, had only ever shown her kindness.

Joe himself had sacrificed himself in a dungeon to save one of their friends.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find her. By the way…” she hesitated, “why did you save Darius?”

He’s young and reckless; he reminds me of my brother. I couldn’t save Gavin. I didn’t want to see anyone else die.

Mary sighed again, much more deeply than before.

These undead had memories. They seemed to retain their souls. The young woman understood less and less about why dark magic was supposedly evil.

She extended her hand, placing it on the bones holding the quill. For a moment, light and darkness clashed. Her instincts, which screamed at her not to get close to an undead creature, flared as she felt the cold touch of Joe’s bones. But her heart, which wept for a good man who had died twice to save others, comforted her. It was that warmth that carried into her voice, like molten honey, when she spoke.

“You’re a hero, Joe. We’ll save your niece. Then, I’ll ask Ronan to let you and your brother rest in peace.”

The skeleton tilted his skull, as though looking at her intently. He moved his hand gently, indicating he wanted to write. Mary withdrew her hand, and the quill scratched the parchment.

The master has given us a second life, another chance. He also considers us his friends. Thank you, Mary, but we don’t want to rest in peace just yet.

For some strange reason, Mary blushed. The skeleton’s words reminded her that Ronan wasn’t normal. They made her think about Ronan.