Speaking of Ronan...

About an hour ago, Mary had been telling Ronan and her friend Bianca that she wouldn’t be joining them for a group mission. She was heading out to rescue a missing girl—well, kidnapped, more accurately.

They were on a training area in the academy’s gym. Bianca wanted to learn how to use a bow, so Ronan had lent her Joe to act as her instructor. Meanwhile, he had begun sword training with Tom, another of his skeletal companions.

Yes, it all seemed quite bucolic: two students training peacefully with their skeleton friends, all smiles and camaraderie. The only thing missing was a pastoral backdrop of rolling hills and blooming flowers.

But the smiles, frozen in grimaces on the faces of the other students nearby, told a different story. None of them had dared to tell the necromancer that you needed to book a time slot to use the courts. They cast sidelong glances, filled with unease, at the area occupied by the two undead. For them, those animated white bones powered by dark magic were nothing less than symbols of the twisted, malevolent soul of their necromancer master.

No, not idyllic at all, Mary thought. What a shame. The rest of the students really needed to learn to let go of their prejudices.

“By the way, Ronan,” Mary asked, “didn’t you already master the mace? Why are you training with a sword now?”

Bianca laughed and answered for him.

“Because he says it’s easier to master a new weapon than to improve his mastery with the mace. Plus, he wants the strength point. He’s still sulking over the hit Darius landed on him during the exam.”

In this world, gaining stats wasn’t easy. Basically, it came from leveling up or acquiring or improving a mastery. And leveling up was heavily restricted.

“Poor thing...” Mary began.

“So, an investigation mission,” Ronan cut in, ignoring her sympathetic remark. “What’s the intel?”

“The girl’s from a farming family that lives relatively close to Plinks, the village nearest the academy’s city.”

Joe, who had been positioning Bianca’s arms to correct her bow stance, froze mid-motion and turned his skull toward Mary.

“Her grandparents issued the rescue mission. The mother’s name is Eda. She went to look for her daughter and hasn’t returned. The girl’s name is Emmy Oakley. Her father died a little over two months ago.”

“Hey, that hurts,” Bianca protested, trying to pull away from Joe.

Joe immediately released his bony fingers, which had gripped her shoulder with too much force.

“Joe?” Ronan’s voice held a suddenly sharp and dangerous edge as his gaze snapped to the skeleton.

The skeleton raised his hands in a placating gesture and sent a mental image to his master’s mind. Ronan’s tense posture eased as he turned to Bianca.

“Allow me to apologize, my lady. Joe did not mean to cause you discomfort. However, I believe he knows this kidnapped girl. She is someone very dear to him.”

The skeleton, now shifting nervously from one leg to the other, nodded repeatedly.

As for Ronan, he always addressed Bianca that way. Mary found it odd—he treated her almost like a mistress, much as he was master to the skeletons. But, well, it was part of Ronan’s peculiar charm.

“Here, give Joe a pen... I mean, a quill and inkpot so he can tell us,” Bianca suggested, rubbing her shoulder.

“A pen? What’s that?” Mary asked, puzzled.

“Nothing, just a slip of the tongue.”

“It’s probably from that head injury you got. Poor thing! Once I improve my healing magic, I’ll help you,” Mary assured her earnestly.

Bianca turned to Ronan, daring him with her gaze to mock the fact that she was now the target of Mary’s well-meaning attentions. He merely shrugged.

“Actually, my lady, I completely agree with Mary.”

Bianca rolled her eyes and started to go off to fetch a quill herself.

“Wait,” Mary interjected. “What if I take Joe to a quieter place, like the library, and have him write everything down for me there?” She turned to Ronan. “Would you lend him to me?”

“Of course, if Bianca doesn’t mind practicing alone.”

“All yours,” Bianca replied.

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“Thank you for your help, Joe. You can return to Ronan now.”

Mary rose from her chair and watched the skeleton leave. Fortunately, the library was empty. Well, it hadn’t been the case when she entered with Joe; a couple of students had been there, but they had stared at her with such apprehension—an unusual reaction for Mary—that they left without a word.

Now alone, she took advantage of being in a place of knowledge to look up information about Cedric Thornspire. According to Joe, he was a baronet responsible for overseeing one of the towns under the local baron. His father had died a couple of years ago in a hunting accident. Plinks didn’t fall under the baron’s domain, but both were part of the Dravenholt Marquisate.

So, the baronet had gone to kidnap girls from another village… She’d need to investigate whether there had been reports of abductions or disappearances in the town he governed. She also needed to check if there were more cases in Plinks or if Emmy´s case was an isolated incident. And she couldn’t forget about the mother—she had to find her, too.

In times like these, being a commoner could be either an asset or a hindrance. An asset because it allowed her to blend in with the townsfolk and gather information naturally. A hindrance because she lacked the connections needed to inquire about Cedric or demand an audience in his town. She couldn’t just show up and expect to be received like someone important. In fact, no one had ever received her like that. But in the few months she’d been at the academy, she’d become friends with the prince’s group and had accompanied them to a desert dungeon. There, a military outpost had been overseen by a minor noble who had welcomed them with food and lodging. Something like that would be incredibly useful now. Should she ask the prince for help? Or perhaps Theodore, since his father was the Marquis of Dravenholt?

Yes, that might work. Either way, it was clear she needed evidence if she wanted to accuse Cedric before the baron.

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The next morning, Mary set out for the grandparents’ farm.

She first took one of the carriages the academy provided for students heading to the city. She asked to be dropped off at the main square, where she knew she could rent a carriage to Plinks. Money, since the dungeon loot had been divided, was no longer a pressing issue for her.

She wasn’t traveling alone. Ronan had insisted that Joe and Bob accompany her. The first one because, unlike his brother, he could write and, in addition to acting as a bodyguard, communicate with her. Bob, because he had personally requested the necromancer’s permission to join.

To avoid the typical reactions to the uncommon sight of undead companions—few mages had the high dark affinity required to summon them—they were dressed in leather outfits with gloves, masks, and hooded cloaks. They didn’t speak, but otherwise, they could pass for humans. Since they weren’t zombies, they didn’t smell. The clatter of their bones when they moved was another matter, but it was muffled by the clothing.

When they finally arrived at the farm, Mary asked the driver to wait for them. Then, the young woman got out of the carriage, followed by her two bodyguards, one of whom hesitated as if emotionally conflicted. Bob, undoubtedly. Mary approached the house.

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It looked old, its stone walls weathered by time. The mortar binding the stones was rough, and some areas had been patched with mud and straw. The entrance was a thick wooden door reinforced with iron bands. The thatched roof’s golden strands shimmered faintly under the sun.

The air smelled of the countryside and animals. The sounds of chickens and pigs came from nearby pens. Mary stopped before the wooden door and knocked.

“Coming!” a voice called from within.

Footsteps could be heard approaching and soon the door was opened by a stocky, ruddy-faced man with a beard beginning to show streaks of gray. He didn’t look older than fifty.

“Good morning, my name is Mary. I’m from the academy and I’ve accepted your mission to find your kidnapped granddaughter.”

The man’s expression lit up upon hearing her words.

“Come into the kitchen. Have some tea while my wife and I tell you everything you want to know.”

“Thank you. These are Joe and Bob; they’re accompanying me. Though they don’t speak much.”

The man greeted them, and they responded with a nod before all heading into the kitchen. The room was spacious, with a table in one corner, likely where the family gathered for meals. The farmer’s wife was already there, setting water to boil. Once she finished, she joined them at the table. The man stared at Joe and Bob for a few moments. His wife did the same.

“That’s strange,” she murmured. “They went straight to where our sons used to sit.”

“The girl’s father?” Mary asked.

“And her brother.”

Mary didn’t press further—she already knew they were both deceased. Instead, she made small talk about the farm, the animals, and the harvest while the water boiled. When it was ready, the woman returned with several cups of tea. Mary wrapped her hands around her cup, letting the warmth seep in before taking a sip. It was time to begin asking questions.

“Forgive me for asking, but I need to know how your granddaughter was taken.”

“We don’t know,” the woman replied. Her hair was tied back in a neat bun, and like her husband, she appeared healthy and well-fed. “Emmy was playing in the yard while I was hanging the laundry. I went into the house for a moment to grab more pins. I heard screams and rushed back out, but she was already gone. I saw men on horseback riding away. The colors on their uniforms belonged to the baronet. There were hoofprints on the ground, and her doll was lying there, broken. She would never leave without her doll.” Her voice cracked for a moment. “They must have taken her. She’s so little, and those hoofprints… I called out, I searched, I begged the neighbors for help, but nothing.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll find her.”

“What if they’ve hurt her?” The woman had managed to hold back her tears, but her fears betrayed her in that question.

“I have a high affinity for light magic. If she’s been hurt, I’ll heal her. And if I need a higher-level spell than what I currently have, I promise I’ll improve it and come back as soon as I can.”

The woman relaxed, her grip on the teacup loosening. Her husband patted her hand affectionately.

“We couldn’t have found anyone better to bring her back to us, especially considering the reward isn’t much,” the man said to Mary. “Thank you.”

“Save your thanks for when I bring her back safe and sound,” Mary replied with a smile. “Is there any other detail you can tell me that might help? For instance, has there been much traffic of riders passing through?”

“Only that bastard.”

“Darling…” his wife admonished.

“Let me call him what he is,” he retorted. “Cedric Thornspire. He came with his horses and entourage and tried something with the girl. Eda stopped him, and he tried to force himself on her. My son Gavin, Eda’s husband, challenged him to a duel. But when he and his brother were heading to the location, they were ambushed and killed. Bandits, they said. But there are no bandits in these parts. It was that bastard. He killed my sons and kidnapped my granddaughter.”

“Darling, you don’t know that about our sons. And my word alone, saying he took Emmy, isn’t enough. We can’t accuse a noble without proof.”

“But you can gather that proof, can’t you?” He locked eyes with the young blonde.

“I promise I won’t stop until I do.”

Bob and Joe nodded, as if they, too, were making the vow.

“Thank you.”

“What happened to Eda?” Mary asked.

“She searched for our little one around here, in the village, asking everyone. All she found out was that the same morning Emmy was taken, that bastard left the village and the inn. She told us and then went after him. The last we knew, she had reached Brindale, the town that bastard rules.”

“Here, these are Emmy and Eda,” the woman said, showing Mary a magically created portrait.

Such portraits were expensive, affordable only to a few families.

A young brunette woman smiled in the image, standing next to a little girl who looked like her replica. A young man embraced them both.

“That’s Gavin, my son. This portrait was a gift from his brother, bought with his first paycheck when he was promoted to elite marksman in the army.”

“I’ll find them. Both of them.”

“I just hope it’s not too late,” the woman said quietly.

Mary noticed a carved wooden horse on the table where they were having tea—a toy. She picked it up, hoping to shift the somber atmosphere brought on by the last comment.

“Was this Emmy’s?”

“It was her father’s when he was little. My husband carved it himself, and Gavin gave it to Emmy.”

Mary noticed Bob shifting in his seat. He was a skeleton and couldn’t cry, but he had a soul and undoubtedly felt human emotions.

“It’s beautiful. You’re very talented,” she said with a smile, handing the toy back.

The man reminisced about the time he made it, back when his sons were younger. Mary stayed a little longer, chatting with them before she finally said goodbye and headed back to the waiting carriage.

“Take me to the nearby village,” she instructed.

Mary climbed into the carriage with Bob and Joe and once they were on their way, she handed Joe some materials to write with.

“I won’t bother asking about the baronet at the inn, but I do want to speak to the mayor and find out if any other girls have gone missing. Joe, have you noticed anything I might have overlooked?”

Joe didn’t write anything. He simply shook his head.

“Anything you want to tell me?” she prompted.

He picked up the quill, dipped it in ink, and began writing on the parchment.

It’s been hard coming back here, not being able to hug them or tell them who we are. I… didn’t even realize we were sitting in the same place as always. For a moment, I thought they might recognize us.

Mary read it aloud so Bob could hear. Bob pressed a bony hand to his chest and nodded solemnly.

Joe hesitated before writing again, but eventually added:

Do you think that when we find them, we should tell them who we are? Or would that only make things worse for them?

Mary sighed as she read his words.

“I don’t know, Joe. If I were that child—or that wife—I think I’d want to know. However, it would be painful. It’s easier to believe a loved one is resting in peace than walking the earth as an undead. But you’ve told me yourself that you don’t want Ronan to send you back to rest, that you’re happy as you are. If we explain to them that you’re not a tormented soul, that you’re glad to be here helping them, I think it could give them peace—and, in time, even joy. Knowing they haven’t truly lost you and that your essence is still here could be comforting.”

Joe didn’t respond and Bob remained still—their version of silence. Mary felt like she was treading on thin ice. Just as she wanted to support the missing child, she also wanted to help them.

They continued in silence during the short ride from the farm to the village. Once they arrived at the town hall, Mary requested an audience with the mayor.

The position was held by a commoner since Plinks was a small village and had no minor noble overseeing it. They had to wait, as they didn’t have an appointment.

By the time her meeting was over, Mary had learned that four more girls had disappeared. Three had gone missing the previous day and another on the same morning as Emmy. At least, that’s what the mayor knew.

There was also a suspect: one of the blacksmith’s two apprentices, a young man who had left that very morning after leaving behind a letter saying he wanted to try life as a merchant. The mayor showed Mary the letter. It was poorly written, filled with misspellings and missing letters. While it seemed plausible for the apprentice—who had learned just enough reading and writing to log customer names and prices—it didn’t convince Mary.

The idea that he’d taken the girls to sell them as slaves felt more like a convenient excuse to blame him. For all she knew, the boy might already be dead, lying in some ditch.

Oh. Mary recalled something Ronan had once mentioned: he could sense places where someone had died—that’s how he had found his skeletal companions. And Ronan had three skeletons.

Joe waved a hand in front of Mary’s face to get her attention. They were already back in the carriage, heading toward the academy city.

“Sorry, Joe. I’m fine,” she reassured him, interpreting his concern from her silence and possibly anguished expression. “But… do you know who Tom was before he died?”

Joe and Bob shook their heads.

“Oh no…” she muttered. “Could he have been the blacksmith’s apprentice? Tell me, Joe, when Ronan raised you, was Tom already with him?”

Joe wrote a response.

No, my brother and I came first. Tom arrived about ten days later.

“Ten days,” Mary repeated aloud for them to hear. “Emmy’s abduction was over a month ago. It’s possible, it all depends on the time that passed from your death until Ronan found you. We’ll need to ask him. And, Joe, do you know how long you’d been dead when Ronan raised you?”

I don’t know, but it wasn’t long. My soul was still lingering near this world.

“Thank you. I’ll talk to your friend, master, or whatever Ronan is to you.”

Master and friend, Joe wrote.

Mary stared at those last words, deep in thought. She never would have imagined a necromancer being kind to his creations. Then again, she’d never imagined skeletons retaining their souls. She thought back to what she knew of Ronan, of how he’d been locked in a basement as a child by his parents—alone, in the dark, with only the rats he learned to raise as companions.

Did animals have souls?

That was a complicated question for a world where the gods had forbidden the worshiping or speaking of deities. But Mary, at least, felt that when she looked into the eyes of a puppy or any other creature, they seemed to have souls.

Poor Ronan.

Her eyes grew misty, and a tear threatened to escape. Mary felt a gentle touch on her arm. She looked down. It was Joe, trying to comfort her.

The undead showing compassion while the living murdered families and abducted children. The world was, without a doubt, not what she’d been taught as a child. Fortunately, she had an open mind, ready to shape her own truth. She would help everyone she could, because that was her way of being. Anything else would be a betrayal of herself. But she would pay special attention to those who showed their goodness through their actions.

And if that happened to be a dead man telling her his story? May it be so.