Lina led the members of Krimlond on their return journey to Nuri'fon. The trek back was long but uneventful, with most of the group eager to return to familiar grounds after the tense encounters of recent days. They passed through several small villages, stopping briefly for supplies, but kept their pace steady to reach Nuri'fon by nightfall. The mood was somber but hopeful; everyone knew the hard work of rebuilding lay ahead. When they finally arrived at the city’s gates, the sight was a relief and a grim reminder of the devastation in Nuri’fon.

The group dispersed to rest for the night, taking advantage of the temporary respite. Lina allowed them the luxury of a full day to recover, knowing that tomorrow would start an intense reconstruction period.

The following morning, the city of Nuri’fon was abuzz with activity as all the baronies began rebuilding their respective districts. It was slow, painstaking work, with teams of workers clearing rubble and debris from the streets. The once-proud districts now lay in ruins, and the labor of restoration seemed almost endless. Lina, always pragmatic, organized the efforts with precision, her keen eyes surveying the damage and directing crews to the most critical areas. Once bustling with merchants and travelers, the city's roads were now choked with debris, and clearing them was the priority.

But as the workers dug through the rubble, they made a grim discovery. Beneath the crumbled stone and shattered wood, countless undead lay dormant, trapped beneath the weight of the destruction. These weren’t the mindless undead that served the lords of necromancy but rather victims of the battle who had been reanimated by the ritual that would animate any corpse. Without Zavet’s ability to control them, it would have fallen to the skilled knights of Nuri’fon to handle the situation. Though they managed, it was slow going. Zavet, still grieving at his family’s home, was sorely missed; his abilities would have made the task far more manageable.

Days passed, and while the physical rebuilding of the city progressed, a darker plot was brewing in the shadows. Edmond and Vlad, two prominent members of the Solond faction, returned to Nuri’fon under a cloud of deception. Vlad, always the schemer, had woven a web of lies about their supposed heroic return to the cave where Edmond had been lost. They spun tales of bravery and rescue to the kingdom's leadership, painting themselves as loyal servants who had barely escaped the enemy's clutches. No one questioned their story. The kingdom was too focused on recovery, and few had the time or desire to dig into the details of their absence.

Unbeknownst to the citizens of Nuri’fon, Vlad, and Edmond had darker intentions. They had returned with a far more insidious plan. The two had quickly turned the rest of the Solond members into undead, masking their appearance with the help of Merek, Lord of Liches. Merek’s necromantic powers allowed him to cast potent illusions, making the undead members of Solond appear as though they were still alive. Their skin took on a false warmth, and their eyes, which should have been lifeless, gleamed with an artificial vitality. By day, they moved freely through the city, masquerading as loyal citizens, soldiers, and workers. But by night, the truth of their monstrous nature was revealed.

Under the cover of darkness, Solond’s undead members would slip into the shadows, their hunger for life unquenched. They hunted with silent efficiency, targeting the weakest and most vulnerable citizens of Nuri’fon. Their victims would not be immediately missed: beggars, laborers working late into the night, and travelers passing through the city. The killings were calculated and designed to sow fear and weaken the kingdom from within. The bodies were often hidden, disposed of in dark alleys, or buried beneath the very rubble the city sought to clear. Any who dared to investigate too closely were swiftly eliminated, and Solond’s grip on Nuri’fon tightened with each passing night.

A week had passed since the rebuilding of Nuri’fon began. The city was slowly retaking shape, with every district buzzing with workers and knights clearing rubble, rebuilding walls, and fortifying defenses. Amidst the steady progress, a quiet tension lingered in the air. Having spent long days overseeing the reconstruction efforts, Merlot was finally able to rest when his daughter Yvonne woke him with urgency in her voice.

“Father. They found something. The knights think they have found the queen,” she said softly but insistently.

Merlot’s feet were on the ground before his eyes fully opened, the weight of the news jolting him from sleep. He dressed quickly, his mind racing, and followed Yvonne out of the newly constructed Razlond embassy.

When he arrived at the courtyard just outside the keep, he saw Talich speaking with Ulrich, the captain of the knights of the White Orchid. Talich held an old and ornate flail in his hands, its surface shimmering with faint, holy light.

“Your Majesty,” Ulrich greeted Merlot with a respectful bow. “Talich has brought us the queen’s flail.”

Merlot’s heart skipped a beat. “The Sanctifier?” he asked, barely believing it. The Sanctifier was no ordinary weapon; it had been the queen's flail, imbued with holy magic, a relic of immense power and significance.

Ulrich smiled gently and nodded, holding the flail out to Merlot. “Yes, your Majesty. It’s in remarkable condition.”

Merlot stared at the weapon momentarily, a mix of emotions crossing his face. Then, he sighed a deep and weary sound. “Thank you, Ulrich. You may have it,” he said, his voice softer now. “I believe it would serve the kingdom better in your hands. Use it well.”

Ulrich’s face filled with gratitude, and he bowed deeply. “Thank you, your Majesty. This gift means more than you know. She was my little sister. I loved her dearly.”

Merlot smiled warmly and understandingly. He had known the bond between Ulrich and the queen, and the pain of her loss was still raw for him.

But Ulrich’s gratitude was cut short by Merlot’s following words. “They think they’ve found her,” Merlot said, his voice tightening with emotion.

Ulrich blinked in surprise, and without another word, they left the keep, led by a knight of the White Orchid. The trio moved in silence, the moment's weight hanging over them. The knight led them down the quiet streets and past rows of half-rebuilt houses. Finally, they reached the city's outskirts outside the keep’s protective walls.

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There, wandering among the trees, was the queen. Or what remained of her.

Merlot’s breath caught in his throat as he saw her. The curse of undeath marred her once beautiful face. She staggered through the trees, her eyes glazed over and empty, yet she moved with purpose, searching. She was hunting for the living, driven by a hunger that could never be sated.

Merlot instinctively reached for the hilt of his sword, but he hesitated. His chest tightened as memories flooded back: her laugh, strength, and love for the people, and now, this... abomination.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” Merlot whispered, his voice hoarse. His hand fell away from his sword, trembling slightly.

The others stood in silence, unsure of how to proceed. Then, a familiar voice spoke up from behind them.

“May I suggest something?” came the voice of the kingdom’s mage, Elandor.

Merlot turned, surprised to see him. Elandor looked disheveled, his clothes in dust, as though he hadn’t slept or bathed in days. Dark circles hung under his eyes, but his gaze was steady.

“Elandor?” Merlot asked, half in disbelief, half in hope. “Please, do.”

Elandor stepped forward, his voice calm but urgent. “We don’t need to destroy her, not yet. Her soul is still within her body, trapped by the dark magic of her transformation. There may be a way to bring her back. To make her whole again.”

Merlot’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Bring her back? Is that even possible?”

Elandor nodded, though his expression remained grave. “It won’t be easy, but I can do it. We’ll need time, resources, and secrecy. If word of her condition gets out, it could cause panic. Let us put her in a cell for now. I’ll work on this in secret, away from prying eyes.”

Merlot’s mind raced as he weighed the options. Destroying her now would be merciful. It would put an end to her suffering, and yet, the idea that she could be restored, that there might still be hope, was too tempting to ignore.

“Ok, Elandor,” Merlot finally said, his voice heavy with decision. “But you will be in charge of this plan. No one else must know. We cannot risk it.”

Elandor gave a curt nod. “Understood, your Majesty. I’ll begin immediately.”

As Merlot stood by, watching the ghastly scene unfold, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over him: hope, fear, and a deep, gnawing sorrow. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as the knights of the White Orchid prepared to cast the spell that would bind the queen, his beloved wife in life, now reduced to a mindless creature.

The knights began their incantation, their voices steady and low, weaving together an intricate net of magic designed to hold an undead creature in stasis. The air around them shimmered with a pale blue light as the spell took shape, forming a translucent barrier that slowly encircled the queen. Her undead form, still moving erratically in her search for the living, froze in place as the magic began to take hold.

Merlot’s heart ached at the sight of her once-vibrant eyes now dull and lifeless, her skin pale and cracked. This wasn’t the queen he remembered, the woman who had ruled beside him with wisdom and grace. But a glimmer of hope flickered inside him as the spell continued to work, momentarily stalling the ravages of undeath.

Elandor, standing nearby with his spellbook in hand, observed as the knights completed their magic. The mage's face was a mask of concentration, the weight of the task ahead etched into the lines of his tired features. As soon as the spell took full effect, Elandor wasted no time. He approached the queen, now frozen in place, and began binding her with enchanted ropes infused with more protective wards. The ropes glowed faintly, pulsating with the same energy as the spell.

He wrapped her arms and legs with delicate hands, securing her movements while ensuring the knights' magic held firm. “We need to move her quickly,” Elandor murmured, his voice steady but laced with urgency. “The spell won’t last indefinitely, and we can’t risk her breaking free.”

Merlot nodded silently, too overwhelmed to speak, his eyes never leaving the still form of his queen. He had to believe in Elandor’s plan. It was the only thing that kept him standing, the only hope that maybe, just maybe, there was still a way to save her.

Once the queen was securely bound, the knights hoisted her gently and carefully to avoid disturbing the magical bindings. The procession began its slow march back to the Razlond Embassy, the sun starting to dip low in the sky, casting long shadows over the streets of Nuri’fon. The city, still while rebuilding, felt eerily quiet as they moved through it. Citizens toiled away, unaware of the secret mission unfolding beyond their sight.

As they neared the Razlond Embassy, the moment's weight pressed heavier on Merlot’s shoulders. This was not the triumphant return of the queen, not the joyful reunion he had dreamed of. Instead, it was a clandestine operation steeped in mystery and danger.

The Razlond Embassy was a towering structure with dark stone walls rising above the city streets. It had been constructed swiftly after the recent battles, a place for the kingdom’s allies to convene and plan. Now, it would serve a darker purpose.

Once inside, they moved through a series of narrow hallways until they reached a large, secluded chamber deep within the embassy. Elandor had chosen this room for its security and isolation, far from prying eyes and ears. Heavy iron doors swung open, revealing the cold stone room within. A few flickering torches dimly lit the space, casting eerie shadows along the walls.

“Here,” Elandor said, gesturing toward a reinforced stone table in the center of the room. “Lay her down carefully.”

The knights did as they were told, gently placing the queen’s bound form on the table. Elandor immediately began adding more wards and protective enchantments around the room, sealing it from outside interference. His hands moved with the precision of a surgeon, each gesture deliberate and calculated.

Merlot stood near the door, his eyes fixed on the scene. “How long will this take?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Elandor paused, glancing at the king with sympathy and determination. “I don’t know, your Majesty. The process of reversing undeath is... delicate. But I’ll do everything in my power to bring her back. It could take days, weeks, or even months. I must research ancient tomes and consult with other mages secretly.”

Merlot nodded, feeling the enormity of the situation settles in his chest like a heavy stone. He had to trust Elandor. There was no other choice.

The mage continued his work, placing runes around the room and making notes in his spellbook. “For now, we’ll keep her here, hidden from everyone. The fewer people who know about this, the better. If word gets out that the queen is undead, it could throw the kingdom into chaos.”

Merlot understood the gravity of the situation. The queen’s fate had to remain a secret for the good of the kingdom.

“I’ll leave her in your care, Elandor,” Merlot said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “Please, save her.”

“I’ll do everything I can,” Elandor promised, his eyes burning with resolve.

With one last lingering look at the queen’s still form, Merlot turned and walked out of the room, his heart heavy with the burden of hope and despair intertwined.

The plan had been in motion for weeks, carefully orchestrated by Merek in the shadows. The queen's sudden reappearance in the forest was no accident, all designed to play upon Merlot’s emotional connection to his long-lost wife. They knew the king wouldn’t have the heart to kill her, and they were counting on that mercy.