120. The Dance of Greys
It began with a single remnant moving forward, then it continued with another, then another—the motions passing down the line like a rippling wave. Isaac watched, transfixed, as the beings began to twist and turn, bodies folding and contorting in ways that seemed impossible and inhuman. They should’ve looked painful, and yet every bend and rotation remained smooth and soft. Effortless.
More remnants entered the open, barren field, climbing down cliff sides and over rocky hills to join at the back of the procession. The line snaked forward, inching ahead with each twisting step taken. Matte white bones looked soft in the grey dust that rose beneath them, blurring their edges, and amorphous bodies shimmered, iridescent and gleaming like jewels.
The movements themselves were repetitive, rising and falling like the consistent rhythm of breaths. Collectively the remnants formed a swaying mass, slowly stretching closer and closer towards the horizon. Eerie and beautiful in equal measure.
They were dancing, Isaac realized. That’s why it was called the Dance of Greys.
He didn’t realize he’d muttered the thought out loud until he heard Mortimer’s responding hum.
“It should be about now,” the half undead man remarked.
Isaac’s brows furrowed and he glanced at his friend, but before he could ask, an ear splitting crack pierced through the air, many times louder than the first had been. The Traveler flinched and grabbed his ears instinctively.
From that first initial sound, smaller, faster ones followed. A low rumble rose all around them, and Isaac realized the ground was shaking. He looked up, and his eyes widened.
Across the hazy sky, a fissure had formed, extending from the horizon to so high up in the ream that he had to crane his neck to see its end point. Smaller cracks branched out from that larger rupture, crawling outward and fracturing more and more of the sky as if it was simple glass.
And then, once the fissures had spread across the entire expanse of the sky, that first initial crack opened a little wider. Isaac sucked in a breath.
Massive, skeletal hands crept through the thin opening, gripping the edges of the broken sky. A void of darkness extended beyond it, swallowing any light that tried to pass through and highlighting the contrast with the stark white bones.
Those hands tightened their hold. With another piercing snap, they slowly began to push open the two halves of the sky, widening the gap and revealing more and more of that inky darkness. The grey earth trembled from the motion, and for a crazed second Isaac wondered if the entire realm would fall apart.
All at once, the hands stopped.
For a second, everything fell still, silence draping across the barren landscape.
And then, from within the darkness, the owner of those hands slowly slipped through the opening.
The being leaned forward, just their torso extending through the gap. Isaac tilted his head back, utterly dwarfed by the figure, who was even more massive than the titans. The skeletal hands alone were larger than the cliff he and Mortimer sat on, extending into a body that was half flesh, half pure bone.
A long black veil cloaked the figure’s face, swaying and rippling in the wind. Isaac’s muscles tensed, half expecting one of those hands to shoot out and grab someone.
Instead, a long, spindly finger merely gestured down at the procession, as though beckoning them closer.
Down below, the dance didn’t stop. The remnants continued their flowing movements, moving forward to the new rupture formed on the horizon, unbothered by the figure gazing down at them from above.
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Isaac watched, holding his breath, as the remnants in the front of the procession disappeared into the darkness, passing between the split pieces of the sky and vanishing from sight. More followed, none of them slowing down, simply dancing without pause into that void. All the while, the huge veiled figure continued to observe, still and tranquil.
Isaac remembered Mortimer’s theory on the Graveyard. His eyes darted to the line of remnants. Perhaps this ceremony was them passing into the next stage, exiting the Graveyard and moving beyond.
The Traveler leaned a little closer to get a better look. Unable to resist his curiosity any longer, Isaac slipped out the tablet, just enough to peer down at the stat sheet flashing across its screen.
NAME: MORRIGAN
SPECIES: UNDEAD
LOCATION: GRAVEYARD, THE GREY LINE
[CLICK TO EXPAND DETAILS]
ATTACK: 31
SPEED: 22
SKILL: 31
DEFENSE: 60
INSTINCT: 29
INTELLIGENCE: 41
STAMINA: 53
CALCULATED LEVEL: 93
Mortimer spoke just as Isaac’s eyes landed on the name listed at the top of the sheet.
“Morrigan, the queen of the Graveyard.”
The half-undead man’s eyes didn’t move from the fissure in the sky or from the veiled figure. He simply sat there, still. Something passed in his gaze, an unfamiliar, unreadable look that Isaac had never seen on the man before.
Isaac remained silent, slipping the tablet back into his pocket. Somehow, it didn’t feel right for him to break the silence, to interrupt the procession of remnants. He understood, acutely, that he was a foreigner to this realm. A living soul fortunate enough to have witnessed this thanks to Mortimer.
Beside him, the half-undead man shifted his weight slightly.
“I never knew who my parents were.”
Isaac blinked, turning to face him, but Mortimer’s eyes remained fixed ahead. His expression didn’t change, but he spoke slowly, carefully.
“It might be foolish, but ever since I first saw this procession, I always thought Morrigan must be my mother.” He lowered his gaze a little. “I don’t have any proof, but it’s something I’ve always believed.”
It occurred to Isaac, as he studied the man, that he, too, was out of place in the Graveyard. Half undead and yet half alive, he would’ve been the only “living” soul in the realm while he was growing up.
Isaac slowly turned back to the procession. He remembered flashes of an empty apartment with flickering lights, schoolyards wrapped in metal fences. He wasn’t like Mortimer, who likely had no knowledge at all of his origin. He’d always known who his parents were, even if he’d never felt much of a connection to them. They’d been distant figures, rarely seen, and among his classmates, he could never get rid of the feeling that, compared to them, he was unmoored.
Perhaps that was another reason he’d grown up resenting Lloyd. He remembered seeing the way his parents had looked at Lloyd with pride. His brother, to him, had always had the connection that he lacked.
Isaac stared down at the procession again. For a moment, he pictured the souls of Lloyd and Olzu and even Remus among those remnants.
“…I think that’s normal.”
Mortimer slowly turned to face him. Isaac continued, brows furrowed in thought.
“I mean, if you don’t know for sure, then it’s not like anyone can say you’re wrong,” he tried to explain. “So whatever you believe in sort of ends up becoming real, if that makes sense. No one can tell you otherwise.”
If believing in a history for himself made the half-undead man feel more at peace, then Isaac certainly wouldn’t stop him. He understood that it was less about specific details than it was about believing that there was some sort of purpose to existing, that Mortimer, isolated for so long, could still trace his roots somewhere.
His words were clumsy and fumbling, more of a stream of thought that he’d blurted out than any coherent suggestion. Isaac shifted his position, frowning. He opened his mouth again, this time to apologize for not making sense, but he stopped.
Mortimer was smiling. Not the little half smiles or the faint upturns he usually made that were so subtle they could easily be missed. This was a true, genuine, unmistakable smile.
“Thank you,” he said.
Isaac’s jaw clicked shut. A few beats passed, and then, he found the corners of his mouth tugging upwards as well.
Below them, the procession of remnants continued to dance down the landscape into the waiting gap on the horizon. Mortimer turned to continue watching, and Isaac did the same.
They fell into a comfortable silence for the rest of the ceremony.