Everyone has a desire. Some wish for peace, wealth, fortune, fame or countless other things. Some have more basic desires like to be loved or feared while others desire something more profound or complicated. An example of the latter is a painter seeking to paint something they haven’t seen yet. For Queen Esmeralda, her desire was far less complex. The young queen was immensely famous in her world. She had beautiful long blonde hair that came down in smooth finely brushed waves. Her eyes were a bright sparkling blue, and her skin was pale and fair. She was the personification of beauty and the crown she wore, she inherited from her late father, King Asmodeus. The kingdom she ruled was known as Ulva and its influence was greater than any other. With beauty, a crown and a prosperous kingdom, what desire could her Highness possibly have? It was for a child.

For as long as the young queen could remember, she had wanted a family but, more than that, she had wanted a child of her own. For most of her upbringing, her mother had been a dear and treasured companion, and so she sought to spread that same love and affection to her own child. Unfortunately for her Highness, there were more obstacles for her than there would be for most. The first was finding a husband of the correct political standing and who she could whole-heartedly love. There were any number of would-be suitors lustful of the crown’s power and she had to find the virtuous among the vultures. To her Highness’s delight, however, she already was in the process of courting a man among men, a champion both to his people and, more importantly, to her. Even on dark stormy days, she’d give a gentle smile at the thought of him. She was certain of who would share the throne with her.

The next obstacle was one that most would not need to face. The world that the queen resided in was known as Ixothan. It was a world of fantasy, monsters and magic. Even the queen herself was a great spellcaster but could not compare to those whose lives were dedicated to the craft. Living in such a world, Queen Esmeralda was not entirely human, and so had issues when it came to pregnancy. Although her kingdom of Ulva was inhabited primarily by humans, their royal lineage was different. They were a race branched off from ancient humans known as Celestials. Many eons ago, their small still human tribe did a great service to the Goddess of Creation, Cela. As a reward, their lineage was blessed with increased talent in magic and great longevity. Due to these blessings, each member of the royal family would live from anywhere between 200 to 800 years old.

Queen Esmeralda herself, however, was only 34 when her parents both passed away and still had a long rule still left to go, a situation unforeseen in her family line. The reason why such longevity complicated her pregnancy was the issue of fertility. The celestials had become a dying race with only the royal family surviving until that point. The reason was because a celestial woman getting pregnant was a rare occurrence. Even if her Highness could get pregnant, the celestials had a tragic history of most pregnancies failing, which is exactly why their race was dying out. Regardless of the second obstacle, the Queen remained determined to sire a child of her own into the world and spent many years in pursuit of this goal, secondary only to her desire to marry her lover. Thankfully, in order to give birth to a Celestial child, she could still freely mate with a regular human to do so.

Her plans, unfortunately, did not go as she had thought they would. One disaster after another unfolded around the young Queen. Her kingdom was hit with a terrible drought that caused a famine, another kingdom declared war with her weakened kingdom and her lover, the great champion she sought to marry, fell in battle. The war and famine were both successfully dealt with, but the Queen had lost much of her former power in the process. There was a silver lining in such a dark time, however. She was pregnant. Although having a child out of marriage was taboo, the Queen silenced any of those that would dare criticize the act. After all, having a child was her greatest desire as well as being the last true keepsake of her tragically lost lover. Unlike a normal pregnancy, one for a celestial was 12 months, as a child would take longer to form in the womb. Due to this difference in biology, for the entire year, the citizens of Ulva prayed the pregnancy would succeed and that after such a terrible war and famine, a new era of greatness would follow with the Queen’s child, sure it to be a good omen.

Their prays went unanswered as when the time for the child’s birth came, the Queen was devastated to find her new-born son to be, in fact, stillborn. A stillborn baby is one that has perished during or before their birth. Her son, who hadn’t even been granted a name, lay unmoving and unbreathing in the arms of his mother. The Queen, traumatized by the event, went into a state of great mourning. What followed was the darkest time in the kingdom’s history. It was said that for months, the royal halls were filled with the sad and melancholy cries and wailing of the Queen in her bedchambers. Gone was the beautiful and blonde-haired Queen, replaced tragically by a broken and morbidly depressed woman. Using magic to preserve the baby, she cradled and wept over her child in an almost maniac state until, finally, her advisors forced her to come back to reality through constant talks and intrigue. They reminded her of her duties and did everything in their power to help the Queen end her mourning for the sake of the kingdom’s welfare. They were successful.

Eventually, Queen Esmeralda, although still deeply wounded, chose to have her nameless son buried and to continue leading her people as was her responsibility. The son was to be buried beneath a mythical tree, Yggdrasill. It was a holy tree to her people, one belonging to the God of Winter, Wudon. The Queen was sure that Wudon would take great care of the soul of her lost child. Tragedy, however, has a knack for striking even at those who have already fallen. This is where an abnormal tale begins and where the world itself would be shaken forever. It all started on a muddy road, a caravan’s wheels churning through the sludge that formed due to the past few days of heavy rain. Beside the noise of the wheels was the constant sticky splashes of mud formed by the marching of soldiers’ metallic boots. It was an armed caravan moving on a dark cloudy day and on road that wasn’t forgiving them for doing so. The caravan was made up three parts. The first part was the two carriages filled with supplies for the journey. The second part was the 40 armed men marching or riding alongside the caravan’s sides. The third and final part was the modified carriage in the middle of the entire caravan, carrying a coffin. It was the coffin of the nameless prince.

Each carriage had a rider, and the entire caravan was led by a captain riding in front on horseback. The captain’s name was Captain Horus. He was nervous as they moved along the muddy and unused road. Despite his nervousness, it was the only road they could take to reach Yggdrasil, so his men had no choice but to use it. The reason for his nervousness as well as constant glancing around him throughout the day were due to their location near the Eastern Ulvan border. It wasn’t safe and he was more aware of that than the higher ups. His fears were justified because they were next to the border of the Dead Lands. Long ago, an ancient kingdom fell to some forgotten disaster, turning itself into a swamp filled with all manner of monster and hordes of mindless undead. That ancient kingdom’s ruins were now known as the Dead Lands. He knew the Ulvan Border Guard would not let undead slip through, but he still couldn’t help but keep his guard up.

Horus himself was an experienced soldier. He had a short black beard, thick eyebrows, messy black hair and dark skin. He wasn’t native to Ulva but was born and raised in Mearona, the desert country to the South of Ulva. He had fought as a mercenary for a good many years before swearing allegiance to Ulva and working his way up to captain. As his old, brown-coloured eyes scanned the nearby treeline, he sensed his sergeant moving up beside him. “What is it?” asked the captain, his tone gruff as it always was. “The men are complaining about the mud. They want to setup camp and wait for the road to dry” said his sergeant, a thin and composed man. Sergeant Crawford wasn’t much of a fighter, but he had a strange calming effect, making him a good advisor to the ill-tempered Captain. “Already? We just disbanded camp an hour ago! Tell those slackers to pick up the pace. The sooner we’re out of this forest, the sooner they can rest” he barked.

The sergeant didn’t move, however, as the Captain knew he wouldn’t. “Captain, with all due respect, this forest is going to take days to get through. If we exhaust our men to the road, we’ll be vulnerable to ambush” he explained, his tone always calm and emotionless. It was annoying how nothing phased his right hand, thought the Captain, but it always effective against him. “You expect me to change my command so easily?” asked the Captain with annoyance. “I do” replied the Sergeant. “Fine, fine but tell those slackers we’re having double guard duty. We’ll wait until the rain stops and the road dries. I don’t like being so close to the Dead Lands, so make sure we’re not being tracked. I can smell the wretched creatures from here” he relented, bringing a happy spark to the Sergeant’s eyes as he moved back to relay the orders. In truth, the Captain was considering a break himself. The mud was so bad that even the horses used a lot of effort simply to move a few meters, never mind going for an hour straight as they had. Aside from him and the Sergeant, they had a total of 4 other horsemen, meaning the men were marching through the muck directly. He knew the men weren’t weak mentally, but they were low-levelled.

In the world of Ixothan, people had levels that measured their overall strength and abilities. The higher your level, the stronger you were. Their world was also great since skills and abilities, once learned, became permanent, leading people to become supernaturally strong in their general prowess or skills. Captain Horus was Lv 58. He was a very strong warrior with a multitude of skills. It was the reason for why he was selected to guard the nameless prince on his way to the burial site. Sergeant Crawford was Lv 34 whereas most of the men were between Lv 10 to Lv 30. The men were not the best the Captain had under his command but for a simple escort quest, he imagined it would do the less experienced soldiers under his ranks some good. They could learn more about long distance travel and become better equipped should war break out again. The inexperience, however, meant that he wasn’t moving as quickly as he’d like but it was the price of his own decision.

Far behind the nervous Captain was Gerald. Gerald was a simple servant hired by the army. He was also the rider of the carriage carrying the coffin of the nameless prince. Beside him sat the most important person in the caravan aside from Captain Horus. She was a short woman wearing a black dress. She wore a long black hat and a pair of glasses. Her figure was lean despite her amble assets, and she sported long black hair and pale skin. In her hands she clutched black beads connecting to a blue orb. It was a holy necklace made in honour of Wudon. The woman’s name was Merry. She was a personal servant to Queen Esmeralda herself and was sent to watch over the Queen’s nameless son as he was sent to burial. Normally, a regular servant wouldn’t dare to speak to someone from such high household but Merry had been friendly with Gerald over the last few days. They had even formed a semblance of friendship with one another. They were speaking again as they had been doing the last few days since Merry broke the silence.

“I don’t get it” said Gerald. “What don’t you get, Mr Gerald?” she asked as she turned to look at him. “Why doesn’t the Queen name him?” he asked as he curiously looked back at her. Merry softly looked away. “It was because of the advisors” she responded. “Those guys again? You’d think they hated the poor boy-prince” corrected Gerald, not meaning to offend. The reason for his response was due to the advisors’ behaviour since the prince died and even Merry agreed they may have acted too brutishly. “They wanted to distance her from the child. If they let her name him and had a large funeral, they reasoned it would have taken her far longer to recover” she explained. Gerald huffed. “Right, what a load of horse…pardon me, Ms Merry. Still, those rotten men aren’t looking out for anybody but themselves” he grumbled, not pleased with their evident manipulation. Merry nodded quietly. She agreed, although she wouldn’t say it.

Gerald glanced back at the beautifully made black coffin behind them. Its sides had been outlined with pure gold and the crest of the royal Ulvan family rested atop it. The crest itself depicted a bear. “Poor lad” whispered Gerald to himself as he focused back on driving. Merry knew that the advisors were wrong but had no choice but to accept their decision as the Queen had. She knew full well that the Queen was going to be devastated regardless and that nothing would heal the wound she had suffered. She also secretly knew that the prince wasn’t nameless. Merry was a trusted servant and so she had heard the Queen muttering the prince’s name in her bedchambers while cradling the dead child. His name was Grym. She did private research and found it was the name of the father’s father, who she couldn’t confirm was dead or alive. She must have named the child in his honour, she pondered sadly. As they rode on in the cool air of the morning, she could hear the men speaking about setting up camp in the nearby clearing and glanced down at the holy necklace in her hands. On the underside of the necklace was carved the name ‘Grym’. It was to be the keepsake for the child and it was also how the Queen hoped the God of Winter would be able to learn the child’s name.

It was at that very moment that things went horribly wrong. It all started when Captain Horus raised his hand, stopping the caravan. The men paused in confusion as the only viable camping site was still a minute’s walk from them and within sight. The Sergeant moved up and beside the Captain. “Something wrong, Captain?” asked the Sergeant. “Look” said the Captain stiffly. The Sergeant turned his head and felt a chill down his spine from something other than the cool morning air. Far down the road, passed the camping site, something was standing directly in the middle of the road. It was a man wearing rags with dark grey skin and lifeless grey eyes. His skin had peeled away in places, revealing raw muscle and bone in parts. What made the situation scary was that he was standing still, staring straight up the road at them. Not moving as if breathing was a foreign concept. “What…is that?” asked the Sergeant, suddenly on alert as his free hand shifted to the hilt of his bastard sword. “That…is an undead” said the Captain calmly as his own hand shifted to his greatsword’s hilt.

They didn’t speak any further as the undead didn’t move and neither did they. Slowly, the Captain gave a hand signal back to the men. Quickly, all the men unsheathed their weapons and looked around at the trees surrounding the sides of their path. The treeline was thick, making it difficult to determine if enemies were nearby. Another moment passed before the Captain spoke up, unsheathing his sword and holding it with the ease of a longsword. That was the strength of a high level warrior. The Sergeant did the same. “It’s not doing anything…but why is a creature like that here?” asked the Sergeant quietly. “Either it’s a straggler that slipped through the border or…something worse” said the Captain as he urged the caravan forward slowly, having his horsemen move up to the front. They’d kill the monster together and leave the rest of the soldiers to guard the caravan. “When we move in, stay behind, Sergeant” ordered the Captain as the Sergeant nodded, moving back as the horsemen moved forward to accompany the Captain.

Merry watched this unfold with anxiety. An undead? The Border Guard were incredible fighters. There’s no way they’d let even a single creature slip through. Unless…something happened to the Border Guard. Merry clutched the necklace tighter. The advisors had insisted on a very small convoy delivering the nameless prince. If they got attacked by a horde and something happened to the dead prince, what would happen to the Queen?! Merry shivered at the thought of the Queen upon hearing the news. No, they had to make sure Grym was taken to Yggdrasil or returned home safely. Anything else was out of the question thought Merry with determination, her fear being supressed by her devotion. She had always been a devoted follower of the Queen and she wasn’t about to let even the undead scare her away from helping her Highness.

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Slowly, the Captain and the horsemen broke away from the slow moving caravan as they drew closer to the monster. The undead man still hadn’t moved, his eyes shifting from time to time but giving no other indicator he was even still capable of moving. Suddenly, the Captain gave the order to attack. “Charge!” he cried as they rushed forward. The Captain was experienced and knew to never underestimate any enemy, even what appeared to be a low level zombie. Due to the muddy road, they had to get a lot closer before they could charge. It was when they charged forward that the zombie finally did more than stare. It let out a guttural cry as it ran towards them, arms unstretched as its hands had deformed into bony claws. It wasn’t a long fight, however, as the Captain swung his greatsword, quickly slicing directly through the head of the zombie while charging. The horsemen and him paused and turned in time to see the zombie’s corpse slum to the ground with a wet thud and the top half of the creature’s head smack down nearby.

“We did it” said one of the horsemen with a grin, glad no other zombies sprung out as the Captain looked at the blood on his sword. It was black instead of red, like all undead creatures. He looked disgusted, reminding himself he had to wipe it clean back at the caravan. He pointed at one of the horsemen. “Dig the thing a whole. A deep one. I don’t want to know it even existed and, you, watch him” ordered the Captain as he pointed at a second horsemen. “Yes, Sir!” was the short and clean reply from both. Nodding, the Captain headed back towards the Caravan. It appeared it really was only one lone zombie. It probably was just a straggler then since the others would have already appeared, he thought. Considering he killed it with one blow, it was low level too, probably Lv 5 or lower. It was just as he was about to call out to the caravan to move more quickly that he heard it. A scream. His head jerked back as he saw the two horsemen had gotten off their horses and were being attacked. “For all that is holy” whispered the Captain in shock.

More zombies had suddenly appeared, pouring out of the treeline on both sides in front of them. There wasn’t one or several but hundreds! The Captain couldn’t even call out to the men before he saw they were overwhelmed and buried in writhing undead bodies. “No!” he shouted as his two remaining horsemen were about to charge in, for a vague attempt at rescue of their comrades. “Retreat to the caravan!” he barked at them both as he forced his own horse to start charging back. Where did they come from?! Why was one standing alone when so many were hidden away? He knew he couldn’t save those two men and he could probably kill a good number of them but killing that many undead and protecting the caravan at the same time wasn’t possible, he knew. The Sergeant, who could see what was happening, was already telling the soldiers to prepare for a full retreat. Their biggest chance of survival, now, was to get out of there.

“Everybody move it!” shouted the Captain as the carriages were quickly being turned around, the road giving them enough room for that as the Captain reached them, barking that they had to move faster. Behind him, he could hear the cries of the horses being attacked, their owners no doubt already dead. It was as the Captain turned to see the horde both feasting on the horses and the remainder rushing towards them that he heard the Sergeant speak up again. “Captain! In front of us!” screamed the Sergeant in a shocked tone. “What?!” shouted back the Captain as he turned to see a second wave of zombies, coming up the road. An ambush? Why were they so co-ordinated? They were boxed in on both sides and that wasn’t telling what could still be in the treeline directly on either side of them. “No, no, no!” shouted the Captain as he squeezed his greatsword tightly. What was he to do? There was no retreat save the forest itself and that was suicidal. If the area really was overrun by the undead, any number of zombies could be waiting to attack them from the shadows of the trees. The Captain’s experience, however, kicked in. He had been in many tough situations. He’d prevail here all the same, he reassured himself.

“Sergeant! Guard the front, I’ll take the back!” he shouted. “Yes, Sir!” came the Sergeant’s reply as he ordered half the men to the front and into defensive positions. The Sergeant then hopped off his horse, still clutching his weapon as he stood in front of his men, ready to face off against the approaching zombies. The Captain did something similar at the back end, ordering his two horsemen to guard the sides of the caravan and to make sure the servants were okay. Merry and Gerald watched this situation with terror as the horsemen had the servants stand near the middle carriage, save for the riders, who had to be ready to move. Merry could see the enemy numbers and knew what she had to do as she moved over to the coffin. “What are you doing?!” asked Gerald as he watched Merry beginning to fumble with the coffin. “Just help me!” she cried out in panic as Gerald reluctantly did so, not sure what Merry was hoping to accomplish.

A moment later, the zombies were on them. The hordes on either side smashed into the caravan like gross decaying waves of flailing flesh. At first, everything went well as the Sergeant and Captain were able to cut down most of the approaching zombies with ease, the soldiers behind them killing all of those out of reach of their leaders or holding them back long enough for their leaders to reach them. When the number of zombies pushing on the soldiers were too great, the leaders would use a skill to dispatch many of the zombies at once. An example of this was the Captain’s [Atlas Cleave] which cut down 20 zombies with one strike. The problem became apparent as the fighting continued, however. Even if the enemies were low level, they didn’t stop coming. For every zombie the men cut down, five more appeared. It felt endless and, slowly, the exhausted leaders started making mistakes. A cry rang out from the front as a zombie had managed to slip passed the Sergeant and attacked a soldier while he was distracted by another zombie. The soldier cried out as the zombie’s claws found his neck, killing him in quick and bloody fashion.

Angrily, the Sergeant decapitated the zombie and continued fighting. “Stand together and hold on! Don’t let your guard down!” he shouted at the remaining men as they shifted position to make up for the lost man. The fighting continued until a new threat appeared. The zombies from the back, suddenly stopped attacking as the frontal assault continued. The Captain was taking heavy breathes, his armour and sword slick with black blood as something monstrous moved through the zombies, pushing its way forward until it was in full view of the tired Captain. “Sweet Wudon” said the exasperated Captain as in front of him stood a Corpse Giant. In the world of Ixothan, adventurers and fighters are ranked on a scale of F to SSS, the latter being the highest rank. The higher your rank, the more powerful you are. Monsters are given the same sort of ranking so that adventurers are given a rough idea of how dangerous they are. Captain Horus was a C Rank Warrior, close to becoming a B Rank at Lv 60. The zombies they had been fighting were all considered F Rank but this Corpse Giant was different. If the Captain could recall correctly, a Corpse Giant was a B Rank monster. He wasn’t a match for it, especially while fending off the zombies too.

The Corpse Giant was similar to its name in appearance. It was as tall as a house, towering over the Captain with light grey skin. Its eyes glowed a bright green and it looked like an overgrown human with a brown rag around its waist. It had a very large poorly made leather vest on too and its hands were unusually large, its forearms as thick as tree trunks. It growled like a beast, exposing its rotten or missing teeth as well as its purple tongue. Without warning, the giant creature attempted to slam its fist down on the Captain. He dodged at the last second, feeling the shockwave in his bones when the fist slammed into the earth. “What is that thing?!” cried one of the soldiers in blind panic as the fist slammed into the ground, causing the ground to shake and crack beneath its blow. “Stand your ground!” shouted the Captain as he saw the zombies slipping past him and straight into the soldiers’ defensive ranks. He was going to help them before he was forced to dodge a second blow by the roaring Corpse Giant. “Damn it” shouted the Captain as he roared himself, charging at the monster. He needed to beat this monster if he wanted to save his men, he could only hope they held on long enough for him to hopefully succeed.

The fighting continued as, tragically; men started to fall on both sides. Merry could hear their screams of terror or despair as they were being killed. She knew they couldn’t win. It was just a matter of time before they all died, and she wasn’t about to let the undead get anywhere near Grym before she did. With Gerald’s help, they popped open the coffin. “Ms Merry, what are you doing?!” said one of the horsemen as Merry slowly lifted a very well wrapped but deceased new-born from the coffin. The new-born Grym still looked ready to breath at any moment. It was due to the Queen’s incredible preservation magic, which is why Grym hadn’t decayed, at all. “I’m securing the child. Give me your horse” she said. Seeing her intent, the nervous horsemen looked towards the dying men and back at her. He could run. He had a horse, after all. Fortunately, cowardice was not in the heart of a true Ulvan soldier. Slowly, the soldier got off the horse, helping her onto it. “Eric, what are you doing?!” shouted the other horsemen as he rode around to their side of the carriage.

Eric smiled. “I made an oath to serve and I’m damn well doing it! Go with her, Nevan. Protect her until she’s back at the capital!” shouted Eric as he pulled out his sword. “You go with her too!” shouted Eric as he pointed at a shocked Gerald, looking confused and scared. Gerald quickly complied, climbing onto the horse as Merry clutched the child and him. “Thank you, Eric” said Merry as Nevan didn’t know what he should do. They hadn’t received orders to flee yet but that wouldn’t matter with the rate things were going. There was a cry of disbelief and horror as, at the back of the caravan, the Captain lost. The back formation had watched him fighting the Corpse Giant, too overwhelmed to aid. He had moved quickly and with skill, dodging the blows that could crush him while slicing at the giant’s legs. Eventually, the creature was forced to its knees. Just as he was about to stab his blade into the Corpse Giant’s head, it struck him successfully in the side. It struck so quickly that the Captain was completely caught off guard. One blow was more than enough, however, as the Captain slammed into a nearby tree, several of his bones breaking at once, his armour dented in from the giant fist. Despite what should have killed him immediately, the men could hear him speak something out before he fell silent. “Run” he had managed to croak before dying, his body dropping to the ground as a lifeless corpse.

The Captain’s death destroyed morale as, even though the Corpse Giant was too wounded to move forward immediately, the wave of the zombies persisted. “The Captain’s dead!” shouted one of the soldiers as the Sergeant clenched his teeth and cut through several more zombies before moving back to the caravan, letting his soldiers hold the front alone. “Re-position around the centre carriage! Pull in! If a soldier goes down, leave him. We must not let them break through!” he shouted angrily, visibly upset over the Captain’s death, his near emotionless state gone. It was then that the Sergeant saw Merry and Gerald on the horse. He noticed what they were holding. He looked about ready to scold them when he glanced towards the soldiers dying on both sides and his hand clenched his sword so tightly, his knuckles turned white. When he turned his face back to Merry, his face was calm again. “Go” he said simply, pointing at the forest, glancing at Nevan too. Merry didn’t speak but nodded, patting Gerald as they quickly took off into the trees followed by a disturbed Nevan, riding away from the ambush.

“Everybody, grab something!” shouted the Sergeant as he made the remaining servants pick up weapons. Of the 40 soldiers, only 13 remained and, now, they had five makeshift warriors. Fighting beside the Sergeant and servants was Eric. “It is an honour to die beside you, Sergeant Crawford” said Eric as he stabbed his sword into a charging zombie’s chest. “Likewise” said the Sergeant as he also cut down another zombie. They were covered in black blood and still the zombies kept coming. It was then that the ground trembled. The Corpse Giant was up again and moving towards the survivors, crushing or brushing aside zombies in its way. Eric watched as the Sergeant took a deep breath and stared at the approaching menace. “For the Captain” he said firmly before charging forward, Eric following quickly behind him as they charged to their deaths gloriously.

As the battle ended behind them, Merry, Gerald and Nevan were on the move, dodging through trees and going mindlessly deeper into the forest. “Where are we going?” asked Gerald to Nevan. “I don’t know. Just as far away from those things as possible!” shouted Nevan back at them as he led their escape. After an hour, they appeared to be in the clear, but something was wrong. The trees weren’t the same. The bark of the trees around them were grey or dying and the ground was less firm, instead being soft and wet. Gerald was the first to notice, yelling at Nevan to stop. “Wait! Look! We’re clearly in the Dead Lands. We need to turn back!” he shouted. Nevan shook his head, ordering Gerald to continue. “We can’t. The roads back there are overrun. We need to take a wide birth to get back onto a part of the road that isn’t infested with those things. If we get too close to where we just were, that Corpse Giant will notice and pursue us!” explained Nevan. Gerald didn’t like it but after Merry agreed with the idea, they continued.

From that point on, things continued to worsen. After three hours of travel through the Dead Lands, the forest they knew had been replaced with nothing but swamp lands. They kept having to change course due to their path being cut off by boulders or small lakes. There were no roads to follow, so they were completely lost. The sky had gotten darker since they entered the Dead Lands and it was hard to tell what time of day it was. Despite that, they knew it had been hours since they escaped the undead. It was while Gerald was asking Nevan if he really knew the way back that more zombies attacked them. Nevan, who was Lv 25, held them back but was quickly being overrun. He made them escape again while he succumbed to the surprisingly large group of zombie attackers. Alone, Gerald and Merry kept trying to find their way out of the Dead Lands but to no avail. It was growing truly dark and they were forced to soon take shelter. There was some good fortune, finally, after many terrible setbacks, as they found shelter in the ruins of an old village. One of the houses remained miraculously intact and despite looking thoroughly, no zombies appeared to be nearby.

It was a generally well known fact that zombies typically gather in groups, which was why the deceased Captain was cautious before. It was rare to find a lone zombie, after all. The zombies in the village must have joined a large passing group of zombies concluded Gerald and Mary. It was while they were sheltered in the dark and dreary house that they finally spoke again. “I…I can’t believe all of that happened. They’re all dead. Even that poor Nevan didn’t make it” said Gerald glumly. “They are but it’s okay. We’ll escape this forsaken place and once we’re safe in the Capital, the Queen will surely recover their bodies” said Merry, carefully cradling Grym as if he lived. “Why’d they not bring any priests?! Everybody could still be alive if it wasn’t for those damned advisors!” said Gerald angrily, slamming his fist into the wall. Slowly, however, his angry turned into defeat as he slumped down beside her. “They wanted this done as quietly as possible. No doubt the Queen will have their heads for this” said Merry as she looked at the holy necklace. Neither of them knew magic, so they couldn’t use the holy magic in the necklace to turn away even a zombie fly. “Think anybody else got out?” asked Gerald as he looked at Grym. “I hope they did but our survival matters more until we escape the Dead Lands” she concluded.

They were hopeful that evening and night as they planned how they’d leave the area. The next day, however, they were boxed in when they noticed monsters nearby and the day after that. On the third day, Gerald went to check for more monsters, leaving the small bag of supplies he had grabbed from the caravan with Merry. He never returned. Four more days passed as Merry was too consumed with fear to leave or explore the village, using up her supplies as she slowly ran out. She tried to ration them but it barely bought her an extra day. Scared to lose Grym, she left him in the house, making sure to cover him with blankets to keep insects away. She then went out in search for water that she desperately needed; certain she’d leave the Dead Lands with Grym the next morning. She too, didn’t return. All that was left was Grym, the corpse of a newborn, hidden away in the dark corner of a silent decaying house. The stillness in the house slowly became unnatural as an unseen influence entered it. The air became cooler, and the entire house became locked in its current state. No matter what changed outside, the interior of the house stayed the same. It became almost trapped in time as months and then years passed by. One dark night, however, something changed. Movement. Movement occurred within the house for the first time in years and then a noise shattered the peaceful silence. A cry. A baby’s cry to be exact. The blankets shifted as something emerged. A small baby, crawling on all fours pulled itself free from the blankets, looking around in confusion. The baby sat down, feeling strange but sentient, or as sentient as a baby could feel. He knew he was old enough to walk but couldn’t understand how he knew what walking was. There was much for him to discover about his new existence because, after all.

He lived.