It was a few hours later that Callum finally came across something interesting.

He had been following the stream of water for the whole day now, weaving through trees and boulders. At some point, the creek he’d been following had turned into a river, a good sign if he was trying to find any sign of civilization.

The sun was setting when Callum finally found the village, at least what’s supposed to be a village.

He saw an outcropping of what looked like a roof through the thick trees running along the river. He could also smell a bit of smoke wafting through the air as he neared the entrance to the settlement. He was excited to finally meet some people after a long time being dead, his current disposition as undead and being butt naked momentarily forgotten. His craving for social interaction was too strong to draw caution of being hunted down with torches and pitchforks.

What greeted him instead was a gruesome scene. Wooden houses that once stood around a single water well were now a remnant of what they were; their walls were burnt, and some have crumbled from the damage. Blood painted some of the planks and ground, and the stench of death only grew as Callum slowly made his way inside the broken settlement.

His mind searched for clues about what had happened here, but all he noticed was the absence of any bodies. The wind blew, bringing with it the smell of ash and rot as Callum walked closer to a nearby building—at least, what remained of it. He examined it with a critical eye, discerning whether he was somewhere on Earth or not.

They looked Nordic in appearance, with charred beams and the faint, skeletal outline of steep roofs once designed to withstand harsh winters. The door frames, though blackened, still hinted at intricate carvings, and the darkened walls held traces of thick, resilient planks that had once sheltered families. Now, the cracked remains seemed like shadows of the past, lingering as quiet testaments to the life that had once filled these homes.

“I could be somewhere in Europe? Maybe in some remote village in Scandinavia.” Callum muttered to himself.

He still felt doubtful whether he was still on the same blue planet he was acquainted with, his gut feeling telling him he was in a different world. However, these buildings offered a sense of familiarity, a feeling short-lived after another gust of wind buffeted him with the pungent odor of death, reminding him of the horrors that could have swept through this village.

He could only guess what could’ve done this, his quest for clothes momentarily forgotten. He felt a sense of danger as he walked inside the silent settlement, his bare feet stained under some of the blood that had long crusted over. Then, as he neared the largest house in the village, he saw the bodies.

A macabre of death. Limbs and appendages jutting out of a mound of flesh and torsos. A psychopath’s artwork whose easel and brush were skin and bones, his paint, the blood of his victims. Broken corpses haphazardly piled on top of one another without any regard for the dead.

Callum’s face twisted in disgust, his stomach churning as he looked at the numerous decomposing mounds of carcasses in front of him. If he were still human, his stomach would’ve expelled its contents.

“What sick fucks could’ve done this?” Callum asked in a whisper.

His eyes scanned the surroundings, looking for any sign of the murderers. He deduced multiple people were responsible for the deaths of the villagers. There’s no way a single person could’ve done this. When his eyes landed on the pile of bodies again, he could only look away.

“There’s children in there too.”

Callum’s heart felt heavy as the situation finally dawned on him. The village wasn’t ransacked by bandits, it was a massacre. Both young and old were equal to whoever killed the villagers. Yet, Callum couldn’t do much of anything. If he had known this village beforehand, he would’ve grieved their deaths. However, he doesn’t know who these people are. After all, he’d only been alive for a day.

“Or I don’t feel much of anything because I’ve become an undead,” Callum muttered.

The idea that his mind could be affected by his undead condition was a haunting thought. That his feelings are slowly eroding until he becomes an unfeeling monster.

Callum shook his head, waving away the thoughts before they took root in his mind. There’s no way his feelings could’ve been influenced by his revival. He could still feel sad and lonely. He still has his emotions with him. Both good and bad.

It’s just that he hasn’t known the people of this village. Like how people in horror movies would feel scared if they see a pile of bodies rotting away. And Callum still felt something; he felt disgust and anger at the ones who could’ve done this.

The complete disrespect shown for the villagers by piling them up lit a fire in Callum’s heart. He knows what it’s like to be dead, and he can’t leave them to rot without a proper burial. He himself was left to decompose in the open, and if these people were to be in the same situation as him, he could only offer solace by burying them six feet under.

Callum scoured the whole village for anything that could help him, taking a shovel and a pickaxe to break the soil. He also found some clothes in one of the still-standing houses in the settlement; a pair of boots, a white top, and beige trousers in his name.

For the next few hours, Callum began the burial. He walked behind the large house he could only guess was the chieftain’s abode. What once was a field full of crops now lay charred and blackened, any trace of vegetation reduced to ashes that swirled in the wind.

Callum cleaned the area, shoveling the scorched soil and flattening it in preparation for interment. Then, he began his work.

Callum approached the grim pile of bodies with a heavy heart. One by one, he pulled them down, the weight of each lifeless corpse a stark reminder of what once was. He carefully lifted the form of a little girl, holding her gently, afraid to further damage her body as he walked behind the house toward the prepared ground he had cleaned earlier. Then, he laid her on the earth, sending a silent prayer to any god to guide her soul to the afterlife.

He continued to lay the corpses in neat rows, ensuring each body was transferred as carefully as he could for the burial. He counted about a hundred and twenty-six dead, many of whom were children. Some were missing limbs, some were burnt to a crisp, and a few had lost their heads. Callum made sure to find their missing parts, spending countless minutes searching the whole village to complete them. However, not everyone could be brought back together.

At some point, Callum’s mind grew completely numbed. His thoughts were solely focused on his task, lest his heart crumble from the suffocating weight of loss and tragedy that filled the air.

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As the sun dipped below the horizon and night came, he discovered he could still see in the inky void, his undead senses piercing the darkness like a night vision camera. If he had come across this ability before, he would have been in awe, but the presence of death quenched any form of celebration.

Callum continued his task, growing thankful for his undead benefits. He could work without the need to eat, drink, or sleep, his body like an oiled machine driven by a relentless purpose.

He swung his pickaxe a thousand times, shoveled tons of dirt out of numerous holes, and with each ditch, he worked more efficiently. If he were still human, he would have been depleted of his resources hours ago, but with his new undead physique, he could work throughout the night.

A day went by without any form of rest. Callum resumed his work, toiling faster to save the bodies from further decay. He knew too well what it felt like to have his insides turn to mush, and tried his best to swat away any flies that made their way towards them.

It was nearing the dawn of the second day when Callum finished digging the last ditch, laying the final corpse in its proper place.

“May your soul find the afterlife,” Callum prayed.

Each corpse he’d laid carefully was accompanied by the same quick prayer, hoping they wouldn’t have to go through the same pain he had to endure. Then, one by one, he buried them.

Callum, throughout his work in the night, has been collecting stones large enough to act as tombstones. With each body buried, Callum laid the stones. It acted as a marker, a reminder that there were people in this village once before. Now, they’re gone, killed by monsters with no regard for life.

With the last stone laid, Callum felt a sense of relief. Like an itch that has been scratched, Callum felt satisfied with the work he’d done for these people. He didn’t know them, he didn’t know what they did, but he still felt obligated to give them the proper rest they deserved.

Kneeling on the ground, clasping his hands, and closing his eyes, Callum prayed. His form faced the large expanse of land filled with rows of stone. He hoped for their souls to leave their bodies and find the tether that would lead them to peace. He wished for any God to welcome them, to guide them like what he’d wanted during those 98 years of torture. He prayed for their departure, that they wouldn’t feel the same torment he had to go through for decades to come.

As Callum prayed, a soothing wind washed over the farm-turned-cemetery. Faint blue bubbles of light lifted off the ground, the souls of the dead separated from their bodily coils. They floated merrily, happy to see someone who would remember them in the afterlife. They spun, flew, and danced amongst each other. Then, they vanished.

When Callum opened his eyes, he was only met with the silent view of the burial ground. His work here was done, and it was time to leave this place for good.

With a nod to himself, Callum stood up and dusted himself off. He sent another small prayer to the dead and walked back inside the village.

Callum, during the time he was laboring away, had been preparing a travel bag he found in one of the houses. He filled it with spare clothes, a flint and steel, some kindling, a sleeping bag, some salt and spices, a mess kit, and other essentials he could salvage through the wreckage.

Despite his search for anything edible to test his taste buds, he only came out with a few spices in his name. However, after getting a lick from a block of salt he swiped off of a broken kitchen, he was hopeful of the results.

Although he doesn’t need to sustain himself anymore, he still enjoys the act of eating and drinking. It’s the only few pleasures he still has for himself after finding out about his undead inabilities.

Equipped with his new travel bag, Callum took another look back at the burial ground. He stared at his work, hoping that their souls could find peace, and started his journey. The stale wind from the village blew, and the smell of death that was prominent before was now masked by the aroma of leaves and dirt.

When Callum was dead, he had been imagining what the world around him looked like. He hoped for adventure, to find mythical creatures, to taste new food, and to find new people. However, he didn’t expect to bury bodies on his second day of being alive. It’s like life had just reminded him, a warning of what monsters could be lurking within this world.

As his mind was occupied, Callum continued following the river north upstream, hoping to come across civilization as fast as possible. To hide his identity, Callum covered his face with a cloth, his features hidden away with the help of a scarf. However, not even a few minutes after leaving the broken settlement, Callum was beset with a new problem.

His stomach was growling, and he felt lethargic.

“Looks like I do need to eat after all,” Callum muttered.

Callum felt relieved at that. He had been thinking a lot about his undead nature. About what changed and what stayed. He felt anxious that his humanity was starting to disappear. However, after the burial, he felt slightly lighter. He still felt trepidation about what the future might hold, but his stomach took priority in his mind at this moment.

Callum guessed that working for almost three days straight had finally caught up with him. Even his undead physique notwithstanding the tiring work of manual labor. However, it didn’t deter him. In fact, it only made him more spirited.

He quickened his pace, his hunger his motivator as he thought of what he was going to cook today. His musings of the possibility of death at every corner were forgotten, a large dumb grin adorned his face, and he could feel himself salivating from the delicious dishes he was imagining.

“What should I cook? Some fish would be nice. Maybe a hare? I wonder what jackalopes taste like,” Callum asked himself.

“But first, I need to make a trap.”

Straying off from the river, Callum headed into the forest. His mind was set on what his first meal would be after his revival, and he was thinking of eating some roasted rabbit right about now.

***

“The Soarta! It’s reacting!”

“Call the High Magistrates!”

The hall leading towards the sacred artifact of fate was in chaos. Footfalls filled the space even before I made my way within its walls.

Even before spreading my wings to fly towards the building holding the Soarta, I felt fate shift. What was once a chaotic tangle of yarn being torn to shreds and remade now felt like a tightly knitted sweater of change.

High Magistrate Saldor has gone to investigate the anomaly decades ago, yet without the power to see fate, his search was unfruitful. However, he still chose to stay in that continent, adamant to catch whatever monster that could break the fate of the world. With our high levels, a few meager decades are nothing as we could live for hundreds of years if we so wished.

Walking towards the huge double doors holding the artifact at bay, I already noticed something different. The light that once filtered through the cracks was now gone, replaced by a soft, gentle glow.

“Open the doors” I commanded.

The guards stationed to protect the artifact obliged, grasping the door’s huge handles and pulling them open. My anticipation grew with each second, hoping the artifact hadn’t broken down after all these years.

What I saw on the other side however sent shivers down my spine.

At once, I lowered myself to the ground. My beak touched the floor and my feathered wings tucked behind my back as I kneeled. The others followed my example, looking confused until they took a look inside the chamber.

“Fate is changing.” a woman’s voice said.

“Yet the future remains unknown”

Then, she vanished, her presence gone like the gust of spring.

“High Magistrate Vinda, what was that?” someone asked, still confused about what the being had said to them. Yet, I know what it meant.

Standing back to my full height and looking at the still kneeling people before me, I answered.

“A warning.”