The hollow responds with a faint pulse, like distant drums beneath the earth. Ancient magic stirs, reaching through stained soil.

Ikert's men shift their weight, armor creaking.

Spears tremble.

"Light preserve us," an old guard utters.

His prayer trails into silence as he fixes his gaze on distant walls, anywhere but the ritual unfolding at his feet.

I remain still, while power builds in the blood-soaked ground. The soldiers' hearts echo through new wolf-bone sensors.

Their fear has a scent now.

Extending skeletal fingers, I touch Merik's skull. Magic flows through borrowed bones into the remains.

Commander Ikert steps closer, tension visible in her frame.

Questions burn in her eyes.

I scratch in the dirt.

If he chooses, he can rise. A lesser knight. Bones hold echo.

Her slight nod carries the weight of command decisions.

She swallows hard but maintains her stance.

"A sin against nature," utters the old guard, the others agree.

Ikert's eyes close briefly.

More magic pours through my frame into the earth. The soil shifts and ripples, red dust rising in spiral patterns.

Half-buried banners stir without wind.

Something touches the hollow where memories should be. Not sound - more like shadows of thought across bone. Images flash through my consciousness: Merik holding Emmy, making promises of safety. Leading survivors from Joist's as the endless rot claimed it.

The Harvester in the dark, the thing that wore the faces.

Learning to trust these clicking bones that now cradle his remains.

Then darker memories.

The echo fades to silence. I withdraw my hand, letting the magic settle around his bones. The choice must be his alone.

Commander Ikert releases a held breath.

Torchlight catches unshed tears in her eyes as we wait.

"We shouldn't watch this," a soldier mutters, but none move from their posts.

The ground shifts again beneath my claws. Ancient magic pulses through borrowed bones, resonance seeking connection with Merik's remains.

Merik's bones rattle softly, a hollow sound against packed earth.

Fragments of his ribcage click together, then apart.

Then they fall still.

Moments stretch.

Finally, the runes I drew flicker and die. Blue light fades to nothing, leaving only torch-lit darkness.

Merik's remains lie quiet in the soil where so many others sleep. No spark ignites within the hollow spaces. No ancient purpose stirs.

I tilt my wolf-skull, waiting, but the echo that might have awakened him remains silent. The magic falls away, leaving only bones that hold no memory of duty.

Commander Ikert's shoulders sag. Her hand drops from her sword hilt.

"So, that's it?" she asks, voice hushed.

I nod, not in sadness but in truth.

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Death has its own wisdom, and Merik has made his choice.

I rise from the ritual, bones clicking softly.

No will answers.

Merik chooses rest, not service.

Some burdens end at death.

Ikert kneels beside the bones, though her men flinch.

She sets the torch in place for light. Then, with careful hands, she gathers Merik's remains.

"Then we bury him," she says. "That was his choice."

I nod, understanding. Some duties end at death. Others continue. His burden lifts while mine remains.

I slip back a step, letting her attend to the bones.

Her guards shift, uncertain, but they see nothing hostile in me now.

One soldier helps her find a patch of soil free from rusted blades.

They dig with gauntleted hands, scooping shallow earth.

I stand watch, shield strapped to my arm, sword tip resting on a battered shield half-buried in the dirt.

Night deepens, the only light from her abandoned torch.

Scrape by scrape, they carve out a final resting place for Merik.

The shallow scraping pauses. Commander Ikert wipes dirt from her gauntlets and stands.

"No. He deserves better than this." She looks at the meager hole they've managed with bare hands. "You two, fetch proper tools from the storehouse. Shovels, picks if the ground's hard. Make it quick."

Two guards snap to attention and hurry toward Haven's gates.

I remain motionless, watching.

The wolf bones in my frame pick up their rapid heartbeats fading into distance. My enhanced senses catch fragments of words as they go, relief at leaving this dark ritual behind, if only briefly.

The remaining soldiers shift their weight from foot to foot.

None speak.

Commander Ikert kneels again beside the bones. She's buried too many soldiers not to know the proper way to care for them.

"We'll do this right," she says, more to herself than to me or her men. "A true grave, marked and proper."

Emmy will want to know where her father rests. The thought surfaces unbidden.

The borrowed wolf bones within hold contempt. A pack member lost, refusing the hunt. Dragon fragments stir with ancient pride, another warrior choosing eternal sleep over continued battle.

I silence these competing voices. Their instincts are not mine.

Yet, something deeper than borrowed memories registers loss. Not grief, these bones know no such emotion.

I scratch words in the dirt for Ikert to read.

He would have made a strong knight.

The commander studies the scratched message. "Perhaps. But most are given but one life to serve."

My claws flex involuntarily. The wolf bones want to dig, to unearth, to try again. The dragon fragments bristle, if he lacks the will to rise, he deserves nothing further.

Deeper still, the oldest fragment stirs, bones that dragged themselves across earth when the Demon Duke's flames scorched everything else away. That ancient echo remembers duty's weight. Not all are meant to carry it.

Through borrowed senses, I hear returning guards.

The wolf bones twitch, wanting to track their movements. Dragon fragments burn with disdain for this mortal ritual.

But deeper memories surface, ancient knights laying fallen brothers to rest, ceremonies older than these borrowed bones. Final rites performed countless times on battlefields now forgotten.

I scratch new words into soil.

Justice echoes in proper burial

Commander Ikert reads the message, then nods. "Even in death, there are codes to follow."

She takes a shove. "The right way matters."

This is right. This is proper. This is justice for the fallen.

I do not stir. The wolf bones settle. The dragon fragments quiet.

In this moment, older purposes prevail. Ancient codes of honor transcend the instincts of borrowed parts.

Some duties persist beyond death. But so too does justice for those whose duties end.

This purpose belongs to these borrowed bones alone. We are the shield between Haven and darkness. No other need rise to share this burden.

I scratch new words in the dirt.

He rests. We continue.

She nods,

I straighten, wolf-skull tilted toward Haven's walls. Beyond them, corruption spreads. Monsters gather. The Demon King's armies march.

Let Merik rest. These bones will be enough.

He will have a marker. A name. A place for Emmy to mourn.

Dark soil takes Merick's bones. Each fragment settles into darkness as Ikert arranges them. My enhanced senses catch the subtle tremors in her hands, though her face remains composed.

"Light guide this soul to peace." The guard's prayer wavers.

His faith collides with my presence, with all that defies natural order in this field of ancient dead.

Another soldier bows his head. "Thank you," he mutters, "for bringing him home."

The words catch in his throat.

Earth falls in steady measures. The wolf bones in my frame register each impact as Merik vanishes beneath the soil.

The older guard's tears reflect torchlight. He never knew Merik, yet something in this moment breaks through. Perhaps he sees all the unmarked graves, all the bones that never found proper rest.

The last earth settles. Commander Ikert rises, brushing dark soil from her gauntlets with methodical precision.

Her gaze finds me. Questions war behind her eyes, but she holds them back.

My claws scratch a single word near the fresh mound.

Honored

She nods, mouth drawing tight against unspoken thoughts.

The silence stretches. Her eyes move from my altered form to the grave and back again.

She draws her sword and plants it point-down beside the grave.

"Let this mark him," she declares.

We turn toward Haven. Our procession moves in silence through the dark. Commander Ikert's stride never wavers, though resolution has hardened her features.

Her men cast furtive glances my way. They are uncertain, am I protector or threat?

At the gate, Ikert halts.

"Thank you," she says.

I drop to one knee, angling Aeternus in the ancient gesture of peace.

Tension eases from her frame, though wariness remains.

"I'll inspect those maps," she states. Her eyes trace the new wolf bones grafted to my frame. "Your shape, the wolf bones, does it bother you?"

My skull moves in negation. The pack-limbs serve their purpose.

I scratch in the dust.

I remain

Understanding crosses her features.

Her guards part.

She gestures toward Haven's gate.

"C'mon then." Commander Ikert's commands.