The gateway's arch forces me to hunch, wolf-skull scraping ancient stonework. Borrowed memories surface, these walls have stood since final war, their foundations laid by dwarven hands.

My claws click against worn flagstones as I follow Commander Ikert's stride.

Torchlight catches demon shield. The guards' breathing quickens. Sweat beads on foreheads.

Nervous.

Fear.

A young soldier's spear trembles, its tip wavering inches from my ribs. Dragon fragments burn with ancient pride, urging me to stand tall, to show these mortals true power.

I lower my head instead, keeping Aeternus pointed downward.

"Hold steady," Ikert commands.

The passage narrows. Guards press against the walls, creating a gauntlet of steel and terror. Their weapons form a forest of points, each one marking a separate fear. Some target my chest, others the wolf-skull and odd bones grafted to my shoulder.

A few aim for where a heart should beat.

None could kill me.

Monsterous bones desire one thing, nut older memories prevail, knights passing through cities and goodwill.

"By the gods," someone whispers.

Another mutters a prayer.

Commander Ikert continues. She doesn't look back, trusting I will follow.

Her confidence steadies the men, though their spears remain raised.

I pause at the threshold to study Commander Ikert. Blue-white pinpoints burn in hollow sockets, men stand nervous on the walls.

"Stand down," Commander Ikert orders, "We need it here. Let it pass. Don't provoke it. "

"Y-yes, Commander." One finally responds.

His eyes dart between my bestial limbs and ancient armor plates, expecting violence.

I suppress monstrous instinct. The real threats prowl beyond these walls.

The corridors wind deeper, torchlight revealing Haven's true state. Weathered walls bear scars of past sieges. Defenders wear mismatched armor, their gaunt faces marking years of rationing. From shadowed doorways, residents peek out.

"Look away," a mother utters, pulling her child back.

But the boy strains forward, fascination overriding fear as he studies the monster that walks among them.

Commander Ikert dismisses hovering guards with sharp nods. A few try following, weapons raised, until her glare sends them retreating.

We reach a small chamber lined with faded maps.

Commander Ikert closes the heavy door behind us. Her shoulders sag as soon as we're alone, the weight of command visible in every line of her posture.

"We can't spare more bodies for outside patrols," she says abruptly, voice rough with exhaustion. "We lack men, supplies, everything. But the monsters, they never stop, except when you're active, there's a break in the fighting. How many of them are you killing?"

My claws scratch against stone as I consider the question. The balverine hamlet burns in recent memory. The Duke's fortress lies in ruins. Countless corrupted creatures have fallen to Aeternus. But those are just the latest. Borrowed memories surface of the endless night battle against the 13th Legion, hundreds of undead warriors put to final rest.

Rather than scrape numbers into the ground, I raise my skeletal hand toward the arrow-slit window. Beyond Haven's walls, stars shine in twilight. Countless points of light in the darkness, like the enemies that have fallen.

Ikert follows my gesture, understanding in tired eyes. "Got it, a lot of them."

"That's why I allowed you within," she continues, subdued. "A necessary agreement, even if it unsettles everyone to see you."

I flex clawed fingers, studying how dragon scales now mesh with wolf bone along reformed limbs. Each new fragment makes this form more lethal. The balverine bones grant heightened predatory instinct. Dragon fragments provide tactical insight spanning centuries. Even demon bone shield has potential.

Necessary

I scratch into the stone floor.

More efficient

I flex my skeletal frame, letting Commander Ikert see what I've become.

Dragon vertebrae interlock with human bones along my ridged spine. Wolf skulls and fangs have grafted themselves to my shoulders, forming natural pauldrons.

My rib cage, human bones reinforced with dragon scales.

My claws scrape stone as I spread them , no longer skeletal fingers but curved claws.

When I roll my shoulders, wolf fragments shift and click against dragon plates. My legs are a hybrid creation, human femurs wrapped in other bone that ends in wolf-like paws.

My skull is more wolf than human, though horns of dragon bone now curve.

I notice Commander Ikert's hand drift to her sword hilt. She forgets she left the blade outside of Haven to Stone Thrower's Grave. The wolf fragments sense her fear.

I ALONE SERVE

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I scratch into the floor.

This is what I am. The remnants of knightly honor remain, but stripped of pride and hesitation. The dead have no shame. My purpose remains.

The method of execution is irrelevant.

"Gods," Ikert mutters, noting how my joints move in ways that mock natural form. "You're becoming something else entirely, aren't you?"

I nod.

The wolf-skull's teeth are pointed.

There is no shame in this evolution, no regret for the monster I become. Each new bone, chosen or borrowed, makes me better at my purpose.

Fewer monsters to reach Haven's walls.

My claws scrape fresh words.

Stronger. Better hunter. Better killer.

"This was a mistake," Commander Ikert mutters, her hand still hovering near where her sword should be.

Fear radiates from rigid posture.

No.

I force the bestial elements down, willing form to shift. Bones grind and scrape as I compress my frame, drawing closer to knight than predator. The wolf skull fold inward, their fangs retracting into smoother plates. My clawed hands reshape themselves, becoming gauntlets though still tipped with sharp points.

The dragon scales along my spine flatten, meshing tighter with yellowed bone.

My legs straighten from their wolflike haunches, taking on a more humanoid stance despite the remaining curves and spikes.

My skull mostly remains, but I tuck the horns back, letting the blue-white glow in my eye sockets shine clearer, the same light she remembers from years past.

I drop to one knee, assuming the ancient pose of fealty that these borrowed bones remember. The demon shield rests flat against the floor. Aeternus points downward.

Commander Ikert's breathing steadies as she recognizes familiar elements beneath the monstrous additions. The pose speaks to older memories, of knights and oaths, of protection rather than predation.

The beast bones rail against this submission. Dragon fragments scream defiance. But I am more than borrowed instincts. My purpose remains unchanged, even if my form evolves to better serve it.

I scratch fresh words into the stone.

STILL YOUR GUARDIAN

I remain kneeling as Commander Ikert slams the war room's door behind her, cutting off the wary stares of guards outside. Her gaze flicks to the swirl of bones and demon shield at my shoulder.

She winces. "We'll use you, gods forgive me. Because nothing else can keep our walls standing."

Borrowed bones of armies carry echoes of hard choices made in desperate times.

My claws scratch against stone.

WALLS WILL STAND

Her shoulders tremble anew, and she bows her head sobbing. "This can't be the only miracle left," she has anger.

The sobs turn to rage. Commander Ikert's fist slams against the map table, scattering markers across faded territories.

"Where were they?" Her voice rises. "When the demons came, when the wards fell, where were they? The gods? The heroes?"

My bones creak as I remain kneeling, watching her pace like a caged animal.

"We prayed. And none came." Her laugh is bitter. "And what answered? Not angels."

She turns to me, gesturing at my twisted form.

"A skeleton. Dragging itself through mud and blood to our gates. That's what what came. A dead thing made of borrowed bones and monster parts."

The wolf fragments in my skull understand her fury. Dragon memories recall ancient betrayals. But older pieces, knights who died defending what they loved, they remember the weight of unanswered prayers.

I rise from my kneeling position, bones creaking as I straighten to full height. Commander Ikert's rage fills the chamber, but I cannot be what she seeks - not an answer to prayers, not absolution for the gods' silence.

My claws scratch against stone:

NOT MIRACLE. JUST DUTY

Her fist slams the table again. "Duty? The gods had a duty! The kings, the chosen ones, they all had duties!"

I shake my wolf-skull slowly. Dragon fragments whisper of betrayal, of expectations turned to ash.

But those are borrowed hurts. My purpose remains simpler.

PROTECT HAVEN

"That's it?" She laughs, harsh and broken. "No grand destiny? No divine mission?"

I drag claws across stone.

NO

The word stands stark and final.

I am no prophet, no chosen one, no answer to prayers. I am bones and steel, moving with singular purpose. The wolf parts hunt, the dragon parts remember, but they serve chosen bones.

Commander Ikert slumps against the table, anger draining like blood from a wound. "Then why? Why fight for us at all?"

My answer comes swift and sure:

BECAUSE YOU LIVE

That is all. That is enough. The living need protection. Everything else, gods, destiny, miracles, lies beyond my purpose. I cannot shoulder the weight of unanswered prayers or absent heroes.

I am simply what I am: bones moving with borrowed strength, protecting what remains.

"The gods are dead," she spits. "Or they never existed. And here I stand, making deals with a monster because it's the only thing that actually defended us."

I raise my clawed hand toward the maps scattered across the table. Each mark represents a place where mortals stood against darkness. My bones carry fragments of their memories, not just knights and warriors, but farmers who grabbed pitchforks, mothers who wielded kitchen knives, children who threw stones at monsters.

My claws scratch deep into stone:

THEY STOOD

Commander Ikert's eyes follow my gesture as I trace the path of ancient battles, where armies faced demons with rusted swords and broken shields.

NO POWER

NO MAGIC

NO GODS

STILL FOUGHT

The borrowed bones within me pulse with their final moments - not glory or destiny, but simple defiance. Merchants who formed shield walls. Peasants who filled trenches with their bodies so others could retreat. Scribes who never abandoned libraries rather than let knowledge fall to darkness.

I tap my chest where a heart once beat, then gesture to the walls of Haven.

MIRACLE IS HERE

STILL STANDING

STILL FIGHTING

My claws dig deeper into stone.

NOT GODS

YOU

Commander Ikert's hands trace the marks on the table, fingertips brushing places where humanity made its stand. Her shoulders straighten as understanding fills her eyes.

"The miracle was never about divine intervention," she whispers. "It was that we kept fighting anyway."

I nod. It was sum of all men that held back the dark, if even for a moment. The shepherd who rang the warning bell as demons approached. The baker who shared his last loaf with the starving.

My claws scratch one final message:

HOPE GREW FROM THEIR BLOOD

She stares at the words, anger draining into exhaustion.

I watch Commander Ikert's breathing steady as she straightens her armor, adjusting the worn leather straps with practiced motions. Her fingers brush away the wet tracks on her cheeks.

"Right then." She clears her throat. "We have work to do."

She moves markers across the map with renewed purpose.

"We've reclaimed three watchtowers since your return," she says. "Started farming the southern fields again. Small victories, but they matter."

My claws trace the patrol routes. Since clearing the balverine threat, Haven's scouts will range further. More survivors might trickle in weekly. The granaries slowly empty.

"I need you rotating between three priorities," she continues, tapping locations. "First, protect our farmers. They're pushing the boundaries of what we can safely plant. Second, support the watchtower garrisons, they're undermanned but vital. Third," Her finger circles larger threats marked in red ink. "Hunt the monsters that could undo everything we've built."

COMMAND. I SERVE.

Commander Ikert's eyes catch on something as I shift. Her hand reaches out, then stops. Her gaze fixes on a worn crest barely visible beneath centuries of rust and wear on my breastplate.

The pattern matches the insignia on her own commander's badge - three spears crossed behind a crown. Ancient heraldry, marking the highest ranks of the unified armies before the fall.

These bones remember nothing of that significance. The armor came with consciousness, as natural as the magic animating my form. Yet her eyes widen with recognition.

She traces the air above the faded crest, not quite touching the corroded metal.

Her breathing changes.

Questions form and die on her lips as she studies my skeletal frame with new intensity.

But these borrowed bones care nothing for past rank or glory.

Whatever officer or king once wore this armor, their purpose merged with countless others in my rising

Only duty remains.

Commander Ikert straightens suddenly, professional mask sliding back into place. "Come with me," she says, voice carefully neutral. "The war council needs to see this."