Deus Necros

The carriage rolled slowly through the forest, wheels grinding over the uneven trail with a rhythmic, almost meditative creak. The canopy above had thickened, shrouding the path in a green-gray hush where the moonlight struggled to pierce the veil of tangled branches. Every so often, a flutter of leaves stirred with the soft passage of wind, and night birds called from deeper within the woods, short, shrill cries that vanished into the trees like ghosts with nowhere left to haunt. The road had narrowed now to a path of earth cut between low hills and stone-buried roots.

Eventually, the carriage slowed to a gentle stop at the base of a high cliff just off the main road. The rock face loomed above them, jagged and dark, its surface dappled with moss and old rainmarks. A shelf of earth nestled beneath it provided enough open ground for the group to make camp. Dry leaves scattered underfoot as Gorak leapt down first, followed by Timur, who motioned for Robin to check the surrounding terrain.

Without a word, Robin slipped away into the forest’s undergrowth, disappearing between the shadows of low-hanging limbs. His footfalls were so light, they were gone before they could echo. The silence he left behind was complete.

Gorak grunted as he bent down to gather fallen branches and loose limbs, and Timur joined him with methodical calm, eyes scanning the treeline every few moments between each piece of firewood he collected. Their movements were practiced, efficient, borne from repetition across too many nights in too many unfamiliar places.

Meanwhile, Melisande stepped down from the carriage with her usual composure, brushing dust from her sleeves as she walked toward Ludwig.

“Davon,” she called gently, her tone warm but already expectant. “Can I use your strength a bit?”

Ludwig turned to her, brushing a gloved hand down his coat. “What is it?”

She nodded toward the inside of the carriage, where Redd lay unconscious. His chest rose and fell in slow, shallow rhythm, his skin pale against the padding of a rolled blanket beneath his head. “Help me get Redd closer to the fire,” Melisande said. “He needs to stay warm tonight.”

Without hesitation, Ludwig walked to the young man’s side. The motion was fluid, careful. He slid his arms beneath Redd’s back and knees, lifting the redhead in a way that kept the latter’s body stable. Redd didn’t stir. His weight was surprisingly light, too light, and Ludwig could feel the faint tremor of cold still clinging to his limbs through the fabric of his clothes.

As he carried him toward the fire pit that Gorak and Timur were assembling, Melisande unfurled a sleeping bag near the center of their makeshift camp, spreading it evenly and patting the surface down. Ludwig gently lowered Redd onto it, adjusting his limbs so they lay naturally. The Skinwalker spirit still clung to him, barely visible except to those who could perceive the otherworldly, Ludwig most of all. She curled over him like a protective shadow, her ethereal hands clinging to his shoulders, her eyes watching Ludwig warily.

If she had possessed a true physical form, the sight would have looked utterly strange, one man carrying another while a ghost draped herself over him like a jealous sibling. But as it stood, the spirit’s translucent body seemed to fade in and out of vision depending on the angle, flickering like heat mirage above her host.

Robin returned before long, his approach nearly soundless. In his hands, dangling by the ears, were two massive black rabbits, each easily twice the size of a domestic hare. Their fur was dense and still warm from the chase.

“Got lucky,” Robin said, his voice laced with a rare smile as he dropped the animals onto a clean patch of grass. “No rations for the night.”

“Give me those!” Melisande said, her own smile blooming wider than it had all day. She practically pounced on the opportunity, already rolling her sleeves up. “I was sick and tired of dried strips and hardtack.”

Timur turned to her with a raised brow. “We’ve only been on the road for one day.”

Melisande shrugged, already pulling out her knife and inspecting the rabbit pelts. “That’s a day too many of salted meat and flavorless starch.” She pointed toward Robin without looking. “I’ve got a few vegetables left inside my backpack. Be a dear and fetch them for me.”

Robin sighed but didn’t argue. He disappeared once more into the carriage with a resigned shake of his head.

The mood around the firelight began to shift. The tension that had clung to them like smoke after the encounter with the Apostle began to loosen, each laugh and small exchange of banter peeling away layers of residual unease. They had survived something tonight, something none of them had anticipated, and though their wounds were not all visible, the fire and food dulled the edge.

Ludwig, however, remained apart. He loitered near the edge of the fire’s glow, drifting toward the quiet, half-shaded edge of the clearing. After a time, he found a fallen tree trunk, long since hollowed by decay and softened by moss. He sat down, elbows on knees, letting the warmth of the campfire reach his back in flickers.

Despite the quiet, the voices of his companions carried behind him in gentle tones, Melisande humming as she cooked, Timur sharpening a blade in slow, deliberate strokes, Gorak chewing noisily on something he’d claimed as a snack. Robin remained silent as usual, perched like a bird on a low branch nearby, watching everything with half-lidded eyes.

But Ludwig didn’t speak. Not because he was sulking. Because the silence suited him now.

The truth had hung between them earlier like a veil, his failed attempt to explain his origins, or his purpose. The mark of Necros was not one others could bear easily. And now, with distance and solitude, he finally understood. These people had known one another longer. They had shared laughter, fights, wounds both fresh and old. They were comrades, bound by more than mission.

He was not part of that. Not truly. And soon, they would all separate. Tulmud was their destination, and once reached, there would be no reason to remain together. That knowledge pressed into him, soft and heavy.

‘I should keep my mouth shut more often,’ Ludwig thought as he dragged a finger across a patch of bark flaking from the log. The fire cracked behind him, echoing faintly between the trees.

Then, unexpectedly, he heard the lightest of footsteps approach.

He turned just slightly, only enough to see her.

Celine.

She emerged from the shadow like a ghost shaking off its long sleep, her movements slow but precise. Her pale silver hair fell over her shoulders in loose strands, and her eyes scanned the camp until they landed on Ludwig. Without a word, she walked toward him, her steps silent over the forest floor.

She sat beside him, close, her presence bringing a sudden shift to the air. She said nothing. Simply sat.

Ludwig watched her for a moment, then looked away toward the forest.

“Do you remember anything?” he asked, his voice low. “Of your past, I mean.”

She didn’t answer immediately. The pause was long enough that Ludwig began to wonder if she would at all. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers gently curling and uncurling, her eyes fixed ahead.

“Vague,” she said at last. “Fleeting.”

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!