We leave the battlefield behind, bone warriors crossing muddy ground toward distant walls.

  What remains of the Wall of Flesh cooks beneath morning sun, already dissolving into component parts.

  Corruption does not linger here.

  Only death and ending.

  I lead from the front, Aeternus sheathed across my back. Dragon plates slide into resting configuration, wolf joints reset to marching stance.

  Spectral tissue flows between bone fragments.

  Thirty-Seven fewer warriors march now than when we entered. Some absorbed by the Wall, others shattered beyond recovery.

  The road curves ahead where dried mud gives way to withered grass.

  The Captain stands at the bend, waiting with the remainder of the Legion.

  He does not speak. None of them do.

  But he sees me approach and tilts his head, acknowledgment, question, respect all conveyed in that simple motion.

  I nod once.

  Settlement secured. Threat eliminated.

  The Captain's skull swivels toward the smoke rising behind us, then back to me.

  A slight sideways tilt. Casualties?

  I hold up three fingers, then seven. The count of our fallen.

  He taps his breastplate twice with a hollow clack, a soldier's salute to the fallen.

  The Captain motions with his sword arm, a fluid gesture indicating readiness to continue the march. His skull pivots toward Haven's direction, then back to me.

  Waiting for command.

  I scan our formation. Many warriors bear more and more damage, cracked ribs, shattered limbs held together by will and ancient magic.

  One soldier's skull is half-gone, yet still he stands, awaiting orders.

  We are broken things, made whole through purpose.

  The staff with its yellow gem remains clutched in my left hand. I consider it briefly, then secure it across my back alongside Aeternus.

  Knowledge is power, and Haven needs every advantage.

  I raise my arm and point northward, westward, the direction doesn't matter, only the pull towards Haven.

  The Captain's jaw clicks once, acknowledgment. He turns to the formation and makes three sharp gestures. The Legion responds instantly, reconfiguring from defensive lines to marching columns.

  Bone feet strike the road in unison.

  I take position at the front, the Captain falling in beside me. His eye sockets fix on the horizon where Haven's walls will eventually appear. His head tilts slightly toward me again, a question in the angle of his skull.

  What awaits us?

  I have no answer. The Drowned Kingdom plots to flood Haven. Flesh Sculptors create abominations from the living. Demons and balverines hunt in territories we've yet to cleanse. .

  But Haven still stands. People still breathe behind those walls. Commander Ikert still leads their defense.

  And we march to join them, two hundred and thirty-seven warriors of bone and purpose, led by Death's Champion.

  The Legion moves as one entity, a river of bone flowing north across corrupted lands.

  Toward Haven. Toward duty.

  Toward home.

  The road stretches ahead.

  My warriors fan out, forming a protective wedge.

  We advance as one, a river of bone and steel flowing toward Haven.

  The corrupted world reacts to our passage.

  Dark shapes scurry from our path, retreating into shadowed thickets. Eyes watch from hollow trees, wary and fearful. Corruption recognizes Death's authority, giving way before our advance.

  A pack of something like wolves emerges from a ravine, their forms warped by endless rot. Spines protrude from mangled fur, jaws distended beyond natural limits.

  They snarl, hackles raised, until they sense our nature.

  Recognition flashes in feral eyes. Not fear, but understanding. They retreat, melting back into corrupted undergrowth.

  Occasional movement betrays things neither human nor beast that flee at our approach.

  My Legion marches on, untroubled by fatigue or doubt.

  Their purpose matches mine. Protect Haven. Stand against corruption.

  A massive carrion bird circles overhead, wingspan blotting out weak sun. It dives, perhaps mistaking bone for food. The error becomes apparent as it nears. With a strangled cry, it veers away, wings beating frantically to gain distance.

  Creatures that would eagerly tear apart living soldiers flee before our advance, leaving only disturbed undergrowth and abandoned lairs.

  Even corrupted nature knows better than to challenge Death's Legion.

  Three hours into our march, Haven appears on the horizon.

  From distance, it seems untouched, a place of life amid corrupted lands that press closer each season. Yet now I understand how truly vulnerable it remains.

  I halt the column with raised hand. The Legion stops , bone feet settling into silence. No breathing disturbs the moment. No shuffling of tired soldiers. Just stillness that belongs to the grave from which they rose.

  "They will fear us," I tell my captain. "More than before. Prepare for hostility."

  His skull dips in acknowledgment, fracture lines creaking with the movement. He turns to the formation, bone fingers making gestures.

  The warriors respond, adjusting their stance to appear less threatening. Weapons lower. Shields angle downward. Those with horrific visage damage move toward the rear where collapsed skulls and severed limbs will be less visible, less prone to cause a panic.

  Yet there is no disguising what approaches Haven's gates, two hundred and more skeletons marching in formation, bearing ancient weapons and catastrophic damage.

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  Death's Legion.

  We continue our march, passing newly reclaimed fields where early wheat promises future harvest if walls hold that long. Farmers see us first, distant figures straightening suddenly from irrigation work, tools dropping from as they flee toward Haven's gates.

  News travels faster than bone feet across open ground. By the time we close half the distance, Haven's walls are full with defenders. Ballistas swing toward us. Archers nock arrows.

  The gates slam shut, the sound carries across the plain.

  I raise my hand again, halting our advance at bowshot range.

  "Hold position," I tell the Captain.

  He signals the Legion.

  I step forward alone, leaving my Legion behind. Aeternus slides free from its place across my back.

  I raise Aeternus high above my head, blade flat, palms upward in the ancient gesture of parley. The motion is familiar to me, to them, to those on the wall who've seen these bones before.

  Commander Ikert appears at the battlements, her silhouette unmistakable even at this distance. She studies me, then the bone army at my back. Her hand rises, and the archers lower their bows slightly.

  Recognition.

  I hold the position, unmoving.

  "Death's Champion?" Commander Ikert calls.

  I dip my skull once in acknowledgment.

  "And these others?" Her hand sweeps toward my Legion.

  I lower Aeternus and draw a single word in the dirt.

  It is not yet time to reveal the spectral flesh that forms words or the grave voice, that must wait till I am closer. .

  Warriors

  Murmurs ripple along the wall. Defenders shift nervously, weapons still ready.

  "What do you seek?" Ikert's voice remains steady, practiced in crisis.

  I trace another word in glowing script.

  ENTRY

  The commander considers this.

  She confers briefly with officers at her side.

  "Approach alone," she finally calls. "Your warriors will remain outside until we determine their nature."

  I nod once more, then turn to the Captain. s.

  The Captain dips his skull.

  He will maintain the Legion'.

  I sheathe Aeternus and walk forward alone.

  The small sally port in Haven's main gate creaks open, just wide enough for a single figure to pass.

  I approach.

  "Commander Ikert!"

  Ikert flinches slightly at my voice but recovers quickly. Her eyes scan my altered form, noting the translucent tissue, and more monstrous configeration.

  "You've changed," she says simply.

  "Yes." I touch the spectral tissue at my throat. "More than appearance."

  She glances past me to the Legion waiting beyond bowshot. "And them?"

  "The Hallowed Legion. Warriors who fell defending the outpost west of here. I awakened them."

  Her brow furrows. "You can raise the dead now?"

  "Not raise. Awaken. Only those who died with purpose unfinished." I gesture toward Haven's walls. "They come to fulfill their oath, to protect these lands."

  Ikert's hand remains on her sword hilt. "And who commands them?"

  "I do."

  "And who commands you?"

  The question hangs between us. Valid. Essential.

  I place my hand over my rib cage where Carida's remains rest. "Purpose. Protection. The same as before."

  "You were a weapon," she says carefully. "Now you return with an army."

  "Not to conquer. To defend." I look directly into her eyes. "The Drowned Kingdom plan to attack Haven. A few days from now, perhaps less. I've destroyed their outpost, but more will come."

  She weighs this information, then makes a decision. "Your Legion remains outside the walls for now. You may enter to explain what you've discovered."

  She steps aside from the sally port. "The council will want to hear this."

  I duck through the narrow opening, feeling the press of ancient stone against bone and spectral flesh. Haven's streets spread before me, familiar yet changed.

  More to protect.

  Ikert walks beside me, maintaining professional distance. Citizens scatter at my approach, ducking into doorways or pressing against walls. Some recognize me, pointing and whispering.

  We reach the command building. Ikert pauses at the entrance.

  "Before we proceed, the dwarves. Did you succeed?"

  "Yes. Maha Marr will send aid. Food, metals, engineers. A trade route has been established through the western tunnels."

  Relief flickers across her face. "Then Haven might survive another season."

  "More than survive," I say. "With the Legion, with dwarven aid, with proper preparation, Haven can survive, and corruption pushed back."

  She studies me for a long moment. "You truly believe that?"

  "I know it," I say, the resonant voice still unfamiliar even to myself. "The Drowned Kingdom will invade, but their herald is dead. The Duke's territory has fallen into chaos. The balverine hamlet is destroyed. Maha Marr sends supplies."

  Ikert's expression shifts subtly. Not hope, she's too hardened for that, but something close.

  "And your Legion?"

  "They died defending these lands. Now they rise to do so again."

  We enter the command building. Guards flatten against walls as I pass, hands white-knuckled on weapons they know won't save them should I turn hostile.

  The war room looks unchanged, maps spread across tables, figurines marking threats, candles burning low. The council members freeze when I enter, faces contorting with shock at my altered form.

  Old Thedir's blind eyes widen. "Something's different. The air, it shifts differently around you."

  "Death's Champion has changed," Ikert announces. "And brought an army of the dead to our gates."

  Panic erupts among the council. Hartger reaches for his sword. Eren slams his metal stump against the table.

  "Silence!" Ikert commands.

  The room settles, barely.

  "Hey, since when did that thing talk?" Wayfried Anselm's voice cuts through the tension, his wooden peg leg thumping as he shifts position.

  I turn toward him, spectral tissue flowing between bone fragments. "Since I remembered more of what I was."

  The council members recoil hearing my voice.

  "I've secured dwarven aid," I explain, placing boneshands flat on the war table. "Food. Metal. Engineers. A trade route through the western tunnels."

  Hilde Gerwynn leans forward, suspicion warring with desperate hope. "The dwarves agreed? After all these years?"

  "They've lost their king. Their god. They seek new alliances."

  Eren Falkreid slams his metal stump on the table again. "And we're supposed to trust the word of a talking skeleton? One that's brought an army of the dead to our doorstep?"

  I meet his gaze. "The supplies will arrive within days."

  Hartger Amsell shifts nervously. "And your Legion?"

  "Warriors who fell defending the western outpost. I awakened them from the Hollowed Bastion. They remember their purpose."

  "Which is?" Commander Ikert asks.

  "The same as mine. To protect Haven."

  Maralda Kreiz taps her fingers against the table. "We barely tolerated one walking corpse. Now there are hundreds?"

  "Over two hundred," I correct. "And they're needed."

  Silence crashes across the room. Even Eren's anger falters.

  "How?" Jermaine Dulluth finally asks.

  I move to the war table, skeletal fingers tracing the map's contours. "The Drowned Kingdom prepares to attack Haven. Their herald planned a ritual to redirect underground rivers, flooding your walls from below."

  The council members exchange glances.

  "We destroyed their outpost," I continue. "But they will return. Three days, perhaps less."

  Berta Volstadt's steel jaw catches the candlelight. "How many?"

  "Hundreds. Barnacled soldiers. Drowned knights. Creatures pulled from the abyss."

  Jermaine's remaining fingers tap against the table. "We cannot withstand such numbers."

  "You won't face them alone." I straighten to my full height. "The Legion will stand with Haven's defenders."

  Silence falls across the room, broken only by Old Thedir's labored breathing.

  "Your bone soldiers," Commander Ikert says carefully, "they follow your commands without question?"

  "They follow their purpose. As do I."

  Waynus Johhans shifts his weight, compensating for his damaged leg. "Our troops are exhausted. Three months of constant watches, patrols beyond the walls. We lose more each week."

  I nod. "The living require rest. The dead do not."

  Understanding dawns in Ikert's eyes. "You're offering to replace our night watches."

  "The Legion can maintain perimeter security. Your soldiers can sleep. Regain strength."

  Relief ripples through the council. Even Eren's perpetual scowl softens slightly.

  Hilde Gerwynn leans forward. "With dwarven supplies and additional defenders..."

  "Haven might survive," Ikert finishes.

  I place my hand over my rib cage where Carida's remains rest. "But there is more."

  The brief moment of hope falters.

  "The Drowned Kingdom is one threat among many. The Duke's territory has fallen into chaos, but others will claim it. Flesh Sculptors create abominations from living tissue. The corruption spreads."

  "What are you saying?" Ikert asks.

  "Haven cannot simply defend. The walls will fall eventually, no matter how many bone warriors stand upon them."

  I trace a wide circle on the map, encompassing territories beyond Haven's immediate surroundings.

  "I must go out there. Into the wilds. The wastes. The corrupted heart."

  Maralda frowns. "You're leaving? After bringing this Legion to our gates?"

  "The Legion will remain to defend Haven. I must hunt greater threats at their source."

  Ikert studies me carefully. "Alone?"

  "As I was before."

  "To what end?" Old Thedir asks, blind eyes somehow finding me in the room.

  "To carve a path through darkness. To find what feeds the corruption and destroy it."

  I straighten, spectral tissue flowing between bone fragments. "Haven cannot survive by simply holding its walls. The darkness must be pushed back."

  Jermaine's tactical mind engages. "You're proposing a two-part strategy. Defense here, offense elsewhere."

  "Yes."

  "And if you fail?" Eren challenges.

  "Then the Legion will continue its purpose. Haven will stand as long as possible."

  Commander Ikert circles the table, coming to stand before me. "How soon would you leave?"

  "After the Drowned Kingdom's attack is repelled. After your soldiers have rested. After the Legion understands its role."

  She nods slowly. "Three days, then."

  "Three days," I agree.

  I turn to face the entire council. "The darkness has claimed too much for too long. It is time to reclaim what was lost."

  Wayfried Anselm thumps his wooden leg against the floor. "Bold words from dead bones."

  "Not just bones," I reply. "Purpose. Memory. The promise that darkness will not claim everything."

  The council chambers fall silent as my words settle over them.

  A promise made in bone and spectral flesh.

  A vow that echoes through borrowed fragments and ancient oaths.

  The dead will defend while the living rest.

  And Death's Champion will carry the fight beyond the walls.