Morgan sat quietly on the stone bench in the temple's garden. His hands wrapped around the blade's sheath. It was warm to the touch as he considered what he had seen. He understood enough to find the task daunting. The outcome of failure echoed in him. Yet, even with all that, a hard lump formed in his stomach when he considered the beast made of flame.

“He alone has the power to silence the bell,” Morgan muttered to himself. His mind returned to the sight of the Hound of Sorrow standing over Havar. A shiver ran through him. The fact he was destined to face the man again scared him. He couldn't deny it. Worse, still, was that it may be sooner than he ever wanted.

An adventurer had made it to the gate. She and her party had been in the forest with a strange mage with a Deamuri. He had fought long past the point of death before he finally fell. By the way they had described it; the man had become wreathed in magical fire and wielded weapons made of it.

“He slaughtered the undead. I know he saved us, but he...he..... When he died, he had this look of misery. We realized who he was. Instead of trying to take him with us? I...I convinced them to run. Then? Oh gods,” she said, trying her best not to tear up, “Then the demon appeared. It mocked me as it killed my friends. I abandoned them, too! I..I...If we hadn't abandoned the Hound, would my friends still be alive?”

She couldn't continue before breaking down. Morgan had noticed that Marindol wore a strange look during the entire story she told. It was something between disbelief and concern. Yet there was something else there, too. The Hero couldn't tell if it was fear or anger. All he knew for certain was that there was doubt.

The story was more proof that something was wrong. He didn't know if he could believe that story or not. The woman was hysterical. Not that he could blame her, but all the same? The Hound of Sorrow had done so many contradictory things. The young man's heart dropped thinking about it. Did Havar die over some misunderstanding? The young man's hands gripped the sheath tighter.

The adventurer's story had already spread about the city fast. The fact Marindol had let it happen struck Morgan as especially strange. Still, the Hierophant wasn't a foolish man, yet it struck Morgan as bizarre. When asked about the matter; the old man answered, “To see who reacts. Lady Misana Lura'mi is somewhere in the city. Once the plan is finalized, I'll fill you in more."

"Won't everyone react, though?" Morgan asked under his breath. A clearing of a throat brought his attention back to the present. Looking up, he saw Amira staring at him from the other side of the garden. She was frowning and motioned to him.

I walked down the road as ice clung to my cloak. I had collapsed and died more than once before I had found it. There was no way I could call Veline back to that place. I didn't want to drag her back to only die of hunger and cold again. The fire in my hands was the only reprise from the winter around me. Bitterness tainted my thoughts. The fear she wore in that moment when I brought her back was too much for me.

The ratty, destroyed clothing I wore gave next to no protection. The forest was silent beyond the sounds of the wind whispering through and the creaking of the trees.

Idly, I considered how uncanny it all was. I felt like a ghost walking through hell. I rarely saw any sign of life. Horrific creatures seemed to stalk beyond the lines of trees. Yet, they would never approach while I lived. Their grotesque figures shirking away from the flame I held. They waited for me to fall instead. When I revived, I'd kill them in turn. A twisted cycle of being fed upon to only feed upon that which ate.

I would have become numb in my single mindedness had it not been there. I was alone, but it was there all the same. The mocking whisper in my ear. How it jeered and spoke of how I was no better than those creatures. How if I found another human? I would set upon them like a monster, too.

Each time, I ignored it. Sometimes, it spoke like people I knew. It had the gall to pretend to be adventurers. Telling me how I was responsible. How it was me who led them to death. How they hated me. Then it'd use the voices of people I had known long ago.

“It's okay, no one expects any better of a worthless child like you,” It once whispered into my ear in the voice of my mother. I wondered if she had even cared to go to my funeral.

“This is the first time you have ever wondered about us. What a horrible person,” It said. I tried to shake it away, but the words bit harder than the cold. It wasn't wrong. I didn't even worry about any of them.

I paused as a figure seemed to stand behind a tree. I twitched slightly as the voice said in my own voice, “They never cared anyway. They abandoned me. They believe that stupid bitches lies. I didn't do anything wrong. They all are responsible for my death. Why should I care?”

The figure was gone as I passed by the tree. I muttered, “Go away.”

“Weak,” the voice growled into my ear. I turned my head away as I saw monsters behind the trees. Their eyes were watching hungrily. My own stomach growled. “The same.”

“Go to hell,” I hissed as I kept moving. The soreness in my legs was normal to me after so long. I couldn't even tell how long had passed.

“We are there,” the voice said with a thousand laughs before fading away. No possession could take root in me. That fact was something I reminded myself of as it taunted me. I turned my eyes back to the monsters and only caught sight of a single creature there.

I looked down into the fire as I moved along. Past it, I could see the wounds on my hands healing as they formed. The pain was constant, but I couldn't seem to find it in myself to care. In that moment, it seemed all that kept me aware that I was alive.

In the silence, I considered the nature of whatever power had formed within me. The regeneration was incredible. Yet, staring down at my hands, the pain was always worse than the injury. Nor did it seem to stave off death. The devil may well not have poisoned Veline at any point, I considered. Why trust it to do something so gentle in comparison? The voice growled, “They were dead in the snow.”

Looking up, I saw an undead rise from the snow. It crawled onto the road and collapsed again. I stopped far enough away that it'd fail to get at me. Anger jolted through me as it fell over with its eyes on me. Yet, I was caught off guard before I could make a move. It growled out, each word spoken slowly, “Hurts. Where are they? Left me behind.”

Its face twitched as it stared up at me. I noticed then that it had only one leg. I couldn't help but to wonder if this was even real. Out of morbid curiosity I decided on my action. In a hoarse voice I asked, “What?”

“Where did they go? The devil led us. Where did they go?” It hissed as its rotted hands gripped at its missing leg. “Hurts. Hurts.”

“Why are you not attacking me?” I asked. It's face scrunched up in a look of pain and confusion. “Hungry. Hurts. Attack? You. I don't feel it? The hate,” It paused for a moment and its cloudy eyes focused on me. “Fire. It's....I can't feel it.”

The creature then let its hands drop to the road. Its face went more slack. It said, “I don't hate you. I don't feel the rage? Save me. I beg of you. Save me.”

The question left me unsure of what to make of it. For a few seconds I stared down at the pitiful undead. I said, “I killed a bunch of your kind and the devil that led them.”

I expected anger. Instead? I was met with the corpse's face forming a soft, almost relieved smile. I felt a heavy frown form on my face. I cut the magic forming the fire. With the ghostly spear formed in my hands, I approached. I wasn't worried at all over any possibility that this was a trick. Nothing it could ever do to me worried me. This forest had taken something from me, I realized. The voice whispered into my ear, “Monster.”

Its eyes closed and laid its head on the ground. Pity formed in me as I prepared to drive the tip into its head. It gurgled out, “Thank you.”

I drove the spear down and the undead went still.