Alyra stood frozen, mouth slightly open. The cold air of the crypt slithered down her throat—damp, earthy, and reeking of death.

  Had she really heard those voices? Or was it just her imagination?

  Sierelith was staring stone-faced at the staircase leading to the lower chamber.

  If it hadn’t been for her and that frozen expression, like her face had turned to ice, Alyra might’ve convinced herself she was just imagining things.

  But they had to be real. The dead twins buried down there had just… spoken.

  They’d said something, but what? The voice had come like a whisper on a dead wind, too soft to catch clearly. She couldn’t recall the words. Only the tone: absurdly playful.

  Like they didn’t know they were dead.

  She didn’t want to meet… whatever was waiting in that crypt. Alyra’s breathing quickened, shallow and shaky, fogging the air in front of her. She reached toward the metal handle of the crypt door.

  Something grabbed her arm and yanked it back.

  She stared at her frozen limb. What the—what was stopping her?

  Sierelith was glaring at her, her hand clamped tightly around Alyra’s arm. “One more step and I’ll knock you out. I’ve had it, Alyra. I’m not letting you screw this up too. There are hungry zombies out there. If they hear or see us, we’re dead. We can’t go out. You are not opening that door.”

  Alyra froze. She looked at the crypt door. Opening it would be escaping one nightmare… only to step into another. The heretic was right. But… what was waiting for them down there?

  Her throat felt like it was lined with wool. “In the crypt…” she whispered, pointing downward with a trembling hand.

  Sierelith gave a sharp nod. “I heard them too,” she muttered. “I’m not deaf. And from what I caught, they’re just little girls. We can handle them.” She nodded toward the door. “Unlike what’s waiting outside. So don’t even think about opening that door.”

  Reluctantly, Alyra lowered her hand and glanced at the descending passage. “I… I’m scared,” she whispered. A tear slid down her cheek.

  Sierelith’s face softened. “Yeah, that’s normal. But if you want to serve Orbisar—if you even dream of becoming a Warden like Isabelle one day, you’ve gotta learn to face worse things than this.”

  Alyra sniffled and nodded slightly.

  She was right.

  She had been training hard at the academy. She dreamed of standing beside Isabelle as her Warden… her partner. The two of them, and Derek, protecting Narkhara from demons and monsters.

  How could she hope to reach that… if she was terrified of two little girls?

  Alyra nodded again, firmer this time. She took a deep breath, clenched her fists, and lifted her chin.

  Sierelith studied her for a moment, then gave a curt nod. “That’s better. Now stay ready.”

  A black-bladed dagger appeared in her hand.

  Alyra had never seen it before. The blade gave off a bad feeling she couldn’t quite explain—like it didn’t belong in the world.

  Sierelith held it up. “It’s laced with a Death crystal. Not very strong, won’t last more than a few hits, but I think it should be enough for… them.”

  “That magic’s forbidden,” Alyra whispered.

  “Not for us,” the illusion mage replied flatly. “My father always said Death is part of the world, just like Life, Fire, and all the other forces that fall from the sky in Orbisar’s spheres. Banning it is like saying Orbisar made a mistake.”

  Alyra frowned. These heretic ideas…

  They didn’t sound as crazy or blasphemous as she’d been taught.

  They actually… made sense.

  Sierelith set her jaw. “We have to go down. As long as the undead are still moving, we’re not safe here. And if they don’t come up…”

  “Fine,” Alyra said, surprising herself with how steady her voice sounded.

  She wanted to prove she could handle it.

  She’d get back to school in one piece and brag to those snobby classmates that she’d fought undead. And won.

  She raised her fists and slipped into a fighting stance, just like in training.

  Except this time there were no gloves. No breaks. No way to call timeout.

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  It was win or die.

  Her stomach twisted. Her heartbeat was an avalanche tumbling down a cliff.

  Sierelith drew a breath and stepped toward the stairs.

  The dagger was steady in one hand; a small violet sphere floated above the other.

  Maybe she was prepping a spell.

  “Oh… good girls!” came the childlike voice again. “You made up! Now we can all come up and play!”

  Sierelith froze in place.

  Alyra, just behind her, raised her fists in guard. No clue if that would work against undead, but it was the only stance she knew.

  Then their raspy little voices began to chant, sing-song and innocent.

  Come and play, it’s getting late,

  The stars are out, it must be fate.

  Bring your toys and hold our hands,

  We’ll show you dreams in sleepy lands.

  Quiet now, don’t cry or moan,

  We don’t like to play alone.

  If you leave before the end...

  We’ll find you anyway, sweet friend.

  Two pale shapes emerged from the stairs, holding hands.

  Bare little feet tapped softly on the crypt’s stone steps, each thud echoing off the walls.

  Alyra gawked as they stepped into the soft blue light from the wall-mounted crystals.

  They were identical. Two unmoving little figures, like forgotten statues.

  They wore plain, faded cotton dresses, stained with dirt, with old red and blue floral embroidery, sewn with love long ago.

  Their feet were filthy. Their shoulder-length hair was matted and damp.

  They smiled. But the smile never reached their eyes.

  Just dull, lifeless sockets that didn’t reflect light.

  They spoke like they didn’t know—or worse, didn’t remember—they were dead.

  “Hi,” they said in unison.

  “Did you bring us toys?”

  Alyra glanced at Sierelith, who just stared back, eyes wide.

  “N-no,” Alyra stammered. “S-sorry.” She realized her fists were still raised. Slowly, she lowered them.

  The twins didn’t seem to notice. Their smiles faded. One of them pouted, revealing a cracked lip, and crossed her bony arms. “People usually bring us presents.”

  Sierelith waved her free hand, and two beaded bracelets appeared on her palm. “I have these, if you want,” she offered, her voice uncertain.

  The skeletal girls giggled and skipped over to grab them, tiny hands reaching eagerly. Sierelith dropped the bracelets into their half-skeletal palms.

  They squealed with delight, but it didn’t sound like the bright laughter of two little girls. It was thin and broken, like a music box winding down, notes warped by age.

  Alyra’s stomach turned as she caught a glimpse of the bracelets sliding loosely over bones that didn’t seem to hold together quite right. Skin sagging where flesh was long gone.

  She stared at Sierelith. Smart move, using illusion magic. And incredible composure. Alyra could barely stop herself from screaming in terror. How had she even managed to think clearly?

  Now they just had to pray the girls didn’t realize it was a trick.

  While the twins fawned over their new accessories, Sierelith slowly stepped beside Alyra. Her eyes were wide. Tense.

  “What?” Alyra whispered. “Something wrong?”

  Sierelith nodded toward the girls. “They were awake when we got here. They didn’t speak up because they were scared. But we don’t know how long they’ve been like this.”

  Alyra frowned. “So?”

  Sierelith swallowed. “The awakening rite never lasts long. Then the dead go back to their graves.”

  “Why?” Alyra already had a bad feeling. One she didn’t want confirmed.

  “Because the longer they stay up, the more they lose control. The magic that brought them back starts to break them. Same thing that happens to the jungle beasts… or to people who try to wield power beyond what their aura can handle.”

  Alyra looked back at the twins. Still admiring their fake bracelets like nothing was wrong.

  They were striking awkward poses—probably meant to be cute, but the angles were all wrong. Twisted.

  How long had they been up? How much time before they turned into monsters like all the rest?

  “Exactly,” Sierelith whispered. “Judging by your face, you’ve figured out our problem.”

  Alyra shifted, restless. “What do we do?”

  The spy raised her black-bladed dagger. Her shifting green eyes locked onto Alyra’s.

  Alyra shook her head. “You’re not serious. They’re just kids! Look at them! They’re playing with their bracelets. They don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  “They’re already dead, Alyra,” Sierelith said firmly. “And we will be too… unless we act.”

  She glanced at the twins. They seemed completely unaware of their condition, just like the normal little girls they must have once been. Maybe their families had thought the same thing, when they brought them back. But how could they not see the horror too? Could grief really blind someone that much?

  Sierelith sighed. “We just need to put them back in their graves.”

  Alyra wiped her forehead.

  Sierelith was right, of course. They were in danger, and those things were an abomination in the eyes of Orbisar.

  She had every reason to do what the heretic asked. And yet… she couldn’t stop seeing them as just two little girls. Taken too soon, by a world that had already robbed them of their parents, their home, their lives.

  And now she was supposed to… what? Punch them? Tear them apart?

  Her stomach twisted. Acid rose in her throat.

  Sierelith laid a hand on her shoulder and met her eyes. “Listen,” she whispered. “I get it. You think I’m a monster, being a heretic and all… but I’m not.” She raised the dagger again. “This has to be done. If there were only one of them, I’d handle it. But there’s two. I need you to keep one busy while I… take care of the other.”

  Alyra’s heart pounded in her ears. Every cell in her body screamed at her to throw open the door and run. “Keep her busy? What does that even mean?” she hissed. “You want me to hold one of them down while the other watches her sister get butchered?”

  Sierelith clenched her jaw. “It won’t be that easy. They’re not really kids. Don’t underestimate their strength. When they realize they’re in danger, they’ll fight back. I hope you paid attention in that novice school of yours.”

  Alyra nodded quickly.

  Sierelith looked at her for a second, biting her lip. Then nodded. “Good. Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll—”

  She turned toward the twins.

  And froze.

  They were gone.

  Alyra’s heart skipped a beat. They hadn’t made a sound. “Where’d they go?” she whispered.

  Sierelith took a step toward the stairs leading to the lower level. “They must’ve gone back down. There’s nowhere else to hide.”

  “You’re… you’re right. We need to go after them. We have to end this before they lose control and come for us.”

  A shrill, scratchy voice echoed from below. “The bracelet… it was just an illusion. You tricked us.”

  Sierelith’s eyes widened. She pointed her dagger toward the stairs. “Alyra, back up. I think they’re coming.”

  “Aurelia’s very sad you did that to us.”

  “I’m sorry, Marin,” Sierelith said, voice tight. “I promise I’ll bring real ones next time, okay?”

  Alyra moved to the side. She’d strike from the flank… if she could summon the nerve.

  “No!” the voice screamed. “You made my sister cry… and now you’re never leaving this place!”

  Alyra braced herself the way she’d been taught. Every muscle drawn tight like a bowstring.

  Sweat trickled through her hair, soaking into her already damp clothes. Her heartbeat roared in her ears.

  A dark blur shot from the shadows. The scream that followed wasn’t human. It was the screech of some infernal predator.

  One moment, Sierelith stood with her dagger drawn. The next, she was slammed to the floor, crushed beneath the shrieking creature’s weight.

  The girl—or what was left of her—ripped at her with hooked claws, howling like a demon possessed. Sierelith thrashed and rolled, screaming as she tried to shake her off.

  Alyra stepped forward. A second scream made her spin around.

  Aurelia’s hollow eyes were inches from her face. Broken teeth bared in an animal snarl.

  Then a sudden force slammed into her chest. The air vanished from her lungs. The world flipped. Stone struck her back like a hammer.

  Aurelia was on top of her, mouth gaping, inches from her throat.

  Alyra could barely hold her off. She was strong.

  Sierelith’s words echoed in her mind: ‘don’t underestimate them’.

  With a desperate grunt, Alyra drove her knee into the thing’s gut.

  Aurelia tumbled away, but landed on all fours and leapt again with a growl.

  Alyra punched her in the face. Hard.

  A sharp crack. Bone gave way.

  Aurelia staggered. But didn’t fall.

  She came right back.

  Alyra hit her again. And again.

  The girl’s skin was cold and thin, like tissue paper stretched over brittle bones. Alyra could feel them cracking beneath her fists. But it didn’t matter. The thing didn’t flinch. Didn’t cry out. Didn’t even slow down.

  It just kept coming.

  No technique. Just raw, mindless fury. An animal.

  And that was the real problem: it didn’t stop.

  Alyra was getting tired. Her punches were already losing strength.

  It wasn’t enough.

  Sierelith was still struggling on the floor.

  They were losing.

  Alyra wasn’t a Warden.

  She was just a Sprout. A novice.

  She was going to die here.

  No, worse.

  She’d be trapped in this crypt. Turned into one of them.

  A tear slid down her cheek.

  And then—

  Something heavy slammed into the crypt door with a deafening boom.