Deus Necros

The conversation faded with the firelight, and the clatter of spoons on bowls soon turned into the low murmur of settling companions. The tension hadn’t vanished entirely, but it had dulled, softened under the hum of mutual exhaustion. The kind that didn’t need to be voiced to be understood.

Ludwig slowly rose to his feet, brushing the seat of his trousers as he turned from the circle of warmth. His boots made no sound over the dry pine needles scattered across the packed earth. The tree canopy above stretched high and wide, blotting out much of the sky save for a few cracks where stars peeked through like distant, blinking eyes.

“Where are you going?” Timur’s voice came, low and even.

Ludwig didn’t turn. “Standing watch,” he replied. “You guys can rest up for the night. I’ll make sure nothing comes and disturbs your sleep.”

Timur gave a quiet grunt of assent. “Sure. Wake me in two hours, we’ll do shifts.”

“Will do,” Ludwig murmured, and continued on.

The group began to disperse in their own quiet ways. Melisande stepped into the carriage without a word, her silhouette framed briefly in the lamplight before the door clicked shut. Robin climbed atop the roof, his body shifting like a cat’s, settling above the axles with his crossbow across his chest. Gorak wedged himself between a large stone and the carriage wheel, his back flush to the boulder, arms folded over the haft of his axe, which sat propped like a sentinel across his lap. Redd simply decided it was best to curl back into his bag and sleep.

Ludwig made his way to a tree trunk on the far edge of the fire’s reach, the same fallen log from earlier. It was smooth now, bark long gone and covered in a dry lichen that felt cold beneath his fingers. He sat there, exhaling slowly, watching the flames flicker in the distance like a living memory. The night around him was still, the distant sound of crickets filling the silence between breaths. Somewhere farther off, an owl gave a slow, mournful hoot.

Time passed. The crescent moon inched its way across the black canopy overhead, its light turning the trees silver at the edges. The wind changed once, colder now, hinting at the early morning hours still to come.

Then, without sound, without even the courtesy of a breeze, Celine returned.

One moment the edge of the forest was empty, the next she was simply there, as if the shadows themselves had given her form and let her loose into the world. Her arrival stirred not a twig, not a rustle of leaf. The silence around her was almost too perfect.

Her cloak hung close, dark against the pale curve of her skin. Her hair was unbound now, drifting lightly in the breeze that hadn’t touched her arrival. Dry, clean, untouched by mire or blood. She moved through the sleeping camp like a ghost that had never belonged to the world of men. Past Gorak, past Redd, his breath shallow and even, and then finally to Ludwig’s side.

She didn’t speak. Just sat beside him, her posture poised, shoulders relaxed, expression unreadable. It was the calm of someone who had walked a long way and felt nothing for it.

“Did you feed?” Ludwig asked, voice low. He didn’t look at her yet, only kept his eyes on the fire as it popped and shifted in the distance.

She nodded once. “No one died.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

Celine finally turned her head toward him, a single brow rising as though mildly amused. “I’m not in a frenzy, Davon. Isn’t that enough?”

Ludwig turned his gaze then, studying her features. She was too calm. Too composed. Her skin had a sheen to it now, not the flush of health, but something deeper. A faint, almost imperceptible glow. Not warmth. Power. Something that had been asleep for a very long time, and now stirred beneath the surface of her skin.

“I guess an unfortunate beast,” he said after a pause.

She didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes were fixed on something unseen, somewhere between the trees. “Depends on your definition of beast,” she murmured. “But no humans. No blood spilled unwilling.”

Ludwig leaned back slightly, folding his arms. “Good enough for me,” he said. “I guess nobles do have their temperament.”

Her lips twitched, almost into a smile. “What did you expect nobles to act like?” she asked, turning now so her knees faced him.

He tilted his head a little. “Well… more sassy. Prudish. Proud.”

“Sounds like you’ve been among them.”

“Yeah,” Ludwig said, rubbing the side of his neck. “I did. Not a fun bunch, I gotta say. But enough lessons learned to convince others that I too might be nobility.”

He turned his head, caught her gaze. “But that would definitely not fly past you. Isn’t that right, Lady Celine Bastos?”

She didn’t deny it. Her chin rose slightly, eyes glinting with the faintest trace of pride. “You are right. Any noble worth their salt can see through your act. The mere way you speak and move is enough to say that you do come from wealth… but not nobility.”

Her tone wasn’t mocking. It was just… honest.

“You should rest up a bit,” Ludwig offered, trying to shift the subject gently.

She shook her head, dark strands slipping across her cheek. “I’ve rested enough,” she said. “Seven hundred years… have I not?”

Ludwig’s brow creased. “I would definitely not call being in that trap, tortured, burnt, bruised, and battered for hundreds of years, rest. But suit yourself.”

The fire cracked again in the distance, sending a shower of tiny sparks upward like fireflies fleeing into the dark.

“Tell me…” Celine said, her voice quieter now, more delicate than before. “Tell me about my… brother.”

Ludwig paused. He looked down at his hands, one resting against the hilt of his blade, the other curled loosely over his knee. “Ah, Master Van Dijk,” he murmured. “Right. Where should I start, then…”

He hesitated. Then inhaled slowly, the scent of pine and lingering smoke thick in his chest, and began.

“I suppose… I should start with the day I died.”

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