NOVEL NEXT 40. What Guards Returns
I race along broken terrain, returning to Haven with newfound strength.
Wolf-bones fuel each stride, carrying me over scorched fields with an ease I once lacked. Beneath, dragon fragments stir, resentful yet bound to duty's call. They remember flight, remember freedom, yet serve my earthbound purpose.
Smoke from the balverine hamlet still fouls the western sky, a sullen stain above charred ruins. I keep my hollow gaze forward, fixed on Haven's walls rising in the distance. The blackened hamlet's collapse signals one threat ended, but greater ones remain.
Dust moves across these plains, stinging eyes I never had to begin with, a phantom itch reminding me of lost senses regained. The wolf-bones bring awareness beyond death's limitations - scents carry on the wind, sounds sharpen to crystal clarity. These new fragments offer gifts beyond mere strength.
A hollow ache settles in my frame, not from pain, but from the burden of choice. Predator's instincts mix with guardian's purpose, conflicting hungers and drives. The bones under my command move with old grudges that once wanted vengeance, but I wrestle them into silence. Their purpose is mine to command now.
I pass fallen markers where smaller battles were fought, scattered weapons rusted into the ground. Memories stir as I sense echoes of those who died here, but I do not pause. Their rest remains unbroken while I guard the living. The borrowed fragments recognize old death-places, where warriors fell and were forgotten.
Dusk approaches by the time Haven's walls fill my view. Three years of siege left that stone battered, yet it still rises, survival set amid ruin. Torches flicker along battlements, watchful eyes scanning for threats. Children sleep behind those walls. Mothers mend clothes. Wounded soldiers heal. Life continues because walls stand.
A single horn sounds when the sentries spot my approach. Crossbows lift, soldiers tense, and Commander Ikert strides to her vantage. She grips the edge of fortress, studying my changed frame with narrowed eyes. Her gaze tracks the wolf-skull fragments, the altered limbs, the bone-tail that scrapes dust with each step.
I halt beyond the kill zone, raising my free hand in the old knight's salute. My figure looks monstrous at day's twilight, wolf-skull fused with bone plates, demonic shield strapped to a reworked arm. I see confusion in the guards who expected a familiar skeleton, not monster shape. Their heartbeats quicken - the wolf-bones sense their fear.
Pinpricks of blue-white light flare in my sockets. She remembers that glow, even if everything else has changed. I sense her doubts lessen but not vanish. Recognition dawns slowly. This altered form still carries the same purpose she has come to trust.
The gates do not open. Instead, a single door at ground level groans aside, flanked by wary spearmen. Ikert herself emerges in battered armor, five trusted soldiers at her side. She keeps her distance, sword ready. Her caution speaks wisdom, not fear. Even trusted allies must prove themselves when shapes change.
I set Aeternus point-down in the soil, a show of peace. Her eyes move over wolf skull and bag at my side. She gestures for her soldiers to hold position. The borrowed wolf-bones sense tension in their frames - muscles coiled, ready to spring. They fear what they do not understand.
She speaks low. "You came back more beast than knight. What happened out there?"
I kneel in slow motion, bracing on my sword hilt. My free hand tugs the map scroll from Merik's bone-sack and lays it on the dirt. The scroll contains safer truths - territorial markings, monster movements, knowledge that serves rather than destroys hope.
"Open the small gate," she orders. The guards hesitate, hands tight on crossbow triggers. "Now."
She nods for a soldier to retrieve it. Her knuckles whiten, but she steps closer. Trust warring with instinct. She knows my purpose remains unchanged, yet my form speaks danger.
The soldier edges forward, spear balanced awkwardly as he snatches the scroll. His boots scrape stone as he retreats to Ikert's position. She unrolls it, torch-light catching the detailed markings I'd preserved from the balverine den. Her face hardens as she recognizes hunting grounds, patrol routes, territory markings.
My borrowed bones stay motionless as she studies the map. Her expression grows grim at each notation, each mark showing monster territories beyond Haven's walls. The torch trembles once in her grip. The wolf-bones sense her heartbeat quicken, then steady as commander's discipline takes hold.
"Clear the wall," she orders. Guards shuffle back, though crossbows remain trained on my position. Ikert approaches until she stands just beyond Aeternus's reach. "These markings, organized hunting grounds?"
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I nod. The wolf-skull fragments feel natural now, movement fluid despite their recent grafting.
"And what else is in there?" She gestures at the bone-sack.
I lift it carefully, bones clicking as I reveal Merik's remains. The merchant's bones lie broken, yellowed with age, yet recognizable. His skull bears tooth marks where balverines fed. His rings still cling to finger bones, family crest visible despite tarnish.
I write in the dirt.
Merik. Don't tell the girl.
I watch Commander Ikert's face harden as she processes the contents of the bone-sack. Her hand tightens on her sword hilt, knuckles white against worn leather. The wolf-bones catch the scent of grief - salt and iron beneath her stoic expression.
"When?" she asks, voice steady despite the pain in her eyes.
I scratch more words into the dirt: Found in balverine larder. Too late. They hunted scavengers, travelers. Dead now. Burned the hamlet. No traces left.
"Good." She takes a steadying breath. "We'll bury him. Emmy doesn't need to know the details."
I grip Merik's bones tight as compulsion guides my frame. His fragments have an echo, there is a potential. Not meant for burial, meant for more. The Field of Broken Banners birthed one guardian. Perhaps it could birth another.
I scratch new words in the dirt:
His bones speak. Could be knight. Choice must be his.
Commander Ikert's brow furrows. "What do you mean?"
Like me. But different. No monster parts. Haven needs defenders.
My borrowed bones creak as I shift.
One stays to guard walls. One seeks beyond. His choice.
"You're suggesting, oh." Ikert's voice trails off as understanding dawns. "You want to make him like you?"
I shake my skull.
Not like me. Only one. But similar. Not as strong. But Haven stronger for it.
His duty never ended. Choice remains his.
Ikert paces, torch casting wild shadows across her weathered face. The wolf-bones sense tension rippling through her frame. The dragon fragments recognize a leader weighing difficult choices, just as dragon lords once did before their fall.
"And if he refuses?" she asks, pragmatic even in this moment of impossible choices.
Then peace. Proper burial. No force.
The commander stares at the bag containing Merik's remains. Her fingers drum against her sword hilt as she weighs the offer. I wait, patient as only the dead can be, while purpose and practicality war across her features. The wolf-bones sense her heartbeat steady as she reaches decision.
"Do what you can," she finally answers, her voice tight. The unspoken message hangs between us - she doesn't want to know more. Some details are better left in darkness, even for those who command.
I rise, bones clicking against armor plate. My wolf-skull dips in acknowledgment. There are burdens even commanders shouldn't shoulder. This ritual belongs to death's domain.
Commander Ikert leads me past the gate, into a cramped side yard where broken wagons and splintered beams lie stacked. A quiet passage skirts the ramparts, winding around Haven's perimeter. We follow it, flanked by wary guards who keep their distance. Their steel carries the scent of oil and fear.
I notice every subtle shift as we walk - hands tightening on spears, crossbow strings pulled taut. The guards cluster around Commander Ikert like moths to flame, their formation tight despite her attempts to wave them back. They see only monster shape, not guardian purpose.
"Stand down," she orders again. The command rings hollow against weathered walls.
A young soldier stumbles, trying to keep both his commander and myself in view. His spear wavers between protecting her and threatening me. The others mirror his uncertainty, creating a moving barrier of steel and flesh between Ikert and my bone frame. Their protection is meaningless against what I could become, yet they stand firm.
She sighs. "I said-"
"Begging pardon, Commander," an older guard cuts in, "but wouldn't be right. Not safe. We can't lose you too."
Ikert recognizes futility. Her jaw tightens, but she doesn't press the point. Better to let them keep their illusion of control than force the issue. Their presence changes nothing about what must be done.
Her boots scrape against loose rubble from collapsed fortifications. Mine leave no trace. The wolf-bones move with predator's silence, perfect balance inherited from death's patient hunt.
I carry Merik's remains, bone-sack cradled in my free arm. Wolf-bones and dragon fragments itch beneath my plate, but I keep their urges silenced. Now isn't the time for conflict. We walk beyond storehouses, through crumbling defensive works, until high walls meet open ground.
I lead Commander Ikert and her guards beyond Haven's walls, into the Field of Broken Banners where ancient magic pulses beneath bloody soil. The ground remembers its purpose here, where countless warriors made final stand against demon hordes. This field has drunk too much blood to forget its purpose.
I stop at a spot where broken weapons thrust from the dirt. The soil here feels different, charged with old oaths and final breaths. This is where I first rose, where scattered bones found purpose. The wolf fragments sense old magic stirring beneath the surface, while dragon bones recognize sacred ground where greater beings fell.
Kneeling, I set Merik's remains on ground that once birthed a guardian. The bone-sack's contents rattle softly as I arrange them with careful precision. Ancient magic stirs beneath my fingers, recognizing kindred sacrifice. His bones speak of duty unfulfilled, of promises to return, of a daughter waiting behind Haven's walls.
Commander Ikert watches, torch held high. Her guards form a ring around us, spears pointed outward into gathering gloom. They don't understand what this place is - not just a graveyard, but a forge. Their heartbeats quicken as magic stirs the air, raising dust in unnatural patterns.
I trace runes in the dirt around Merik's bones, patterns I do not remember learning. My claws move with certainty born of borrowed memory. The ground pulses in response, dark energy seeping through cracks in the earth. Old magic recognizes old bones.
The choice must be his. I reach out with borrowed power, touching the echo of who Merik was. His bones hold memories of Haven's walls, of Emmy's smile, of stones thrown in fear at a skeletal guardian. They hold duty unfinished, promises unkept.
The hollow responds with a faint pulse, like distant drums beneath the earth.