Rebecca's face was smeared with grime, soot, and ash, mixed with slick sweat as she sank down to her knees. Exhaustion weighed her down like lead weights, but her work had been fruitful; the majority of the fires in town had been extinguished, thanks to both her magic as well as the teams of makeshift firefighters consisting of able-bodied townspeople.

  Her reading up on fire manipulation during her initial trip had been invaluable, especially as she hadn't yet been formally trained by Nezwick on this type of magic; crisis had forced her to put theory into practice, and her magical abilities were tested to their limits as she had worked alongside the townspeople putting out fire after fire.

  Her first attempts were less than effective, doing little more than swaying the flames like a light breeze; however, she had gradually exerted more control with each fire, coaxing flames away from vulnerable structures and people, until culminating in her facing the last and greatest blaze in town.

  It was a two story structure, one of the larger buildings in town, and it burned like a great bonfire; fortunately, it had already been evacuated, but the neighboring buildings threatened to catch fire as well, forcing Rebecca to work quickly.

  She placed her hand out and willed the flames to follow her palm, then slowly motioned her arms towards the sky. The licking flames fluttered, then gradually followed her motions, until the entire blaze simply... evaporated. Thankfully, the structure itself was relatively intact, but Rebecca was entirely spent; completely sapped of strength, she had collapsed to her knees, panting heavily as other townspeople worked on dousing any smoldering remains with water, so as to avoid a reignition.

  "You did well."

  She looked up, seeing Praetorus shuffle up beside her. Like virtually everyone else, he was filthy as well, covered in all manner of grime, dirt, and dust; his bow was slung over his shoulder, and, she noted, his hood was down for the first time she had seen him. His hair was extremely short, cut so close to his scalp that she thought he was bald at first; however, as he stooped down beside her, the faint discoloration of hair revealed his natural roots as a brunet.

  "Thanks." She worked to catch her breath, looking back over the town. Those that were alive bustled about to contain the madness, while those that weren't... they lay where they had fallen. The grim task of retrieving the dead would have to wait until the town had regained a more stable footing.

  "Your affinity for magic is strong," Praetorus said. He followed her gaze, scanning the settlement with weary eyes. "I have never seen someone master an elemental magic so quickly."

  "I've been doing my reading," Rebecca replied bluntly. "Nice work with the dragon, too."

  He nodded, then paused. "Thank you, but... I feel that something is not right."

  She shrugged. "The dragon's gone for now. We've gotten some breathing room."

  "No, not that." Praetorus cocked his head. "The dragon itself... its eyes. Something about its eyes..."

  "You guys got him good there."

  "No. I think..." The archer suddenly stood, so fast that his knees popped. His expression momentarily gave way to pain, before quickly shifting back to its usual stoicism. "Can you walk?"

  "I think so." Rebecca grit her teeth and forced herself up, feeling her heels and the balls of her feet burn. She looked at him. "What's on your mind?"

  "We need to meet with the others." Praetorus looked around, spotting a pair of men beginning to collect the dead. He waved his arms at them. "Do not touch them! Leave them be!"

  The mage's brow furrowed. "Praetorus?"

  "Move. Now."

  As the two men stood there confused, the body they held suddenly began to twitch and convulse. They dropped it in surprise, backing away as the corpse slowly shambled to its feet.

  All around them, the dead began to stir and rise; even those completely consumed by fire, charred down to their bones, rose alongside their peers, their limbs animated by nonexistent muscle and sinew. Screams began to sound once more, as horrified survivors confronted their deceased neighbors, friends, and family rising before their very eyes.

  Rebecca took a step back as Praetorus unsheathed his dagger.

  "Everyone! Take their heads!" The archer bounded to the nearest undead and swiftly decapitated it; the body slumped and fell back down, lifeless. "They cannot live without their heads!"

  Pandemonium broke out as swarms of the undead began lurching towards the living, their arms outstretched as they shambled forth. Some of the townsfolk heeded Praetorus' words and took up arms, using whatever tools or instruments they could find to defend themselves; others, horrified at seeing their loved ones reanimated, could only look on in terror as they were overwhelmed or torn apart where they stood.

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  Rebecca turned and followed Praetorus as he rushed down the street, cutting down any undead in his path; chaos erupted all around them as they ran on, with people either running and screaming in terror, or fighting desperately against the risen dead.

  Ahead, she could see Henry and Arthur hacking and slashing at a horde of the reanimated corpses, back-to-back as they were surrounded. Henry was still armed with his dagger, whilst Arthur's longsword cut a grim harvest through the crowd; Praetorus flung his dagger ahead, the blade sinking right into the head of one of the corpses. As it stopped in its tracks, the archer pounced on it, tackling it to the ground before swiftly retrieving his dagger and slicing the head nearly clean off from its neck.

  "Fancy you two joining us!" Arthur called out, grunting as he cleaved another foe in half. The corpse continued to jabber and claw its way to him with its top half, before Arthur cut its head off in one blow. "You think the necromancer is here now?!"

  "No!" Praetorus parried a swipe from another foe and kicked it back, sending it toppling to the ground. "I do not think the necromancer ever left the lair!"

  "What gives you that idea?!"

  Great beams of light suddenly shone from behind them; they were bright, so bright that Rebecca had to shield her eyes even though she didn't look at them directly. The undead recoiled as one, as though the light burned them; no, it did burn them. One of the corpses disintegrated to ash as a beam of light hit it directly, while another's leg and arm followed suit as light hit those areas.

  Rebecca squinted her eyes and followed the trails of light to their source, and saw... Diana. The healer was walking slowly down the road, her mace held high above her head in one hand as the weapon emitted the blinding lights that swept aside the undead.

  The corpses screamed and screeched, before they began to turn and amble away as fast as they could; others, moving too slowly, were turned to ash by Diana's weapon she drew nearer.

  The cleric stopped when she was beside her four younger companions, then extinguished the blinding light from her weapon. The street was devoid of the undead, leaving only the living to contemplate the aftermath of this situation.

  "You, uh, mind keeping that on?" Arthur chuckled nervously. "You know, in case they come back."

  Diana smiled. "You're safe with me. The Lady is with us all." She cast a look at Praetorus. "I think it's time you came clean, Praetorus."

  "Come clean? About what?" Henry lowered his weapon, but he didn't sheathe it; he cautiously stepped forth, confronting the archer head on. Rebecca looked at them, anxiously eyeing the others as well; Diana maintained her calm composure, while Arthur took a hesitant step between Henry and Praetorus.

  "Henry." Arthur gently stepped in front of him, then turned to meet the archer. "Praetorus. What's going on?"

  Praetorus' expressionless face finally gave way to something Rebecca had never seen before: shame. "I must confess once more. I have not been entirely truthful with you."

  "Again, you've played with our lives." Henry's tone was quiet, but the rage emanating from it was white-hot. "And again, we've paid for it. At this point, I'm convinced you're working for the dragon itself."

  The party had assembled near the former market, now the makeshift center of town that doubled as a field clinic. Diana and Rebecca were working alongside many other townspeople to care for the wounded, as the other survivors worked to clear away the wreckage from the attack. It was still night, but the sky was beginning to pale; the morning sun would likely crest within the hour.

  Henry, Arthur, Praetorus, and Lyla were gathered next to the clinic, still close enough to include Diana and Rebecca in their conversation, but staying out of their way.

  Arthur motioned for Henry to simmer down. "While I agree, old boy... Praetorus here had a compelling reason. Don't say you wouldn't do the same in his stead, were it your brother."

  "I wouldn't!" Henry sighed. "I lost my master! Lyla lost not just her master, but her entire chapter! Neither of us have gone rogue and withheld any vital information about the dragon."

  "Actually," Lyla piped up, "I sort of knew as well. Only... just right before the attack."

  "Not long enough to have made a difference." Arthur nudged Henry. "Save your wrath, old chum."

  The squire turned his ire back to Praetorus, glaring at him. "What else don't we know?"

  "Only one more thing." The archer didn't flinch or turn from Henry, meeting the squire's piercing glare with his placid purple eyes. "The dragon has an affinity for the dark arts. Arts that... are associated with my clan."

  Henry's eyes narrowed. "So your clan is to blame for the dragon?"

  "No. We merely shared history with it, ancient history." The archer's purple irises glinted. "Including many... physical traits."

  Arthur snapped his fingers. "Wait! When we were in the lair, the dragon had purple eyes! Like yours!"

  Praetorus nodded. "Indeed. My clan's ancestors were once enslaved to this dragon's kind. We fought for and earned our freedom centuries ago, but we have retained the Eyes of the Dragon."

  "Yes, yes, but that's not my point!" Arthur slapped his thigh. "The dragon we fought had green eyes! I distinctly remember they were like glowing like emeralds!"

  Henry looked at him. "So we're dealing with multiple dragons, then?"

  "So it would seem." Praetorus turned to Henry. "I swear upon my ancestors, I did not know this until you did."

  "Whatever you say." The squire sighed and leaned back against a wall, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Can we finally agree that we're in way over our heads at this point? We need help, real help. If only there was a Dark Courier outpost in this town..."

  A man cleared his throat, grabbing everyone's attention; he was disheveled, just as everyone here was, but slightly older than them, likely in his thirties.

  "Pardon me. Are you the chil-" He caught himself. "Warriors who drove off the dragon?"

  "We are." Arthur stood up and drew himself to his full height.

  The man nodded. "You have our thanks. Well, from what's left of us, anyway."

  "Have you done a headcount yet?" Henry asked.

  "Yes. And that's what I wanted to talk to you about." The man folded his arms nervously. "When the attack came, we rushed most of our women and children to the Redoubt, an old fortification near the edge of town. We just went back to retrieve them, and..." He trailed off.

  "And what?" Arthur put his hands on his hips. "Are they alright? Are there any casualties among them?"

  "No." The man looked at him, his eyes dazed. "They're all gone."

  Henry frowned. "They're all dead?"

  "No, they're just gone." The man shook his head. "Not a body left behind, no signs of any struggles or fighting. About three dozen women and children, just... gone."