One of us

"Ah... hello?"

"Anybody home?"

Aaron's voice echoed through the cavernous hall, fading into an oppressive silence. He surveyed the immense chamber with growing curiosity, his gaze lingering on the vacant throne at its far end. Something about this place distinguished it from the corrupted passages he had traversed.

He ventured a few cautious steps forward.

Then the impossible began.

Fragments of bone materialized in the empty air, assembling themselves with a succession of brittle clicks. Piece by piece, they joined together as though guided by invisible hands, restoring something that had long since crumbled into oblivion.

At the same time, color seeped across the barren walls, revealing magnificent paintings whose faded pigments gradually regained their former brilliance. Aaron watched in astonishment as the images shifted, depicting warriors marching into battle, lavish feasts, glorious victories, and the inevitable presence of death.

The celebrations soon gave way to scenes of merciless warfare. Blood stained the painted earth, cities burned beneath crimson skies, and countless figures lay scattered across desolate battlefields. It was as though the walls were recounting an entire civilization's history, from its greatest triumphs to its final, gruesome collapse.

Before Aaron could decipher their meaning, the final bone snapped into place.

A skeletal figure sat slumped upon the throne, a tarnished crown resting crookedly on its skull. Wisps of ancient hair clung to the exposed bone, while one arm dangled loosely over the armrest, giving the figure the appearance of a weary monarch who had fallen asleep and never awakened.

Aaron stared, struggling to comprehend what he was witnessing.

Then a deep, booming laugh reverberated through the chamber.

The sound rolled between the towering pillars, swelling until it seemed to emerge from every corner of the hall. Aaron stiffened as the skeletal monarch straightened, its hollow eye sockets turning toward him.

A bony hand reached toward something beside the throne.

Aaron instinctively raised his fingers, preparing to cast a spell, but the creature made no attempt to attack him. Instead, it retrieved an ornate goblet, its jeweled surface cracked and weathered by centuries of neglect.

The king lifted the vessel toward Aaron in an unmistakable gesture.

A toast.

"Welcome."

For the first time since entering the dungeon, genuine horror seized Aaron.

Undead.

He knew of their existence. Ancient records described fallen warriors resurrected through forbidden magic, their decaying remains compelled by the forces that bound them to the living world. Aaron had studied such phenomena extensively, but witnessing a long-dead monarch awaken upon his throne was something else entirely.

Without realizing it, he took a step backward. The scrape of his boot against the stone startled him into awareness, and his jaw tightened as he recognized his own instinctive retreat.

"What is happening here..." he whispered.

"It has been a long time since someone worthy entered my hall."

Aaron's fingers curled into a fist.

The skeletal king raised his goblet a little higher.

"A worthy addition..."

An unnatural silence settled over the chamber.

"...to my army."

The king lifted his free hand, and the floor trembled.

A skeletal hand burst through the stone, its bony fingers clawing at the surface. Another followed, then another, until ten armored figures began dragging themselves from beneath the ancient floor.

Their armor was fractured and corroded, bearing the scars of battles fought centuries ago. Rust clung to their blades, yet their skeletal fingers maintained an unyielding grip upon their weapons.

One by one, the soldiers turned toward Aaron.

A whisper drifted through the hall.

"One of us."

Another voice answered.

"One of us."

Then the entire company joined the dreadful refrain.

"One of us."

Aaron remained motionless for a heartbeat, his thoughts racing through everything he had encountered beneath the forest. The undead, the corrupted vines, the strange memory imprints—fragments of an explanation flashed through his mind, but the advancing soldiers gave him little opportunity to assemble them into anything useful.

He raised a protective barrier with one hand, his fingers tracing another spell with meticulous precision.

"Engorgo Oreappae Vino."

Vines erupted from the stone, lashing around exposed ribs and armored limbs. The soldiers struggled against their restraints, hacking at the magical growth with their rusted weapons.

Aaron strengthened the spell.

"Engorgo Vino."

The vines thickened at his command, twisting around the undead with crushing force. Bones snapped beneath their relentless constriction, scattering across the chamber as the skeletal warriors collapsed into disjointed heaps.

For a fleeting moment, Aaron believed he had succeeded.

Then the whispers returned.

One of us.

The scattered bones trembled. Fragments scraped across the floor, drawing together as though summoned by an unseen will. Broken limbs reattached themselves, shattered skulls rose from the debris, and the fallen soldiers began rebuilding their bodies.

The king's laughter echoed from the throne as more skeletons emerged, joining those already restored. Their ranks swelled with every passing moment, transforming the chamber into a gathering of the dead.

Aaron narrowed his eyes.

"Terra Opeste!"

Stone platforms erupted beneath him, rising one above another in an ascending formation. He climbed swiftly to the highest platform, gaining the advantage of elevation as the undead gathered below.

"Iciculo Olailfe."

A formidable whip of ice materialized in his hand, its length ending in an enormous sphere studded with razor-sharp shards. Aaron swung the weapon with practiced precision, bringing the frozen mass crashing down upon the soldiers beneath him.

The first impact shattered several skeletons. The second scattered an entire cluster of advancing warriors, their broken remains clattering across the stone.

But the undead quickly recovered. Their rusted blades slashed through the ice, hacking the whip apart until glittering fragments rained across the floor.

Aaron immediately conjured another.

He struck again, crushing bones and tearing through battered armor. Vines surged between the platforms, entangling soldiers attempting to climb toward him, while piercing spells streaked through the chamber in rapid succession.

Yet every victory proved temporary.

The fallen warriors reassembled, and fresh soldiers continued emerging from beneath the floor until the magnificent hall had become a seething mass of skeletal bodies.

"One of us."

"One of us."

"One of us."

Their voices merged into a ceaseless, dreadful chorus.

Aaron maintained his protective barrier while casting spell after spell, the simultaneous expenditure of mana gradually taking its toll. His breathing grew labored, and sweat gathered along his brow, but he refused to surrender the advantage his elevated position afforded him.

This will work. It always works.

He brought his ice whip down with tremendous force, shattering the nearest soldiers. Almost immediately, their companions surged forward and hacked it apart, leaving him gripping the useless remains.

Aaron stared at the destruction.

His hands were trembling.

Not from the cold, nor merely from exhaustion.

For as long as he could remember, there had always been an answer. Elowen's trials had challenged his understanding, her barriers had demanded careful analysis, and even the corrupted vines had eventually yielded to a strategy that allowed him to escape.

He had made mistakes, and his spells had failed. But patience, observation, and ingenuity had invariably revealed another way forward.

Here, every solution collapsed before he could accomplish anything lasting.

The dead continued rising, and their dreadful chanting drowned out his thoughts.

One of us.

One of us.

Aaron searched desperately for a pattern, some overlooked weakness that might explain their unnatural regeneration. He glanced from the soldiers to the throne, struggling to identify a connection, but their relentless advance left him little opportunity to investigate.

Another spell destroyed another cluster of undead, only for the broken remains to stir once more.

And still, they came.

Below him, the soldiers had begun climbing over one another. Rusted boots pressed against bony shoulders as one scrambled atop the next, forming a grotesque, swaying tower of skeletons that rose steadily toward Aaron's platform. Their chanting continued as the creatures clawed their way higher, heedless of the bones cracking beneath their own weight.

Aaron conjured another ice whip, but before he could bring it around, a skeletal hand shot over the platform's edge and clamped around his ankle.

With a violent jerk, the soldier wrenched him off his feet, sending his head crashing against the unforgiving stone.

Pain exploded through his skull. Blood trickled down his forehead, blurring his vision as more skeletal hands seized his arms and torso, pinning him helplessly against the platform.

Above him, rusted blades rose into the air, their jagged edges catching the faint light that filtered through the chamber. Beyond them, the king's laughter mingled with the whispers of an army determined to claim him.

For the first time, Aaron could see no way out.

His thoughts faltered. The spells he had mastered, the countless hours spent studying, the confidence he had cultivated through years of training—none of it could free him from the hands holding him down.

The blades began to descend.

Sorry, Mom... I...

Then—

Fire.

An immense wave of flames swept through the hall, consuming the undead closest to Aaron and hurling their shattered remains across the stone. The sudden brilliance pierced the haze clouding his vision, illuminating the chamber in a dazzling surge of gold.

Through his fading consciousness, Aaron glimpsed a sword engulfed in magnificent golden flames.