The camp was a mess of scattered armor and weary soldiers resting under the fading evening light. Dramor stood at the edge, arms crossed, watching the recruits gathered around the fire. His green eyes, bright like emeralds, took in the scene. They were a mix of mercenaries, spellcasters, and even a druid—each one brought here for their own reasons. Dramor held a stack of papers, each with a name and a face. They had all been chosen by the King’s son, though the reasons behind it remained a mystery.

The fire crackled, throwing occasional sparks into the darkening sky, as the noise around it grew. Their chatter, a blend of friendly teasing and sharp remarks, was what you’d expect from strangers forced to become comrades. Ereshkigal lounged on the ground, her dark robes pooling around her, swallowing the flickering light. One slender hand absently stroked the head of her undead cat, a panther-sized creature with sleek, shadowy fur that seemed to drink in the light and a pair of glowing, pupil-less eyes that tracked every movement with eerie focus. The rhythmic motion of her fingers on the creature’s fur seemed to soothe them both.

In her other hand, she rolled a small, smooth pebble, feeling its cool surface press into her skin before flicking it toward the fire. It bounced across the dirt, landing just shy of the embers. “How much longer are we going to sit here doing nothing?” she muttered, her voice edged with impatience. “This is getting old, fast.” Her pink eyes reflected the firelight as she stared into the flames, the dark circles beneath them hinting at sleepless nights.

Marnie, who sat cross-legged nearby, paused in adjusting her leather bracers. Her long, dark ginger hair fell over her shoulders, the small braids woven with leaves catching the glow in a dance of gold and shadow. She lifted an eyebrow and let a small smirk form at the corner of her lips. “Eager to see some blood, are we?” she asked, her tone dry and tinged with amusement. She tilted her head slightly, studying Ereshkigal as if already expecting the answer.

Ereshkigal let out a soft snort, her lips curving into a half-smile. “Not just blood. I’m tired of waiting. I need to do something—anything.” She paused her stroking, and the undead cat leaned into her hand with a low, guttural sound that was halfway between a purr and a growl.

Barakas, the tiefling and paladin, glanced up from the tome he held. His pale gray skin looked even more otherworldly in the shifting light, and the red tips of his horns caught the flicker of the flames. His red eyes, sharp and glimmering, settled on Ereshkigal with a mix of amusement and intrigue. “Always so cheerful, aren’t you?” he said with a deep chuckle, the sound warm and resonant. “I guess graveyard keepers don’t enjoy waiting around.”

Ereshkigal’s smile widened, but her eyes held no warmth. “Better than paladins pretending their light hides no shadows,” she shot back, her voice soft but sharp.

Barakas let out a hearty laugh, the kind that rolled through the camp like distant thunder. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, turning back to his book, though the smile lingered.

The fire crackled between them as Marnie sighed and shook her head, green light eyes glancing at the others with a hint of exasperation. “Enough,” she said, her voice cutting through the noise. “Save your energy for when it matters. We don’t even know what we’re up against yet.”

Airlock shifted from where he sat with his back to a crate, the firelight dancing over his deep-dark skin. His green-and-red-lensed goggles reflected the fire, making it hard to read his expression. He crossed his arms, the fabric of his robe rustling softly, and spoke with a steady, thoughtful tone. “Marnie’s right. We should be ready for whatever comes next. We’re going to need every ounce of strength.”

The undead cat beside Ereshkigal let out a low rumble that made Airlock glance at it briefly before refocusing on the group. Silence fell, and the flickering flames were the only movement for a moment.

“And I think,” Airlock added, clearing his throat, “the General’s been watching us for a while now.”

All eyes turned to Dramor, who took a step forward, the light catching on the gold details of his heavy silver armor. His dark green cloak shifted with him, brushing against the dirt with a soft rustle. He tucked the papers into the folds of his coat, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

“So,” Dramor began, his deep voice resonating with calm authority, “this is the group I’ve heard so much about?”

A murmur of agreement passed among them. Some nodded, while others exchanged wary looks. Ereshkigal straightened a little, the flicker of enthusiasm in her eyes betraying her interest. “Absolutely, General,” she said, a touch too brightly.

Dramor’s eyes moved over the group, lingering on each face for a moment before stopping at Airlock, he seemed to be the 'Leader', whatever that meant. He reached out and clasped the druid’s hand. “I am Dramor, General of Cyred’s armies,” he said with a note of warmth that softened the formality. “I’ve heard stories about each of you—enough to know that not all of it was nonsense.”

Barakas leaned back, folding his arms as the crimson velvet of his cape pooled at his sides. “Didn’t think we were interesting enough for rumors, General,” he said, a smirk playing at his lips.

“More interesting than you might think,” Dramor replied, shifting his gaze to Marnie. She met his eyes, her expression open but questioning.

“Is this a social visit, or do you have something we need to hear?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dramor’s smile slightly faded, replaced by the sternness of command. “I came to remind you of what’s at stake,” he said, voice steady. “From now on, you fight as one. No arguments, no divides. We stand as one, or we fall as many.” His gaze swept over them. “Now, tell me, what brought each of you here?”

Airlock shifted, looking at his companions before speaking. “Name’s Airlock, General. Not much to tell. The reward caught my eye, and I figured it was worth a try. But I don’t back down from a fight.”

Barakas let out a low laugh, mischief glinting in his eyes. “Same here, though I’m also here to spread the good word of Jabiroka.” He raised the old tome in his hands with a dramatic flourish.

Marnie groaned and reached over, pressing her hand to Barakas’s mouth, you could hear the mumbled complains of the Tiefling through it. “Don’t get him started, General,” she said with a smirk. “I’m Marnie, and I’m here to keep these fools alive. And because I believe in this cause.”

Dramor nodded, his eyes softening slightly. Finally, he turned to Ereshkigal, who sat watching him, fingers lightly brushing the fur of her undead cat. The creature’s glowing eyes met his, unblinking.

“And you?” Dramor asked, his voice a touch gentler.

Ereshkigal looked away for a moment, as if weighing her words. “I’m Ereshkigal. I used to be a graveyard keeper.” Her voice was low, her fingers stilling on the creature’s fur. “I figured it was time to do something more than watch over the dead.” She glanced up, a hint of defiance in her eyes. "...I’m not here to prove anything.”

Dramor studied her, eyes unreadable, then nodded. “Fair enough,” he said. “We’ll need every skill we can get.”

A quiet fell over the group, and for a moment, only the fire spoke. Dramor looked at them all once more, feeling a spark of hope stir beneath the weight of duty.

“Rest while you can,” he said. “The battle will come soon enough, and I’ll need each of you at your best.”

Barakas leaned back with a grin. “You heard the General. Might be wise to listen.”

Dramor smirked. “That’s the first good advice I’ve heard all night.” He turned, eyes already fixed on the dark horizon.

Ereshkigal watched him for a moment longer before letting her gaze fall to the fire, the warmth of hope finding its way into her chest,unbidden but welcome.

The fire outside the tent had burned low, leaving behind embers that pulsed like a heartbeat in the darkness. The camp, which had been noisy with chatter and the occasional burst of laughter earlier, had grown hushed as the soldiers settled into sleep or watchful silence. Inside one of the larger tents, Ereshkigal sat cross-legged on her makeshift bed, the coarse fabric of the blanket pressing against her legs. Thán,her undead companion, was sprawled beside her,its panther-sized body draped in shadows, eyes glowing with a light that flickered like tiny, trapped stars.

Marnie sat on her cot across from Ereshkigal, her back straight and legs tucked beneath her in a meditative pose. The leaves braided into her hair caught the light from the lantern they’d left dimly lit, casting long, delicate shadows across the tent walls. The silence was thick, almost tangible, broken only by the occasional rustle of the fabric when Thán shifted or the quiet exhalations of breath as the two women sat in their respective thoughts.

Ereshkigal tried to close her eyes, willing herself into the embrace of sleep that so often eluded her. The air was cool against her skin, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and the faint, metallic tang of steel. Thán let out a low, almost soothing rumble that reverberated through the space, but it did little to quiet the restless energy thrumming in her chest.

Across the way, Marnie’s eyes opened, the pale green irises catching the dim light as she focused on Ereshkigal. The elf’s gaze was curious, soft yet piercing in the way that made Ereshkigal wonder just how much Marnie could read in her. Elves didn’t sleep in the way humans or even tieflings did; they meditated, touching some distant, serene part of their minds that humans could only dream of. Tonight, however, Marnie’s meditation seemed interrupted by something deeper, a question that had lingered since their earlier conversation by the fire.

“You can’t sleep, can you?” Marnie’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but in the stillness of the night, it carried clearly.

Ereshkigal opened her eyes and met Marnie’s gaze, a sardonic smile playing at her lips.“I’m used to it. Sleep is a luxury when your dreams are haunted.”

Marnie nodded as if she understood, though her eyes glistened with a curiosity that went beyond sympathy. She shifted, the leather of her bracers creaking softly. “Can I ask you something?” she ventured, her tone gentle but insistent.

Ereshkigal tilted her head, fingers resuming their rhythmic motion over Thán’s sleek fur. The undead cat closed its glowing eyes in response, leaning into her touch with an almost contented weight.“You’re going to ask anyway,” Ereshkigal replied, her voice laced with both amusement and resignation.

Marnie smiled, a quick quirk of her lips before the seriousness returned. “Dark magic... necromancy,” she began, the words deliberate as if tasting each one,“it’s always fascinated me. Even as a child, I wanted to understand it. Not for power, but for what it truly is.” Her eyes locked onto Ereshkigal’s, a silent plea for honesty. “Would you tell me how it works? The real way, not the tales spun to scare children.”

The question hung in the air between them, heavy and unexpected. Most people avoided the subject, their curiosity squashed by fear or judgment. But here was Marnie, an elf with a noble bearing, asking not out of disdain but genuine interest.

Ereshkigal took a breath, the weight of her secrets pressing on her chest. But there was something in Marnie’s gaze that made her relent.“Necromancy isn’t just raising the dead or pulling at the threads of life,” she started, her voice steady but low, as if revealing an old, sacred truth. “It’s the art of understanding souls.”

Marnie’s brows furrowed slightly, drawing her forward, her interest piqued. “Souls?” she echoed.

Ereshkigal nodded, eyes drifting to Thán, who remained still as if listening too. “Every soul is made up of fifteen pieces,” she explained. “Think of them like fragments of who we are—memories, emotions, moments that shape us. When someone dies, those pieces don’t just vanish. They journey to the underworld first, passing through the veil before they find their place in either heaven or hell. It’s not as simple as light or dark; it’s a cycle.”

Marnie’s eyes widened slightly, her fingers flexing as if she wanted to write this down but dared not move. “And necromancers? What do they do with those pieces?”

“There are two types of us,” Ereshkigal continued, her tone deepening as she spoke of a topic few knew. “The Death Makers, who use souls indiscriminately, tearing them apart to create armies of mindless undead. They’re the ones you hear about in stories, the monsters who devastate battlefields.” Her eyes glistened with a shadowed light as she met Marnie’s gaze again. “Then there are the Soul Breakers—like me. We don’t take souls; we share our own.”

Marnie’s breath caught, and she leaned forward, barely aware of how tightly she gripped the fabric of her cloak. “Your own soul?” she whispered, the question carrying both awe and a touch of horror.

Ereshkigal’s hand paused on Thán’s fur, and the cat’s eyes opened, glowing softly as if reflecting her inner thoughts. “Yes. When I create something like Thán, I give a part of myself. The more meaningful the creation, the more I share. Thán isn’t just a spell; he’s part of my soul. Half of it, to be exact.”

Marnie’s gaze darted to the cat, realization dawning in her eyes. The creature’s silent watch, the bond it shared with its master—it all made sense now. “So every time you create... you lose a part of yourself?”

Ereshkigal’s smile was wistful, a mixture of pride and the dull ache of loss. “Not lose, exactly. It’s more like lending. I give pieces of my soul to create life, to protect or to fight. It changes you, ties you to them in ways that can’t be undone. But yes, it comes at a cost. I feel that weight every day.”

The silence in the tent grew heavier as Marnie processed this revelation. Thán’s gaze shifted from Ereshkigal to Marnie, as if studying the elf’s reaction. The soft, rhythmic sound of breathing and the crackle of embers outside punctuated the moment.

“Why share this?” Marnie finally asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Ereshkigal’s eyes softened, the sharp edge of her usual demeanor dulled by the vulnerability of the moment. “... Because sometimes, sharing the truth makes it easier to carry." she would mutter those words, such words that were once shared by her mentor, back in The City of Anki, but she would quickly try to move on from her words, mentioning something else to cover her own truth. "And because... it’s not often that someone asks with an open mind.”

Marnie nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful, almost reverent. “Thank you,” she said, the sincerity in her voice ringing clear. “It’s more beautiful—and more tragic—than I ever imagined.”

A ghost of a smile touched Ereshkigal’s lips as she looked down at Thán, whose eyes met hers with an understanding only they shared. “It is,” she agreed, leaning back against her pillow as the tension in her chest eased, just a little.