Perry didn't notice anything strange at first. They crossed the bridge, the sun was still shining, and the air around them was alive with the sound of insects and birds.

The graveyard stretched before them, ancient-looking stone markers rising from the earth like crooked teeth. Some stood straight, while others seemed to have given up the battle against gravity and time and were broken and scattered across the ground. Every step they took further into the graveyard made Myran more and more uneasy. He gripped the reins so tightly his knuckles turned white. Perry fidgeted with his own sleeves, glancing around them, half expecting a cursed doll to pop out from behind one of the gravestones. 

Despite his big talk about facing perils, Myran was still just a kid. Perry opened his mouth to tell him everything would be fine, when their surroundings began to change. 

It started with the light. The sun's warmth gradually diminished as thin tendrils of fog crept across the ground, weaving between the gravestones. Perry watched, transfixed, as the mist thickened way too quickly, transforming the quiet scenery into something a lot more ominous. Myran began to tremble slightly and Perry instinctively moved closer to the donkey.

The cacophony of birdsong and insect calls faded into an unnatural silence. Perry glanced around, trying to figure out what was happening. 

"Is this, uh, normal around these parts?" He asked in a low voice.

Myran shook his head frantically, his lips sealed shut. Perry, who had to his own surprise managed to keep a somewhat level head all things considered, felt his fingers go cold. He opened and closed his hands repeatedly, as if he expected something he could grab onto to materialize out of thin air. 

Then came the first sounds: a rustle of movement, followed by low, guttural groans that made the hair on the back of Perry's neck stand on end. Memories of hiding under the covers after catching glimpses of movies he definitely shouldn't be watching at the age of ten flooded his mind. 

That almost sounded like... but no, it wasn't possible. Was it? How insane could this place actually get?

"What the hell is that?" Perry hissed at Myran. The boy opened and closed his mouth and made a sound that could be interpreted as a grunt. 

The groans grew louder, and Perry backed up against the donkey, facing the fog that closed in around them from all directions. His heart pounded in his chest, and all the alarm bells his lizard brain was responsible for keeping in check were going off. He nudged Myran with one elbow, but Myran seemed to have swallowed his own tongue. 

"You're going to need to talk to me kid, because I'm starting to feel like I wandered onto some kind of renaissance version of Resident Evil," Perry said. 

"I-I..." Myran stuttered. 

"Please tell me you have some kind of weapon," Perry said, his voice barely above a whisper. The groans and shuffling of feet grew closer. 

Myran shook his head. "I-I have not earned the right to carry real weapons yet. Only t-training swords."

"Don't suppose you happen to have one of those lying around?" Perry asked, though he already knew the answer. 

Not that it would make much of a difference. He had no idea what to do with a sword anyway, be it real or of the training variety. 

"The Crimson Lords took mine when they captured me."

"Right. Of course they did." Perry swallowed hard. "Let's just keep moving. Quickly. And quietly. They might not notice us?"

Myran stared at him wide-eyed and looking every bit the eight — ten? Eleven? Perry still wasn't sure — yeard-old kid he was. 

Perry all but grabbed the reins of the donkey to make it move faster, but before they could break into a run, he saw it — a figure stumbling toward them through the fog.

Perry tried to keep moving, but the donkey, seemingly having caught up to what was happening around them, froze. Through the mist, Perry couldn't make out details, only vaguely human shapes moving in jerky, unnatural ways.

"Undead," Myran whispered, his voice trembling.

Perry wanted to argue, to say that wasn't possible. But then, more figures emerged from the fog. As they moved closer, the things surrounding him became horrifyingly clear. And disagreeing with Myran became very hard.  

Their flesh hung in pieces, showing parts of the bone beneath their rotten skin. Some were missing limbs, others had holes where their stomachs or chests should have been. The smell hit him then — a nauseating mixture of decay and stale earth that made his stomach lurch and saliva pool in his mouth. Perry forced himself to breathe. Throwing up all over himself wouldn't help anyone in their current predicament. 

The donkey let out a terrified bray and reared up, throwing Myran from its back. Before Perry could react, the animal bolted, taking their supplies with it. Several of the shambling figures turned to chase it, their movements shifting and becoming more purposeful.

"Did you break anything?" Perry asked, helping Myran to his feet. 

The boy nodded, then shook his head and clutched Perry's pant leg as he stood, trembling violently.

"What... what kind of zombies are these?" Perry asked in a rush. 

"Z-zom…?" Myran stuttered. 

"Undead. I mean undead. Are they the classical type? You know, the kind that go down with a good hit to the head?" He frantically scanned the ground around them, looking for something, anything, he could use as some kind of weapon. "Or are they more the 'Warm Bodies'-type of zombies and need to munch on some human brains before they slowly regain their humanity?"

"Hu-human brains?" Myran asked, his face almost as pale as the zombies closing in on them. 

"Never mind. Bashing the brain, does it stop them?" Perry asked. 

Myran nodded jerkily. "Yes. But do you have anything to hit them with?"

"How long is this graveyard?"

"Long enough for us not to survive this."

"We need to work on your optimism, kid," Perry muttered.

Perry's mind raced as he continued to scan their surroundings. "We need to hide and find another way out." He pulled Myran off the road, searching frantically until he found a fallen branch thick enough to serve as a makeshift weapon. Too bad Perry had never really gotten into baseball, because it sure would've come in handy. "Which way, kid?"

Myran pointed and they began moving as quickly and quietly as possible through the fog. Since the undead/zombies had hurried after the donkey after it's mad dash away from Perry and Myran, he figured if they moved slowly, they might not draw too much attention. Maybe. Possibly. 

They'd barely gone twenty steps when an undead lurched out from behind a gravestone. Perry reacted purely on instinct, swinging the branch with all his strength and letting out a surprised yelp.

The impact made a sickening, wet sound as it connected with the zombie's skull. To Perry's surprise, the zombie crumpled to the ground, unmoving. He stood there, frozen in shock at what he'd just done.

"Perry." Myran's urgent whisper snapped him back to reality.

So much for not trying to draw attention. "Run!"

They ran, Perry swinging his makeshift weapon without bothering to stop and check if he was actually doing any real damage. Each hit made his arms vibrate with the impact, and adrenaline kept him moving. But the undead seemed to be multiplying with every second, stumbling their way through the fog and toward them. Soon, they were surrounded, the creatures closing in from all sides.

Perry and Myran stood back-to-back, the boy pressing close against him as Perry brandished his branch. The undead moved closer, their ruined faces twisted into horrific expressions that would fuel Perry's nightmares for many, many years.

"Dear Universe, if I make it out of this, I promise to never touch a magic mirror again in my life," Perry whispered. 

He gripped his branch with all his strength, holding it up as high as his untrained arms allowed him. Myran trembled against his back, shaking his head and repeating 'no, no, no' under his breath. The zombies closed in.

One step. 

Two steps. They moved like a single unit. 

Three steps. 

"Return to your rest!" A loud, commanding voice snapped through the fog like a whip.

Most of the undead hesitated, their movements faltering. Hope sparked in Perry like a small candle. But not all of the zombies had stopped; some continued their advance. A tall figure strode through the mist, moving with fluid grace. 

Perry watched in amazement as the newcomer fought the undead. A sword whispered through the air in precise arcs, each movement economical and deadly. Rotting bodies fell with quiet thuds.

"I said, return to your rest!" The person commanded again in a booming voice that seemed to make even the fog pull back. This time, the remaining undead also stopped, and then they all retreated, shambling back into the fog until they eventually disappeared.

Everything was quiet for a moment. And then, as if by magic, the sun slowly broke through the clouds. The fog began to dissipate, revealing the graveyard in all its ordinary gloriousness. 

Perry's knees went weak with relief, and only Myran's tight grip on his leg kept him upright.

"Thank you," Perry gasped out. "We would have been done for it you hadn't shown up. Really, thank you." He let the tip of his branch fall with a thud and used it to hold himself upright.

The person turned, and Perry saw acid-green eyes widen in recognition.

"Your Highness?" 

Perry exhaled loudly, a headache building behind his eyes. "Not this again."