The sun inched its way to its pinnacle at an unhurried pace, while Olin, Atzler, Lylen, Dusaak, and Emanon kept their long walk in silence. They had rested for an extra day back Parcielle, gathering scraps of knowledge about Domon Valley and its various points of interest until their search was rewarded with information of an abandoned burial ground to the southwest of the town that had been long neglected. An elderly raxen woman spoke of it in hushed tones, detailing it had been once sealed to contain a devastating plague. That hallowed ground is cursed, she warned. Any who dared to enter it should bring lots of Pure Drops, Tonics, and Anti-toxins in great supply. Be mindful of the dangers, the elders of my youth spoke of a rider in a midnight black cloak that would behead any trespasser that enters that dead land.

  Ahead of them were knotted, ancient, yet withered willows that huddled together like sentinels guarding a deep secret. The earth beneath their feet grew sickly and uneven with patches of brown grass and mud that clung to each step. Clouds seemed to block the bright sunlight that shined their way here now a dim as a chilly breeze whisked over the travelers. It was as if this nook in the valley recoiled from the living.

  “It seems the information you gathered for us, Atzler is indeed true,” Olin said calmly surveying the landscape with a hand over his brow.

  “I may not remember this area very well, but I know what we are going against,” Lylen said flatly as she took the lead.

  “What do you mean?” Atzler asked as he followed. She continued on as if he never said anything and with a look to Emanon and Olin, the two humans shrugged in perplexion.

  Crossing into the gloomy grove of dead trees and hallowed grounds, a small metal gate waist high was before them. Clinging onto a single henge it was a metaphor for life in this area of Domon Valley. Lylen opened the gate and let herself in, the gate squeaked enough for Dusaak to hiss at its high pitch. There were grave markers all around them and a hut seen between various dead trees that was nestled further back.

  “The soil here is soft,” Lylen said as she crouched down, one hand on the moist earth. “The dead were buried here for so many eons.” She brushed away her black hair that fell to the front of her face.

  Suddenly, dirt erupted from behind everyone. Spinning around, Atzler and Emanon were about to jump out of their skins. Decaying bones, and smelling of decay, a zombie stood there with a skull half broken and only one eye left. Olin cupped his hands ready to conjure his chi into a beam.

  “Stop,” Lylen commanded.

  Everyone had eyes on her while Dusaak was ready to charge.

  She approached the shambling undead entity and it spoke, its words were gurgled and had a hiss to them. “You have returned,” the zombie said, the one eye rolling in its socket but is still saw her.

  “I have regrettably returned. Is Rizilia nearby?” Lylen asked.

  The undead corpse twitched as it shook and pointed a finger toward the broken down hut. “Behind it, tending to garden.” The voice was raspy and cracked as it spoke.

  Atzler’s and Emanon’s eyes looked as if they wanted to fall out while Olin crossed his arms almost half expectedly.

  “Why didn’t you mention anything about this before, Lylen?” Atzler questioned.

  She shuddered with her back to him, “I wanted to forget.”

  Without another word, she got back to her feet and proceeded in the direction of the hut. The hut itself was surrounded by a small garden, varying fungi growing out of the soil like small crops. A row of some type of violet peppers were there as well. Moss covered the trunk of the thick, dark tree to the right of the small, waist high gate. The hut itself had a thatched roof, and the rest was of sturdy wood for the awning and cured clay for the exterior walls. A small figure sat in a chair on the porch, dark brown hair hanging out from a dark gray hood. Their attire was also concealed by this gray robe. They didn’t react as Lylen and her companions approached.

  Lylen’s face tightened and her teeth grounded against each other. Emanon was behind her and could almost feel the intensity coming from the woman. “I didn’t think you’d still be alive, Rizilia,”

  The figure shifted in the hooded robe, the voice was feminine but had a slight cackle to it, “Another phantom of the past returned to haunt me…”

  “I am right here,” Lylen said sternly.

  “You said that yesterday,” the woman replied.

  Lylen folded her arms, “You’re still batshit crazy, Rizilia.”

  The figure stood, frantically trying not to trip over her own robe, her face appeared to be weathered by age under the hood, but no one could fully make it out. “Phantom? A phantom wouldn’t speak like this. Truly, Lylen has returned to me?”

  “I am here, but I am not your apprentice anymore Rizilia.”

  “Auntie Rizilia is always here for you, Lylen.” The old woman said kindly as she approached. Lylen backed up.

  “This is the person we must eliminate for that Aquarius?” Emanon whispered.

  Atzler’s shifted uneasily from Emanon to Olin and then focused back on Lylen.

  “It’s because of you that I am Aetherscorned!” Lylen snapped.

  Rizilia glanced over all the others. “My word, I had no idea you knew how to make friends,” the woman said, completely ignoring Lylen’s accusation. “Maybe your friends would like to come in for tea. I do have a toadstool tea I can brew up.” Rizilia made her way to the door of the hut and let herself in with it slamming behind her.

  Lylen was beside herself watching the woman enter. Olin cracked a grin, “Would you mind telling us now about all of this?”

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  With a sigh, Lylen closed her eyes and glanced toward her allies. “I was Rizilia’s apprentice when I was young, I don’t remember life before her tutelage. But she was a mage and druid who saved my life as she taught me what she knew however, she was always off.”

  “What do you mean by off?” Emanon asked.

  “She is a little…odd. I mean, didn’t you see how she spoke to us? She sees things that aren’t there and thinks certain events happened when they didn’t. She’s always been kinda that way always, but it got worse the older I got.”

  “So, what is your issue with her?” Olin asked.

  “I shouldn’t be alive,” Lylen answered coldly.

  The old woman returned through the door. A plate full of various off putting smelling tea as she made her way around to each person with Lylen. “So many people, only so much tea to go around.”

  Atzler noticed the bobbing toadstool in his cup and grimaced. Olin smiled gently at the offer but sat the small, wooden cup down on a nearby stump as soon as she turned away from him. Dusaak gave it a sniff and lied down trying to bury his snout.

  “We are not here for pleasantries, Rizilia,” Lylen broke in.

  The old woman looked to her, “Is that any way to thank me for raising you, Lylen? I may not have known your parents, but I am sure they were people with manners.”

  “Manners? You think you deserve anything from me when you hid my own identity from me until three years ago when I denounced you?”

  Rizilia took a sip from her cup, brushed away a little moss on her lower lip. “I raised you and named you Lylen after you were found abandoned in the woods, lifeless.”

  Lylen raised a finger, “That part! You waited until I was grown to tell me you found me dead. I am a freak of nature thanks to you!”

  Olin, Emanon, and Atzler all gazed in surprise. “Did you know this about her?” Olin whispered to Atzler.

  “She always was vague with her past,” Atzler admitted. “I had no idea it was like this though.”

  “Does that matter child?” she took another sip of the foul smelling tea. “You were cared for, loved, and alive. Now, phantoms have been the only things that speak to me and haunt my dreams ever since you left me alone,” she had a trail of a tear roll down her cheek.

  Lylen was silent, her face made her look like she wanted to strike the woman down, but confliction gripped her. Rizilia raised a hand and a dark aura surrounded it and coming up from the soft soil, a zombie rose.

  “You still practice necromancy,” Lylen said shaking her head.

  “It saved you, didn’t it?” Rizilia said with a contemptuous smile.

  Lylen is undead? The thought shook Atzler to his core.

  “Bringing back the dead is wrong. The demigod of Death and Decay is gradually returning to his full power,” Lylen cut into her.

  Rizilia shrugged, “What do I care, I am alone here. Only phantoms to speak with and no gratitude from the girl I raised like a niece.”

  Lylen stomped a foot, “Damn you, you old crone! I hate that all I can remember of my childhood is you. We were tasked by an Aquarius to put an end to your necromancy one way or another.” She drew her daggers.

  Olin and Emanon were surprised at the standoff.

  “Lylen, she is like family to you, are you sure you want to do this?” Emanon asked.

  Frustration twisted her face and a tear ran from her cheek. “I hate you Rizilia! All you did for me was selfish and a lie; you should’ve let me stay dead that day! You reanimated me to keep you company, admit it!”

  The old woman balked a laugh, “Red hair.”

  “What?” Lylen gasped in surprise.

  “You had red hair when I found you as a corpse, it changed to midnight black when I infused my magic into you. You became the most elegant little girl I ever saw.”

  Lylen’s hands trembled, the daggers shook. “I don’t even know who I was before you. There is no way to know even what my original name was.”

  “I don’t know either, but I don’t think it matters. You are Lylen wrought into this existence by Rizilia,” the old woman said before she cackled and set her cup of tea down.

  Zombies lumbered over and got behind Atzler, Olin, Dusaak, and Emanon. Their stench was foul as they drew close. Olin had a serious expression on his face while Emanon and Atzler were uneasy.

  “Your friends will be great tenders of my garden Lylen, wouldn’t that be nice?” Rizilia asked as black aether surrounded her and she moved like a shadow as Lylen gasped. She stood on top of her hut now, out of reach. “I don’t much like the living, they do too much thinking of their own accord. You were supposed to be different my dearest Lylen, which is why I allowed a free will to stir within you. Shred them apart!” Rizilia waved a hand as more zombies rose from the ground.

  Olin spun his quarterstaff around himself, knocking the three zombies around him and his allies to the ground. Atzler planted his axe in the skull of the first. Dusaak smashed his tail into the chest of another shambling corpse while Emanon ducked from the swipes of the last two zombies and slid a few paces through the muddy soil to get into a more open spot.

  Rizilia cast a shadowy fog over Lylen and her party, “Rest and wither, let the flesh peel and age. Breath of Decay wring your flesh to dust and your bones to afterlife!”

  “Hold your breath everyone!” Lylen shouted. Thick black smoke filled the area, the groans of the zombies that still lingered now added terror to Emanon as he scrambled to gain some distance away from the cloud.

  As soon as he could stand, he readied his harp and began playing a litany known only to minstrels with proper training. The strings plucked caused the surrounding zombies to twitch, he needed more time as they drew near. Emerging from the black gas, a beam of light shot through destroying one of the zombies near Emanon, causing it to turn to dust.

  Lylen emerged out of it opposite the minstrel, and she sent two daggers upward at Rizilia who leaped off the rooftop, despite her old and withered age she was incredibly agile.

  “Your companions will be my new servants soon!” she ended in a cackle after landing on her feet.

  Lylen looked back at Atzler and Olin, both had darkened spots on their faces and arms swiftly growing. They were infected with an ailment known as Rot.

  “Dammit, you’ll pay for that Rizilia!” Lylen darted toward her, concentrating on the words of a spell that would indeed hurt her as well. “Torrent of flames, raging burns, I conjure thee, Inferno!” a blast of fire shot up from under Rizilia’s feet and glimmered white hot as Rizilia screamed in pain as Lylen did as well.

  When Lylen reached the burning woman, she threw herself into the old woman in a full tackle, flames touching her flesh as well. She procured her last dagger from under her belt and began thrusting it into the necromancer’s middle over and over. Her mind flashed of her childhood, playing games with her in the woods and learning some basic alchemy and rudimentary magic. Sitting in her lap during their many campfires as the old woman told the young Lylen stories of fallen warriors returning to the living to fulfill their unfinished quests. She plunged that dagger relentlessly.

  She thought of her allies, Olin and Atzler becoming undead vassals for this necromancer she no longer recognized despite her tears streaming down her face lying to her. At last she stopped when the blade was pulled from the necromancer for the ninth time, she breathed shallowly, “Ly-len… you have…grown,” Rizilia whispered.

  Lylen stared back as she was over her former guardian, eyes locked, “I did not want to do any of this, why did you have to murder innocent people Rizilia?”

  The old necromancer was choking on her own blood as she said the words, “I…missed…you child. That black furred…man who buried…you didn’t know about me or my ability…to reanimate.” Her hand brushed Lylen’s hair before it fell to the leaf covered ground lifeless.

  Lylen’s jaw was open in surprise. “Black furred man? What do you mean? Who buried me?” there was no answer as the light in Rizilia’s eyes were gone.

  Olin placed a hand on Lylen’s shoulder. She trembled knowing the woman who raised her would never speak again, soft sobs were heard as she slowly stood. The other undead in the area fell apart and went silent, never to be disturbed again unless necromantic aether graced their bones once more. Rizilia the Wretched, was dead.