The Sleepless Watcher”

  The laughter of Thornmere fades with distance, the road stretching long and pale beneath a bruised dusk sky.

  A new wind whispers through the tall grasses — cold, dry, restless.

  Elaris leads the column astride his mare, hood drawn low. Beside him, Sereth rides half-turned, watching the horizon. Behind them, the rest of the Crimson Dice follow in staggered comfort, the weasel Pancakes riding proudly in Vex’s hood like a tiny purple warlord.

  The map Borin unfolds shows their next destination circled in old ink:

  The Wraithpine Fields, once farmland, now barren and silvered with ash.

  Rumours speak of a statue there — a colossal figure of a hooded sentinel standing in the centre of the dead plain.

  Locals claim it never moves, never sleeps, but the shadows around it do.

  Those who watch it for too long swear they feel it watching back.

  The company make camp at the edge of the Fields.

  Even the firelight feels thin here — the flames burn low, sound dies fast.

  Every breath tastes faintly of iron.

  Kaer stares toward the distant silhouette of the Watcher, its outline faint against the twilight fog.

  Kaer: “That thing’s been standing there since before the first wars. Some say it’s a guardian… some say a prison.”

  Arden traces the faint gold flicker in her holy symbol.

  Arden: “And now it’s restless again. Maybe both.”

  The wind shifts — carrying with it a deep, resonant thrum.

  The ground vibrates underfoot.

  Far across the plain, the Watcher’s eyes flash once — dull amber, like coals being coaxed awake.

  Pancakes squeaks and dives into Laz’s cloak.

  Vex: “Okay, that’s never a good sign.”

  Elaris: “Everyone up. Whatever it guards… something wants out.”

  The Crimson Dice pack quietly under a grey dawn.

  The Wraithpine Fields stretch endlessly ahead — an ocean of dead grass whispering in the wind.

  What once was farmland is now a graveyard of forgotten furrows, dotted with old fence posts that lean like broken ribs beneath the sky.

  No birds sing here.

  Even Pancakes is silent, perched in Vex’s hood, eyes darting everywhere.

  They travel for hours until the fog parts to reveal it:

  A colossal statue rises from the heart of the field — a stone sentinel, forty feet tall, cloaked and hooded. Its face is smooth, featureless, but two deep hollows sit where eyes should be.

  Chains of black iron bind its arms to its sides, half-buried in the ground.

  Ravens circle high above, never landing.

  Borin (grimly): “By the forge, that’s… unsettling.”

  Garruk: “I’ve seen friendlier gravestones.”

  Kaer: “Don’t stare too long.”

  As the party nears, a strange hum builds — low, rhythmic, like a heartbeat buried beneath the soil.

  Every step closer, the rhythm quickens.

  Elaris dismounts first. His eyes narrow, attuning to the necromantic undertones pulsing through the air.

  Elaris: “There’s a presence here — old, buried deep. Not undead… not alive either.”

  Sereth: “Like it’s dreaming.”

  Elaris (softly): “No. Like it’s waiting.”

  Elaris kneels beside the base of the statue, tracing one gloved hand along the stone.

  Runes — ancient, nearly erased — pulse faintly as he brushes away centuries of dirt.

  They’re written in a language older than common necromancy — a proto-script of the lattice itself.

  Elaris (frowning): “This isn’t a monument… it’s a seal.”

  Arden kneels beside him, running her fingers over a series of radiant glyphs etched into the same line of stone.

  Arden: “Then two magics bound it — divine and necrotic. Someone built this together.”

  Elaris: “Or… someone like me tried to fix what they broke.”

  Their marks pulse faintly, harmonizing.

  The air thickens — magic answering recognition.

  Sereth’s ears twitch. Her gaze snaps to the horizon.

  Something moves in the fog.

  Shapes — tall, thin, swaying — like figures made of grass and ash.

  There’s no wind to stir them, yet they advance.

  Sereth: “We’re not alone.”

  Kaer (hand on sword): “Defensive line. Circle formation.”

  The ground cracks open at the statue’s feet.

  The hum becomes a deep, resonant note that vibrates through every bone in their bodies.

  From the fissures, black tendrils of ash rise and knit themselves into humanoid forms — spectral silhouettes, their faces smooth and hollow.

  They move with jerking, dreamlike motions, each step accompanied by a whisper of hundreds of overlapping voices:

  “Watcher… Wake…”

  “The Chains… Break…”

  Mini-Boss: The Ashbound

  They attack in waves — six in total.

  Each one that falls, another rises, its essence flowing toward the statue.

  Elaris realizes with horror what’s happening.

  Elaris: “They’re feeding it! They’re trying to wake the Watcher!”

  The sky darkens.

  Lightning arcs from cloud to cloud — red, not white.

  The statue’s eyes flare with molten light.

  Arden and Elaris must work in tandem — divine and necrotic power pulsing from their marks to reinforce the weakening seal.

  Meanwhile, the rest of the party defends them from the Ashbound.

  Garruk roars, his axe cleaving through one after another.

  Borin fights back-to-back with him, the runes on his hammer blazing gold.

  Kaer’s blades flash in eerie synchrony, cutting down specters before they reach the line.

  Vex and Laz leap from table to ruin to rock, arrows and daggers flying like sparks.

  Even Pancakes launches himself at one of the ghosts, latching onto its head with feral purple fury.

  Laz: “He’s doing it! Pancakes is saving the world!”

  Kaer: “If he lives, I’ll eat my cloak.”

  The Waking

  The final Ashbound collapses, but the damage is done.

  The chains binding the statue’s arms rattle violently — one snaps.

  The Watcher moves.

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  Its head turns, slow as sunrise, facing the party.

  Its hollow eyes burn with light like dawn seen through smoke.

  Then it speaks.

  The Watcher: “SHE… CALLS…”

  A shockwave of energy erupts from it — divine and necrotic both — flinging everyone to the ground.

  Elaris struggles to his knees, realization dawning:

  Elaris: “The Crimson Queen’s influence. She’s reaching through it!”

  The Watcher takes one step — the earth trembles — and raises a colossal hand.

  Sereth

  She’s already moving before anyone breathes, boots sliding through ash.

  Two arrows shimmer green and gold as she fires.

  Both arrows strike the chain-links wrapping the statue’s ankles. Sparks burst where holy and necrotic wards collide.

  Elaris (calling): “Aim for the bindings, not the body!”

  The Watcher

  The colossus groans — a cathedral of stone moving for the first time in centuries.

  Its eyes blaze, voice a choir of thousands:

  Watcher: “SHE … WAKES IN MY SHADOW …”

  It slams a hand into the earth. A wave of force erupts.

  Elaris, Garruk and Borin are thrown back, each taking 9 force damage.

  Dust blots the sunrise; the Queen’s voice flickers inside the thunder:

  “My faithful guardian — wake.”

  Kaer

  He charges, blades gleaming. His strikes are precise — surgical.

  He carves across the binding runes, stone blood glowing crimson.

  But as he lands, a voice crawls through the Watcher’s hollow mouth — not the Queen’s, but something that knows him:

  Watcher / Maelros’s Echo: “Deserter… you fled my banners… Maelros will find you.”

  Kaer freezes mid-stance. His pulse falters.

  He staggers, haunted eyes locked on memories of war and fire.

  Elaris

  Bruised, he lifts his staff — the one he’s rarely used.

  It glows with a twin hue: necrotic green and divine gold.

  He chants a counter-sigil to reinforce the failing seal.

  Light spirals from his staff into the statue’s chest, slowing its movement.

  Elaris: “Arden, link with me — now!”

  He hurls himself back into the fray, rage ignited.

  Each swing chips the corrupted shell, glowing cracks crawling up the statue’s leg.

  Garruk: “Stay down, rock!”

  Vex & Laz

  The twins take opposite sides, their movements mirrored chaos.

  Laz hurls daggers at the eyes while Vex channels illusionary fire to blind it.

  The Watcher reels, light dimming as if momentarily blinded.

  Vex: “See? We’re helpful!”

  Kaer (through teeth): “Arguable.”

  Arden

  She joins Elaris, placing her palm over his. Their lights merge — gold and green weaving together.

  The runes on the ground flare; divine glyphs re-ignite. The Watcher’s movements slow.

  Arden: “It’s working! Keep it steady!”

  Borin

  Rising from the dust, he smashes his hammer into the earth.

  The tremor travels through the stone base, disrupting the Queen’s tether.

  The statue’s right arm halts mid-swing.

  Borin: “Not today, your Majesty.”

  The field burns with motes of gold and green light.

  Sereth vaults from a fallen column, drawing Heartstring again.

  Both arrows pierce the same glowing crack Garruk opened — the light within turns from red to white.

  The Queen’s voice shrieks through the wind:

  “ENOUGH OF YOU, RANGER.”

  A beam of crimson lashes toward Sereth —

  She flips aside; the beam scorches a tree into glass.

  Sereth: “Missed again!”

  Watcher – Corrupted Phase

  It bends forward, one eye extinguished, the other a raging sun.

  A hand sweeps through the air — catching Kaer.

  He lands, sliding backward, shaking free the echo’s hold.

  Kaer: “Not this time, Maelros.”

  Elaris & Arden — Final Seal Attempt

  Elaris’s staff hums; Arden’s symbol flares.

  Together they begin the chant to rebind the guardian.

  The magic begins to take hold—but the Queen resists, her energy surging through the Watcher’s heart.

  Kaer, Garruk, Borin, Twins

  All four launch simultaneous strikes.

  Their blows channel into the glowing sigils, giving Elaris and Arden the push they need.

  The earth splits in a column of white-green light.

  Chains of radiant iron spiral up from the soil, coiling around the Watcher’s limbs.

  The Queen’s voice howls — rage and pain intertwining.

  “SHEPHERD … YOU DELAY THE INEVITABLE …”

  The light engulfs the statue; the sound cuts out.

  When silence returns, the Watcher stands still once more — eyes dark, chains reforged, the field eerily calm.

  Ash drifts down like snow.

  Kaer stands with blades lowered, chest heaving.

  Kaer (quietly): “Maelros knows I’m alive now.”

  Elaris looks toward him, understanding in his eyes.

  Elaris: “Then we’ll make sure you stay that way.”

  Pancakes climbs onto Garruk’s shoulder, holding a pebble aloft like a trophy.

  Vex: “He says he helped.”

  Kaer: “Of course he does.”

  The group shares the exhausted laughter of survivors.

  Above them, dawn breaks through the clouds — pale light spilling across the chained colossus that once again sleeps in peace.

  The Fire and the Desertion

  Night settles heavy over the Wraithpine. The Watcher is silent again, its massive shape lost in fog behind them.

  A single fire flickers in a hollow of old stone, throwing restless light across tired faces.

  For once even Pancakes is still, perched on Garruk’s boot.

  Kaer sits apart from the circle, elbows on his knees, staring at the flame. Everyone can feel the unsaid question waiting. Finally Elaris breaks the quiet.

  Elaris: “When it spoke your name—Maelros—what did it mean?”

  Kaer exhales through his nose, long and slow, as though deciding whether truth is worth the telling.

  Then he begins.

  The Story

  Kaer: “I was a captain once. Crimson Legion, Fourth Vanguard. Maelros was my general.”

  His voice is low, measured. As he speaks, the camp around them fades; the sound of the fire deepens to the crackle of burning banners.

  Flashback — The Bloodmarch, Years Ago

  Red mist. Drums. The air thick with the iron scent of victory too easily taken.

  A younger Kaer rides beside Maelros—towering, armored, eyes like cold steel.

  Maelros: “We leave no survivors. The dead will rise in our colors.”

  Kaer (protesting): “These are farmers, not soldiers.”

  Maelros: “Then they’ll plow in my service.”

  Kaer’s hands tighten on the reins. The order is given. Screams answer.

  He dismounts, sword shaking—not from fear, but refusal.

  When he turns his blade downward instead of outward, Maelros’s voice follows him:

  “Deserter.”

  The flash of memory breaks. Kaer stares into the present fire.

  Kaer: “I left the field. I left the Legion. I couldn’t watch another child raised to swing a blade for him.”

  He pauses, jaw working. Sparks drift upward like ghosts.

  Pancakes the Historian

  A tiny squeak interrupts the silence.

  Pancakes stands on a log, chest puffed, squeaking furiously and pointing a twig like a sword.

  Vex (translating badly): “He says he too once deserted an evil warlord!”

  Laz: “Yeah, the Battle of the Empty Food Bowl.”

  The group laughs; even Kaer’s mouth twitches before he continues, voice rougher but steadier.

  Kaer: “I tried to run. But Maelros didn’t believe in letting things go. He sent hunters after me—dead ones.”

  Rain lashes through memory. Kaer cuts through skeletal soldiers, mud up to his knees. His own brothers in arms stare through him with hollow eyes.

  He slashes one down, sees the man’s face—someone he’d trained.

  Kaer (voice breaking): “He thanked me as he fell. That’s when I swore I’d end Maelros myself.”

  The Twins’ Re-enactment

  Laz and Vex can’t resist. They stage an impromptu shadow-puppet show on the tent canvas:

  Laz’s hands form a ridiculous stick-figure Kaer, Vex supplies the deep villain voice.

  Vex: “DESERTER! I AM MAELROS, LORD OF DRAMATIC LIGHTING!”

  Laz: “Nooo, spare my handsome jawline!”

  A single dagger thunks into the ground between them—Kaer doesn’t even look up from the fire.

  Kaer (deadpan): “Accuracy matters in storytelling.”

  They gulp and sit back down. The laughter dies; the crackle of the fire reclaims the space.

  Final Flashback — The Escape

  Kaer’s eyes lose focus again.

  Kaer: “I fled across the Bloodmarch. Maelros followed. I don’t know how I survived that night—only that when I woke, everything was ash. His army gone. Him… vanished.”

  He looks at his sword where it rests beside him. Its edge glows faintly red in the firelight.

  Kaer: “When the Watcher spoke his name today, I felt him again. He’s out there, bound to the Queen like the rest. And when we face him…”

  He lifts his gaze—steady, unblinking.

  Kaer: “I finish what I should have finished years ago.”

  Silence stretches long. The group let it.

  Finally Garruk breaks it with a grunt.

  Garruk: “When the time comes, you won’t be alone.”

  Borin: “Aye. We’ll hammer the bastard together.”

  Vex (sheepishly): “And maybe Pancakes will bite him.”

  The weasel chitters fiercely, as if agreeing to a blood oath.

  Kaer exhales—a sound almost like relief.

  Kaer: “Then maybe I’ll finally get some sleep.”

  The fire dwindles to embers. The Watcher stands silent in the distance, chains glinting under the stars.

  The Crimson Dice rest—closer, warmer, a family forged by the stories they’d rather forget but finally shared.