Hello again from your friendly skeleton.

  Yesterday we stormed a small border fortress. Things got rather lively—well, until we arrived. Hah.

  We struck just before dawn, while the “people-shes” were still asleep. My squad handled the patrol flawlessly—not a single sound. Then we opened the gates, and amid screams, pleas for mercy, and desperate cries not to surrender, we gutted the entire town.

  It was my first large-scale slaughter. Bloody. Gruesome. And precisely as the necromancer ordered.

  He’s a strange one—even for someone in his profession. The first time I saw him, besides me, there were only two other skeletons. We’d just killed a couple of soldiers disguised as bandits, and then our bald necromancer knelt over the corpses of a little girl and an old woman… and wept. Seemed like family.

  Odd. He raised us from the dead, yet simply burned them and tucked their ashes into a pouch around his neck. Looks like he’s on a vengeance trip. Hmm.

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  Fine—it’s his life, his grief. But why summon us back from the grave? Are we just his support crew?

  Anyway, the town wasn’t as dreary as I’d assumed. While we raced through dark alleys testing how many innards the locals contained, I had time to take in the sights.

  Two things stood out: the church entrance and the fountain in the square.

  The fountain rose six or seven meters high, crowned with ornate doors. They showed a path vanishing into the distance, flanked by a small forest. Not sure why anyone would carve such scenes onto ordinary doors—it felt oddly out of place.

  And here’s a curious thing: as undead, I felt my bones burn near the church. Ha!

  The fountain intrigued me for the same reason as the church. At its center, where water once flowed, stood a small statue of a cat poised to leap. Masterfully crafted—so much so I nearly drew my sword to slash it. But the moment I sensed it was just lifeless stone, the urge vanished completely.

  Remarkable, really—what humans will create just to amuse themselves. Or is there something deeper behind it? Some hidden meaning? Maybe this drive to make things was planted in them… by something… or someone?

  I don’t know. But at least now I’ll have something to ponder while I wait for orders for the next assault.

  Until next time, Living.