Deus Necros

The fire had burned low without anyone speaking. Its glow had softened to a slumbering bed of pulsing coals, the flickers casting long, dying shadows across the circle of travelers and the gnarled tangle of forest that enclosed them. The logs gave off a slow, weary crackle, as if sighing from the weight of a long night.

Ludwig sat near the edge of the firelight, poking gently at the embers with a stick blackened to its core. His bowl of half-eaten stew rested beside his foot, long gone cold, its oily sheen catching the fire’s last breath. His posture was loose, almost drowsy, but his eyes didn’t drift. They tracked shadows. Shapes. Movement.

Celine sat across from him, unmoved by the hour. Her back was ramrod straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her gaze fixed just beyond the fire. She could’ve been carved from marble, if not for the subtle twitch of her thumb brushing the side of her palm, absent-minded, unconscious, but constant.

Gorak, predictably, had positioned himself as an obstacle. His massive frame leaned against the thickest tree trunk, axe braced between his knees and arms crossed in a slumber that still somehow looked threatening. One of his eyelids fluttered from time to time, but otherwise he didn’t stir.

Melisande was tucked away inside the carriage. A lantern burned behind the thin canvas wall, throwing faint silhouettes of her shifting position. Once or twice she’d drawn the flap aside as if tempted to emerge, but each time it fell shut again with soft rustle.

Titania reclined just beyond the warmth’s reach. Her legs stretched out before her, ankles crossed, chin propped on one hand, the picture of idle ease. Yet her eyes never strayed from the perimeter. They roamed, sweeping over underbrush, tracing the dips of unseen trails, lingering too long on patches of moonless dark. She looked, not like someone resting, but someone bored of watching nothing happen. Her cloak was drawn close around her shoulders, yet she hadn’t once pulled it tighter, even as the night’s damp deepened.

Behind her, Misty crouched near the base of a fallen tree, massaging the stiffness from her calves with both hands. Her shoulders sagged under the fatigue of travel, of burdened silence, and of carrying far too much for far too long. The case that had been her unspoken punishment sat beside her, leaning awkwardly against a root that jutted like a broken tooth from the earth.

Then Titania spoke, her voice slipping into the quiet like a smooth stone dropped into still water.

“Brave bunch,” she said, tone low, almost absent breaking the long silence. “Taking this path to Tulmud, I mean.”

Ludwig didn’t look at her straight away. He stirred the coals once more, watching as a tiny flame shivered to life then died beneath its own weight.

“Not many do,” she went on, plucking a flake of bark from her trousers and flicking it into the fire. “Not unless they’ve got a death wish or no other choice. Whole stretch cuts through witch-ground. Ancient one. Not the kind that brews tea and reads fortunes. More the kind that breaks bones just to hear how they crack.”

The words weren’t loud. But they landed with weight. Subtle shifts rippled through the camp. Robin, who had been curled lazily atop the carriage roof, turned his head slightly, though his eyes stayed mostly closed. Redd twitched where he lay in his bedding, groaning faintly as if some old pain had flared up again. Even Celine turned her face toward Titania, slow and deliberate, like a blade being unsheathed just enough to glint.

Misty moved uneasily. Her fingers stopped kneading her arm, and her posture tightened as she risked a glance over her shoulder.

“We’ve heard… stories,” she murmured, eyes uncertain. “From the guys at the caravan, I mean.”

Titania didn’t turn. Her expression remained that sly, barely curved smile, a fox in the henhouse, yawning.

“They’re not just stories,” she said, voice lilting. “Travelers vanish here all the time. Some say they wander too close to her glade and forget themselves. Others say she eats the ones who dream too loud. The Order used to send search parties. None came back. Eventually, they stopped wasting bodies.”

Ludwig’s hand paused above the fire, stick in mid-air, motion arrested by something colder than the air. He set it down carefully, eyes fixed now on the woman across from him.

“You seem knowledgeable about the dangers,” he said slowly, tone light but sharpened with deliberate weight. “But you crossed this place anyway.”

Titania tilted her head slightly, one eyebrow arched beneath her hood. “I didn’t say we wanted to cross it,” she replied, not missing a beat. “Just said I knew about it.”

She smirked faintly and gestured lazily toward the side of the coach where dried blood still stained the wood in streaks like rusted veins. “Besides, with that much crimson dripping off your wagon, I figure your designated driver didn’t make it. I imagine you weren’t exactly spoiled for options.”

Ludwig’s eyes narrowed. He cast a glance at Robin, who looked back with a shrug that said don’t look at me, I just follow roads.

Then his gaze returned to Titania, harder now.

“Then why mention this witch path at all?”

“Because you’re walking straight into her arms,” Titania said, her smile thinning into something quieter. “And I thought you’d appreciate a warning.”

The pause that followed stretched long and taut. The fire hissed. An ember popped. Somewhere deeper in the woods, a twig snapped under no foot at all.

Titania didn’t blink. Ludwig didn’t look away. Celine’s fingers curled slightly into the fabric of her cloak, eyes unreadable.

“I see,” Ludwig said at last, setting the stick into the fire. The coals swallowed it greedily. “And yet you’re still traveling with us. Not backtracking. Not warning others. Not avoiding the path. Quite the bravery for someone who was asking for help earlier…”

Titania gave a breath of a chuckle, no more than a curl of sound. “Would you have turned back,” she said softly, “if I had said so earlier?”

Ludwig didn’t answer. He just let his eyes settle into the fire again, and in the silence that followed, it answered for him.

The fire had burned low by the time Titania spoke. Its glow softened to pulsing coals, painting the underbrush with strokes of dim orange and ash-grey. Around it, the night forest pressed in, thick with dew and the scent of damp bark. Distant owl-song throbbed against the hush, and the occasional drip of moisture from leaf to leaf added rhythm to the silence.

Ludwig stirred the embers absently with a blackened stick, the bowl of half-finished stew cooling beside his boot. Celine sat across from him, still upright, spine poised like a drawn bow despite the hour. Gorak slept against a tree trunk, arms folded over his axe like a grave sentinel. Melisande remained inside the carriage, light from a lantern shifting faintly behind the canvas flap.

Titania leaned back, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. Her posture was relaxed, perhaps even sleepy, but her eyes never drifted from the forest’s edge. Misty sat a short pace behind her, massaging her shoulders in weary silence. She had discarded the massive case some minutes ago, letting it rest beside a root knotted like a curled fist.

“Brave bunch,” Titania said at last, almost lazily, her voice sliding into the hush like a blade beneath cloth. “Taking this path to Tulmud, I mean.”

Ludwig didn’t respond immediately. He glanced up, watching her with something caught between interest and wariness.

“Not many do,” she added, flicking a piece of bark from her knee. “Not unless they’ve got a death wish or no other choice. Whole stretch cuts through witch-ground. Ancient one. Not the kind that brews tea and reads fortunes. More the kind that breaks bones just to listen to how they crack.”

The words landed softly, but the effect was immediate. Robin’s head turned slightly from the roof where he lay, pretending to sleep. Redd, half-curled in his bedding, blinked and frowned. Even Celine, who had thus far shown little interest in conversation, slowly turned her gaze toward Titania and narrowed her eyes.

Misty shifted slightly behind her, rubbing her arm. “We’ve heard… stories from the guys at the caravan” she murmured, unsure if she should speak at all.

Titania gave a small, crooked smile without looking back. “They’re not just stories. Travelers vanish in these woods all the time. Some say they wander too close to her glade and forget themselves. Others say she eats the ones that dream of power. The Holy Order used to send search parties, but none came back. Eventually, they stopped trying.”

Ludwig’s fingers froze above the fire, just before placing a fresh stick into the coals.

“You seem knowledgeable about the dangers, but you crossed this place anyway,” he said. His tone was quiet, almost casual, but beneath it was a thread of steel. “You knew, and still came this way.”

Titania tilted her head, eyes unreadable in the dim light. “I didn’t say we wanted to cross it. Just said I knew about it. Not to mention, with all that blood on your coach side, I can guess that your designated driver didn’t make it, and you chose this path out of all others…”

Ludwig turned his eyes to Robin, with the, ‘I thought you knew where we are going’ look and returned to look at Titania fully now, firelight dancing across the subtle ridges of his expression. “Then why mention this witch path?”

“Because you’re walking straight into her arms,” she replied evenly. “And I thought you’d appreciate a warning.”

A pause hung between them long, taut, just barely below the edge of hostility. Titania didn’t blink. Ludwig’s gaze didn’t shift. Celine remained still, her body a silent judge in the flames’ glow.

“I see,” Ludwig said, at last placing the stick into the fire. “And yet you’re still traveling with us. Not backtracking. Not warning others. Not avoiding the path. Quite the bravery for someone who was asking for help earlier…”

Titania’s smile widened a fraction. “Would you have turned back, if I had said so earlier?”

Ludwig said nothing. He merely returned his eyes to the fire, letting the silence answer for him.

***

Inside the carriage, Melisande sat stiffly on the bench, knees drawn close, her hands pressed together beneath the folds of her cloak. The voices outside carried faintly, the sound of unfamiliar names on familiar faces and half-familiar warnings stirring something long buried.

She closed her eyes. That voice, Titania’s, it was different now. Roughened by travel, wearied perhaps, stripped of the polish it once carried. But there was a rhythm in it. A cadence. The kind drilled into Holy Order ranks and trained over years. Not in what she said, but in what she didn’t say. The clipped phrasing. The way she gave too much and not enough.

Melisande exhaled slowly. She remembered standing in a distant cathedral hall, hands full of scrolls, watching that same voice command an entire row of paladins without raising its pitch. She hadn’t even dared approach then. She had only heard the name in passing, Titania. The Holy Maiden. The Undying. The Warmonger. Revered and feared in equal measure.

The same voice now flickered outside her carriage, with legs crossed, eating her soup.

Oh such terror is this night.

***

As the group prepared to move again in the early morning light, dew heavy on the underbrush and the trees beginning to glow with faint gold, Misty found herself walking briefly beside the carriage next to her was Titania who seemed more interested in walking than taking a ride.

“Why are you guys walking next to the carriage,” Ludwig said as he sat next to Robin who was driving the carriage, “There’s plenty of room inside.”

“Not a fan of being too relaxed I can tell you that,” Titania replied.

Ludwig frowned, “Interesting traveler you are. Most would rather ride than walk, still, suite yourselves…”

Misty glanced at Melisande as the curtain lifted slightly to let air in. Their eyes met for only a second.

“Hey,” Misty said, hesitating before speaking further. Her voice was tentative, uncertain. “You… you’re their healer right the one that treated that redheaded boy?”

Melisande froze. Just for a breath. “Y-yes…”

Titania took a glance at Melisande and back on the road ahead, uninterested.

“You… you look familiar.”

“Must be the wrong person,” Melisande said.

Misty smiled She looked down at the path as she walked. “I have an almost perfect memory. But I guess I can be wrong sometimes.”

Melisande didn’t answer.

“You see,” Misty pushed, “You remind me of another healer I saw when I first visited the Holy Order for some treatment, she was timid and quiet, had a lot of scrolls with her…”

“I’m not a member of the Sacrosanctum.”

“That’s not a name known to many people besides clergy,” Titania said, “Everyone just call it church.” Titania grinned.

Ludwig realized that they were being a bit too push around with Melisande and coughed.

“I guess I could be mistaken. But it must be nice being… this,” Misty added softly, glancing toward the others ahead. “A healer. A traveler. An adventurer…”

Still, no reply. Melisande only lowered her eyes, as if the weight of recognition was heavier than she’d expected.

Misty didn’t press again. She simply nodded once and fell behind.

***

It was not long after that Ludwig felt the chill. Something different, the forest itself looked different.

He had descended a while ago and was moving ahead of the carriage as they have met an obscene number of goblins along the path. Before the women calling themselves Anna and misty had joined them, there wasn’t a single beast or monster on the road, and now, they didn’t even get an hour of rest before some random beast decided that today was a good day to die.

So he took the lead in killing the enemies that tried to ambush them, and as he was planning on allowing some of the creatures of the next wave to pass him so he could see how strong this new companion of theirs was, he felt the change. Not just a subtle one anymore, no something more primal.

A whisper in his bones.

A flicker of invisible motion curling beneath his ribs.

[You are in a hostile Environment]

That confirmed it.

He blinked. Turned his head. The others had gone.

No trail. No wheel ruts. No prints. Just trees. The whole carriage along with everyone inside it and around it was gone.

Dark. Close. Damp. The mist had thickened without him noticing, wrapping around the trunks like wet gauze. Sound had fallen away, as though swallowed by distance.

He took one step forward and found the ground turning beneath him. A path, not one he’d chosen, opened where there had been none.

“Well then… I thought I was immune to illusions… must mean that this is anything but…”

Ludwig flicked his ring finger and summoned Durandal in its Scythe form, “Let’s see what’s on the other side of the road shall we…”