“Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires.”

― William Shakespeare, Macbeth

A flock of crows rose into the sky, cawing in alarm. The screams inside the fortress and the faint sounds of battle slowly ceased. The robed woman stumbled out of the open gates, the burning corpse-hand clasped firmly in her own and behind her came the dead. Frozen, half-rotted, some still entangled with ribcages interlocked. The stumbling feet and scrabbling bony hands carried the shambling horde outside and into the wilderness. Shadows seemed to float among them helplessly, trying to enter a body- but without success.

A guard with only a bit of armor over a nightrobe that ill-concealed his scrawny legs stood in a side corridor and gasped, turning this way and that at every sound, sword held before him. The arched ceiling made of broken stone glinted in the light of a torch that had rolled beside his fallen companion.

“Gerald? Psst. Are you...are you…?” The guardsman with an unkempt, wild beard stabbed his former colleague experimentally, but nothing twitched. “Ah damn.”

Just at that moment, flickering darkness seemed to envelop the fallen man, and soon after, the formerly still hands scrabbled for purchase.

“Gerald?! God bless, you are still alive. I was just going to bandage you.” He cleared his throat and took a step closer. And when he lowered himself for a closer look, the former corpse violently rose from the ground, jaws opening wider than humanly possible before he bit deeply into the throat of the still living man. Gurgling screams echoed outside as the woman stumbled further from the fortress.

“Father! Why? Even if I can help mother, without you, what should I do?” Mumbling to herself, the wizardess hastily walked toward a guard tower where they had stashed horses and provisions earlier.

The dead spilled from the fortress in a black tide while shadows flitted along overhead. A sense of deep wrongness preceded them like a premonition, like a curse.

Fires from the burning tents lit the side of the hill, and only looking at the frozen cliff glinting with reflected light, it seemed cheery, festive even.

But for the screams and sounds of battle.

Alyssa gestured, “We have to get to Sarah. We cannot leave her here!”

With a deep sigh, Mireille turned and jogged ahead deeper into the camp. The rest hesitated and then followed. Valens conjured some slight mist dispersing it to their rear and sides.

Suddenly Mireille stopped and bent down, reaching forward before then quietly retracting her hand. As they caught up, they saw several students lying on the ground bleeding from deep cuts, but the flow of blood had ceased some time before, and there was only the slightest mist still rising to show the fading warmth.

Gagging, Alyssa turned her head to the side. It would not have been so bad if she did not know some of them. The dark-haired posh girl from the dormitory. Her addled brain did not want to give her the name. The one that had always made the disparaging remarks, now she wouldn’t, not anymore.

“What are we waiting for? Anyone still alive?” Vivienne asked impatiently. “If they are dead, we should hurry not to stand around dawdling.” Her face showed a seemingly uncharacteristic coldness.

The wind blew smoke and some distant screams over to them, and Ioreth, the red moon had nearly reached the highest point shedding red-tinged moonlight on the scene below. Too much adrenaline made their hands shake with nervous energy and blunted the icy wind's sting. Nevertheless- standing around and seeing the bodies of their dead classmates, Alea began to shudder, drawing her cloak closer to her body.

“We have to go. Callous or not.” Annabeth had her hands clasped before her chest and shifted her weight uncomfortably.

Nodding jerkily, Mireille softly walked between the corpses taking care not to step on a hand or arm. Three soldiers had been thrown into a nearby tent by some impact or other. Looking at the wounds as they passed, it should have been caused by something sharply pointed- Stone or ice shards, perhaps?

One of them was still alive and feebly pressed bloody hands to a wound on his collarbone, which still seeped blood through the makeshift bandage made by pressing the cloak of another dead man to the incision.

Lightning flickering over her sword- it consumed much less energy for the enchanted mana steel to carry the magic than simply form a sword out of thin air- Mireille hesitated before then walking by. The soldier shrunk back and seemed relieved even as his face was paler than the snow.

As the group walked on, Vivienne turned blue-green eyes on the prone figure and let Valens pass her by before quietly intoning a prayer. Wind laden with frost tore at the tent canvas, letting it flap and shudder before beginning to circle the soldier, slowly leeching him of warmth.

The half-elf turned and hastened her steps catching up to the group. Her brother only looked at her questioningly, getting a shrug in return.

The blood ceased to flow; the breath stilled, eyes lost their luster, and frost began covering the tents beside the three corpses.

Shouting caught their attention, and as they drew near, they saw a score of soldiers surrounding several military mages in their customary uniforms beside an officer of some sort confronting several robed mages who stood before a group of students huddling behind them.

The officer was a man in his early thirties with a well-groomed black beard and a small gold hoop adorning his right ear. He looked a bit rakish, but tension marred his sharply cut features, and he held a runed rod in his hand pointed at the wizards opposing him.

“Lay down your weapons. We will take you into custody, and there need be no bloodshed!” The officer roared at the portly man with the red hair that had welcomed them into the camp. Sarah stood beside the students and was patching an ugly-looking gash across the face of an unconscious-looking girl.

“We would be patent fools to believe in a traitor's words. If only for the student's sake, withdraw and let us claim our charges, and we will simply go. Otherwise, we fight!” The heavyset man's jowls were quivering with rage, but it did not look humorous at all.

A thin male teacher nearly a head taller than his companion brushed his hand across his forehead in a tired gesture. Flames licked around his cloak, and sigils faded into being before dimming again as the fire rose and fell. Gripping the red-headed teacher's shoulder- he had introduced himself as Villier Gorms, Alyssa remembered- the thin man spoke up, “We will fight if we must, but protecting the students must be our primary focus. I suggest you leave before I burn you like the dogs you are.”

“Who said he wanted to avoid a fight.” Mr. Gorms muttered.

“That we cannot do.” The officer readied a blunt rod and pointed it at the two mages, and the soldiers readied themselves.

“Should we intervene?” Alea quietly asked.

A soldier pointed at them, and soon several crossbows were raised in their direction.

“Quickly come over here!” Sarah called to them.

The officer's eyes flickered for a moment before he mouthed a word and the rod blazed with brilliance; a ripple of glowing force shot at the firemage snow exploded to the sides as the massive discharge carved a furrow into the frozen ground. “Kill the mages! Capture the students!”

Several runes flared before shattering into small fiery explosions as the force missile impacted the thin man's warding spells. The widowmaker rod steamed, and sparks shot from the discharged runes as the officer let it fall to the ground while drawing his sword.

The fire-wizard was caught in the chest and thrown several meters back into a large tent, smoke curling from the tattered hole in his robes.

Crossbows discharged with a harsh metallic sound, and bolts shot at Alyssa’s group, Mister Gorms, and Sarah.

Mireille crossed her wrists and shouted something before a web of lightning flashed into being and intercepted the hail of missiles, wooden shafts bursting into flames.

The stout mage protecting the students hastily incanted a spell, and the distance between him and the crossbow-wielding soldiers suddenly seemed to ripple and extend to nearly ten times the former range. And then it was no longer difficult to dodge or block the suddenly parabolic trajectories. But as quickly as the space had distorted, it returned to its natural state even faster, leaving Mr. Gorms breathing heavily.

Sarah conjured a shield of water, but one or two of the bolts fell among the students, and even as some began to cast their own protective magic, a smaller girl clutched a bolt piercing her neck and fell heavily to the side, blood pooling beneath her body.

Alyssa saw all of these nearly in slow motion, her anxiety making everything seem like it took ages.

The moon Ioreth reached its peak, and a shudder ran through the air.

Butler One shook his lower arms, and blades extended from housings inside the limbs. Alea incanted, and an eye made of light formed above her head while Cecily took her bearings, small metallic legs clicking.

Valens spoke words of power flowing like liquid as a Sylph began to form between his hands. The water spirit's hollow eyes exuded a faint menace.

Cyrus raised his head, and his tail lashed dangerously.

Switching from the lightning shield, Mireille held both hands before her, one still holding her degen, and incanted “Sialysalethussar”; lightning rose from her center, and with all the attunement sessions she had done, it flowed naturally down her arm, small arcs lighting up between her finger her eyes glowed like ball lightning before an armthick bolt of energy blasted outward toward the soldiers.

A hastily raised barrier by the army mages did nothing but slightly divert the bolt of heavenly fury. The lightning hit several soldiers in the act of reloading; eyes burst as liquid bubbled into steam, clothing ignited, and bones shattered. The men were thrown to the side like dolls from the hand of a giant.

Screaming an order no one could hear over the still reverberating thunder, the officer raised another wand from his belt, and several bolts of force streamed toward Mireille.

Alyssa had been in the process of raising the dark mists around herself to protect herself and saw the missile's impact on her friend. Mireille was thrown back, and several deep gashes tore along her upper arms and chest, blood spattering the trampled snow.

And then a ripple reached her from somewhere to the south; unadulterated void magic coursed through her veins. She saw her friend fall, the blood pooling around the girl-student, and her veins were bursting with power. The gem in her forearm began to sing with dark energy.

Beneath the snow, beneath the frost, the dead stirred. She suddenly felt their presence, specks of cold far beyond the mere frost of this world, and it was the easiest thing in the world to direct that power, and there were runes already formed, spellwork ready for her to use.

Asandria carefully guided her as she raised her left hand, and a black star blazed from her wrist.

With explosive force, the ground tore open and skeletal warriors still wearing the rusted remains of old arms and armor rose from their shallow graves. Darkness itself completed what was missing, gave the swords their edge, and formed bones and hands where they were missing.

And as the bloody moon looked down, hundreds of corpses walked again.

Somewhere on the outskirts of the camp, a man rose from where he had been checking on the fallen soldier he had spelled to sleep, and Calvin furrowed his brows with worry. "I know the scent of this magic."