“Come on, man. I’m hungry.” A guard said, his hand on his stomach. “It’s already been twelve hours.”

“Stop complaining and do your job, Alm.” A second guard answered, his face unbothered by the other guard’s words.

“Ugh!” The first guard lifted his head and stared at the ceiling. “Nothing ever happens, Sirf. What’s five minutes going to change?”

“You’ll still have your head on your shoulders and can kiss you mom goodnight.” Sirf commented, a small smile on his face.

Alm glared at Sirf. “That’s not funny. You know my mom is sick. It could be the last time I wish her a goodnight, so I’ll savor every moment I can while she’s still here.”

Sirf nodded, “Yeah, I bet you savor every moment.” He let out a snicker.

Alm dropped his hand on the sword on his hip. “Make another comment about my mother. I dare you.”

Sirf rolled his eyes, not bothered by the empty threat. “You say that every time but do nothing.”

Alm’s fingers curled around the pummel of the sword for a moment, but he dropped his hand. “Whatever. I’m still hungry.” He let out a sigh and his gaze lingered on the door across the two guards. “What are we guarding anyway? I’ve never seen a person go in or out of that door.”

“I don’t care. I’m not paid to ask questions, and neither are you.” Sirf answered.

Alm shook his head, “You’ve never been curious?”

“No.”

Alm thought of something to say, but decided against it as Sirf showed no interest in the topic. “You’re so boring.”

Sirf stayed silent, his gaze fixed on the door. Even if Alm was annoying, Sirf couldn’t ignore everything he was saying. When he first took this post four months ago, he was just like Alm—curious, impatient, and didn’t take this job seriously. That changed once his first post buddy was executed for simply touching the door. How someone found out about that is still a mystery to Sirf, but he never once questioned why this door was guarded around the clock.

While Sirf was deep in thought, Alm removed his metal helmet and ran his hands through his long, unkempt brown hair. “Gross, I hate sweat.” Alm commented, rubbing his gloved fingers together, allowing the sweat from his hair to mix and dissipate into the leather. Just as he was about to put his helmet back on, he froze and tapped Sirf on the shoulder. “Do you see what I see?”

As soon as Alm tapped his shoulder, Sirf instinctively put his hand on his shoulder, “Yeah,” he replied.

The two had stopped upon hearing the door open, and a skeleton emerged. The skeleton was dressed in a green, dress-like outfit with brown boots, and it had a bow and an arrow satchel on its back.

“How the hell did that get in here?” Alm asked.

“I don’t know, but you got your wish.” Sirf replied, unsheathing his sword and assuming a battle stance.

“Yeah, I suppose it did.” Alm said as he put his helmet back on and drew his sword.

Alm and Sirf remained in their positions, awaiting the skeleton’s next move. They were uncertain about its capabilities and didn’t want to underestimate it. They had been taught a crucial rule in dealing with monsters: never underestimate them, as they were once a part of humanity and could retain some of their former traits, acting on those impulses.

The skeleton seemed to share this notion, as it made no attempt to approach them. It simply stood there; its hollow eye sockets fixed in their direction.

As time passed, Alm grew increasingly restless. He shifted his weight and raised his sword, pointing the blade at the skeleton’s chin. Observing this change, Sirf placed a hand on Alm’s shoulder and cautioned, “Don’t act rashly; remember your training.”

Alm brushed off Sirf’s hand and disregarded the advice. “It’s just a skeleton, and it can’t sue its bow in this confined space,” he replied, and dashed forward.

“You fool!” Sirf screamed after him, but his words fell on deaf ears.

When Alm was a few feet away, he jumped into the air, his sword held high above his head. As Alm came within a few inches of the skeleton, he swung the sword downwards, aiming for the skull. Just as the blade was about to connect, the skeleton swiftly sidestepped, causing Alm’s sword to clash violently against the stone floor. The deafening metallic ring echoed throughout the corridor.

Seizing the moment, the skeleton reacted with a brutal kick to Alm’s stomach, causing him to drop his weapon. As the sword clattered to the ground, Alm crumpled in agony, desperately clutching his aching midsection. With another kick, Alm was sent skidding back to his original position, where Sirf knelt beside the motionless Alm.

Sirf doubted that a kick would be enough to kill Alm, but he checked his neck for a pulse; he was still alive. As Sirf looked up and his eyes locked onto the skeleton, he noticed that it still made no attempt to advance towards them. However, that no longer matter to him. Despite the foolishness of Alm’s actions, Serf’s orders were to guard the entrance and prevent anyone, or anything in this case, from entering or leaving. He was determined to ensure that this skeleton did not escape, as doing so would cost him his life and incite mass panic among the public. Sirf stepped in front of Alm’s unconscious body and raised his sword, the blade pointed at the skeleton.

Even if it wasn’t by choice, he was ready to lay down his life to protect the Throne. “Come on, you stupid skeleton.”