—
The wind came out of the woods and lifted the ash into the air.
The fire had died to a few red embers that twitched on the ground.
The undead warriors stood behind what was left of the blaze, their shadows stretched long and thin across the earth.
The shadows twisted.
No one spoke.
The fighting had stopped.
The wind climbed up from the slope below, pressing the grass flat, then lifting it again.
Wei and Chun lay low in it. Through the blades they could see the fire flickering in the camp, and the ash-colored warriors standing there like dead trees.
A wash of smoke rolled over them, smoke mixed with the burnt stink of hair.
It hit Wei's nose hard. His stomach pushed up at once.
He tried to slow his breathing.
It only made it worse.
When the bronze warriors dragged the captives back, they didn't waste strength.
People were pushed down, then shoved again until they were forced to their knees.
Men knelt.
Women knelt.
Children knelt.
Backs bent one by one, as if the same hand had pressed them all from above.
No one lifted their head.
A man in the front row was shaking. He clenched his teeth, but his shoulders still trembled.
He tried to hide his breathing, tried to make it small.
Yet the more he hid it, the wilder it broke loose, fluttering in his chest like torn cloth.
The undead-warriors stood behind them.
Firelight flickered on their bronze armor shield.
There was no blood on it.
They did not move.
They only watched.
The scene made Wei clutch handfuls of grass roots, stabbing into his palms. They were sharp enough to hurt, but he didn't let go.
His knuckles had gone white, the kind of white that looked frostbitten.
He wanted to stand.
The thought flashed through his head, only once, and his legs went hollow.
Cold climbed up from the soles of his feet, slow and greedy, as if it meant to scrape the last bit of warmth out of his bones.
He didn't try again.
Night pressed down like a heavy plank.
No one knew what would happen.
Everyone knew it would not be good.
Their names were gone now.
They were servants—
servants of the dead.
They would be taken to the kingdom of the dead.
A paradise for the lifeless.
A hell for the living.
—-
When he saw his father pinned to the ground by a long sharp arrow, unable to move, Wei could no longer hid still in the grass.
His chest felt as if someone had struck him with a bare fist.
He knew his father would die.
Knew it while he lay there shaking in the dirt.
In that instant he understood:
If he stayed down, his father would face it alone.
If he stood up, he might be the first one to die.
Two kinds of death collided in his head.
But the next moment, he pressed his hand on Chun's shoulder and pushed her head back into the grass.
"Don't go out," he said. "Stay hidden."
Chun caught his hand, gripping hard.
"Don't go," she whispered. "They'll kill you."
Wei rose. The movement was sharp, almost desperate, as if he knew that waiting one more second would force him back to his knees.
He was afraid, of course he was.
His legs shook.
He knew he might not come back.
But his father was down there.
His mother too.
He couldn't stay hidden.
He knew he wasn't built that way.
And Chun was right beside him.
If he didn't stand now, he would never lift his head again.
Chun tried to stop him, as she was scared too.
She grabbed his arm on instinct, holding tight, tight enough to leave marks.
Wei paused.
It was a short pause, no longer than the wind pressing the grass an inch before letting it rise again.
Then he slipped his hunting knife from his belt and pushed it into her hands.
"Her fingers were cold," The thought flashed through his head.
"Stay safe," he said. "No matter what happens, don't come out."
He didn't finish the sentence before a dull sound cracked through the grass.
A thud.
Wei's world went black.
He didn't know if he'd fallen or was still standing. His body was no longer his.
Chun called his name. High, sharp. Torn by the wind.
He didn't see where the attack came from.
But he knew it wasn't ordinary force. The pain felt like someone was twisting his head off his neck.
Something warm slid down his forehead.
He smelled blood.
Then nothing.
It was strange.
He never had the feeling before.
Something inside him stirred, heat and pain rising fast, as if waking after a long sleep.
Wind rushed through a broken eave somewhere below, carrying the smell of blood away.
Then he saw an undead-warrior.
The warrior stood still, holding a man's thigh bone in his hand.
Blood still shone on the white bone, thick and wet.
Chun cried out.
She didn't even have time to pull back.
The warrior seized her by the hair and drove her head into the dirt.
Her face scraped the earth.
She smelled dust, blood, and her own ragged breath.
She couldn't move.
He didn't expect Chun to fight back.
But to his surprise, Chun moved like a trapped animal.
She growled low, forced an inch of space open beneath her.
Her fingers closed around the hunting knife Wei had given her.
It was a small knife, but now it felt like the only strength she had left.
She drove it into the warrior's black, oil-dark wrist.
Once.
Then again.
Each thrust was heavy.
Heavy enough to feel like she was trying to break bone with the blade.
The black skin split.
Muscle peeled back.
Tendons snapped in two like cords torn by brute force.
Pale bone showed through.
Black blood burst onto her face, cold and sticky.
She didn't wipe it away.
She didn't stop.
She only wanted the thing to fall-
to stop moving, to stop existing.
But the undead-warrior did not react.
It lowered its head and looked at its ruined arm.
The movement was slow, almost puzzled.
It waited, as if trying to understand how this had come from a little girl.
"Get off me," Chun hissed, the words ripped raw from her throat.
The jungle had taught her two things, never step back.
The undead-warrior suddenly froze.
It stared at her.
Too still.
Wrongly still.
It lasted only a breath.
Then five finger bones, sharp as iron nails, lifted and drove straight into her back.
The motion was clean.
No sound.
Then it pulled back.
A few ribs, blood-red, came with it.
The crack of breaking bone was dull and short.
Like wet wood snapping.
Wei's chest went hollow.
He saw it.
All of it.
But he couldn't take a step.
He opened his mouth to scream, but the sound is silent.
No one heard.
Then he realized something was wrong.
He was suspended in midair.
Floating.
He looked down.
Not far below—
His own body lay there, motionless on the ground.
Panic surged.
If that was his body, then what was he?
Why was this happening?
He didn't know.
All he could do was stare at the warrior.
Blood ran between its fingers.
Red.
Dripping down.
One drop. Then another.