For the first time since arriving at Stony Mountain, Lucien and Grandpa Kun found themselves looking at something that completely overturned everything they believed they knew about black magic.
The undead that Harold had brought into the room possessed the shape of a human, yet not a trace of flesh remained on its body.
Every bone was pure white—not the dull white of ordinary bone, but almost transparent, as though carved from flawless crystal.
Whenever the light in the room shifted, a faint sacred glow shimmered across its frame. Draped over that unusual skeleton was an immaculate white mage's robe, and a pristine white magic staff rested quietly in its hand. There was no foul aura, no smell of decay, no sinister darkness that people usually associated with the undead.
