Chapter 20: Chapter 20: Whisper of Hunger

The days after the collapse of the Ossuary Vein passed like a haze. They found a cave and marked it as their camp. Abraham awoke intermittently, feverish and twitching, his skin clammy, his mind drifting in and out of visions.

Tess remained by his side, adjusting damp cloths on his forehead, whispering to him when the nightmares made him convulse in his sleep.

Chop never left the threshold of the cavern, standing guard like a sentinel of death. The air smelled of moss, earth, rain, and something older—something that stirred with every breath Abraham took.

The beastlings, resurrected long ago and nearly forgotten, had rejoined the group during their retreat, silently slipping into formation like soldiers answering a forgotten command.

One resembled a humanoid fox with spectral green eyes, another a boar with bone-plated tusks, and the last, a raven-like figure with wings torn and reformed with sinew. They did not speak, but they understood. Abraham’s will is theirs.

When he finally came to, fully awake and alert, the echoes in his chest felt different. Dimmer, but deeper. No longer the wild spark of accidental necromancy, but a slow-burning ember that radiated weight. His first coherent thought was of bones, how they sang when called.

Tess offered him water. “You scared us.”

Abraham took a sip and glanced toward the horizon. “I saw her. In my dreams. She was laughing.”

Tess frowned. “Lady Veyla?”

He nodded. “She’s not gone. She’s inside me. Or inside my head. Not controlling me… but lingering.”

A pause.

“And she’s hungry.”

Tess sat beside him, arms wrapped around her knees. “You fought her. Resisted her. That’s more than anyone else could have done, right?”

“Yeah, but for how long? If I keep using this power, she’ll find cracks. I can feel her testing me.”

He clenched his fists. Bone dust spilled from his palms, unintentionally summoned.

Chop let out a low, insectoid hum.

“Chop agrees,” Abraham muttered. “He doesn’t trust her either.”

“Do you trust yourself?” Tess asked.

“I don’t know.”

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***

That night, they moved and made a camp at the edge of the hollow plains, just beyond the reach of the Vein’s influence. The grass here grew in spirals, as if memory itself had scarred the land. Bones occasionally jutted from the soil like weeds. Even the wind seemed to whisper old regrets.

Abraham sat by the fire, surrounded by his undead. The beastling undeads kept a respectful distance, forming a loose semicircle. Chop settled nearby, grooming one of its legs like a cat sharpening its claws. The glow of the fire reflected in his hollowed sockets, making him appear ancient.

“I’m going to name you,” Abraham said, pointing to the fox-beastling. “You’re too graceful not to have a name.”

The fox sat upright.

“How about... Whisper?”

The beastling tilted its head, then gave a subtle nod.

“The boar...” Abraham continued. “You’re a tank. Stubborn. How about Grub?”

The boar snorted once in approval.

“And the raven—”

The creature cawed, startling a few nearby crows into flight.

“You like noise. Let’s go with Cacophony.”

The raven spread its broken sinew wings with pride.

Tess returned from gathering wood. “You’re naming them now?”

“I figured it’s time I acknowledged them properly. They’re not just tools. They followed me, even when I forgot them.”

She smiled. “You’re growing, Abraham. I mean, you’re still terrifying. But now you’re also slightly heartwarming.”

Abraham chuckled, a dry sound like parchment scraping stone.

“You ever wonder,” he said, “if there’s a version of us out there that never got pulled into all this?”

Tess glanced at the stars. “I think they’d be boring.”

***

Later that night, as the others slept, Abraham sat alone, the fire casting long shadows across his face. Chop stayed awake beside him, unblinking. The stars above shifted slightly, almost unnaturally, as if the world was realigning itself after the chaos.

Abraham pulled off his shirt and stared at the sigil burned into his chest. It was no longer glowing—but it pulsed in rhythm with his heart. Dark veins spidered outward, subtle but growing.

“I don’t want to be a puppet,” he whispered.

The sigil pulsed.

Images flashed behind his eyes. Cities made of bone. Thrones forged from soulsteel. A crown of marrow hovering above a hollow-eyed king—himself, older, colder.

The ground beneath this future Abraham cracked with the weight of a thousand undead armies. He saw Tess kneeling, wounded. He saw Chop—split in half.

He gasped, the vision fading. A line of blood dripped from his nose.

Chop tilted its head.

“I’m fine,” Abraham lied.

But Chop crawled closer and pressed its massive head against his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Abraham muttered. “Me too, buddy.”

He didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

***

By dawn, Tess awoke to find Abraham already on his feet, directing the undead. Whisper, Grub, and Cacophony now wore makeshift armor fashioned from scavenged bones and tattered cloth. Chop towered behind them, like a war beast poised for carnage.

“What’s the plan?” Tess asked, brushing sleep from her eyes.

“We move east,” Abraham said. “Id I'm not mistaken, There’s a village called Marrowdell. Used to be a trade hub before the dead started rising. Now it’s a graveyard with walls.”

“Sounds cozy.”

“There’s a necromancer-like cult operating there. Not like me. The bad kind. They’re trying to raise something called the Bone Saint.”

Tess raised an eyebrow. “That sounds incredibly evil,” she paused, then furrowed. "Wait. Don't tell me that you knew this information from your dreams."

He grinned. “Not dreams. This one is vision. I think, Veyla gave me that visions so I came there."

"Then we don't need to," Tess said.

"Logically? Yes. But that village is also a beacon. If I can disrupt their ritual, I might stop whatever Veyla left behind from spreading.”

Tess nodded. “Then let’s crush some bones.”

Abraham paused. “One more thing.”

He raised his hand, and from the earth, a new undead rose—small, fast, twitchy. A messenger, shaped like a lizard with elongated claws for climbing. Its spine glowed faintly with necrotic energy.

“I’m sending this to someone I met in the Whispering Glade. In my visions, of course. An archivist named Thera. She might know about me. And the most important thing, she probably knew more about Veyla’s origins.”

“You’re building allies based on speculation?” Tess asked, impressed in her own ways.

“I’m building options,” Abraham said grimly. “And contingencies. If something happens to me, I want you to find Thera. She’ll know what to do. Probably.”

Tess didn’t answer immediately. She walked forward and took his hand. “ Don't jinx anything, dumbass," she whispered. "We’re not there yet.”

The undead army formed ranks.

Cacophony took to the skies, wings slicing through mist. Grub snorted and pawed the ground. Whisper moved like a shadow.

Tess grinned. “Lord of Beast Undead has a nice ring to it, you know.”

Abraham didn’t smile.

He just looked east.

And somewhere in his chest, the whisper stirred again—softer now, but persistent.

Hungering.

***