Chapter 9: Chapter 9: Roots of Rivalry

They left the clearing with the air still humming in their bones, coming back to their camp where the undeads waiting motionless.

Neither Abraham nor Tess spoke much as they made their way back toward the camp, the jungle closing behind them like a beast swallowing its prey. Chop lumbered ahead, undisturbed, but even the undead beasts seemed to sense the shift.

Their movements were quieter, more cautious. Birds stopped singing as they passed. The thick vines that clung to trees seemed to twist subtly away from Abraham’s path.

Abraham turned the encounter with Lysara over in his mind. The way she had spoken, with disdain and interest coiled together, unnerved him. She didn’t fear his power, but she didn’t respect it, either.

It was like he was a wild card in her game, and she was trying to decide whether to keep him or burn him.

“I didn’t like her,” Tess finally muttered, kicking a rock.

“She didn’t seem to like you either,” Abraham said, forcing a grin.

“I mean, anyone who can command plants and vines and laugh like a fairy queen with rabies is automatically on my stab list.”

Abraham chuckled, but the joy faded quickly. “She knew about the Vault. And the Bone Lords.”

Tess looked at him. “Think she’s a spy? Or worse—a guardian of something?”

“Maybe both,” he paused. "My point is, she's old. And someone old plausibly strong."

They reached the outskirts of the camp not long after. The fading light filtered in eerie streaks through the mist, painting the forest in hues of gold and blood.

The squirrel skeleton perched atop a tree branch like a grotesque gargoyle, keeping watch.

The rest of the undead stirred as Abraham approached, then fell still. It was strange, how natural their presence had become to him. A week ago, the sight would’ve sent him screaming. Now they felt like... responsibility? Strange.

He knelt and pressed a hand to the soil. The staff, resting beside him, throbbed faintly. He could feel the land’s pulse, the distant echo of life long extinguished. Memories of death clung to the soil like whispers.

“Someone’s watching us,” he said aloud.

Tess’s head snapped around. “Where?”

Stolen novel; please report.

“I don’t know. But it’s not Lysara.”

The jungle rustled.

From the trees, a blur of shadow streaked past.

Then another.

And then a voice—rough, amused, echoing like thunder through wet leaves.

“Found you, little Bone Whisperer.”

Three figures stepped into the clearing. They wore bone armor and tattered cloaks, their faces hidden behind masks carved from skulls. Each held a weapon that reeked of death magic.

Their leader was tall, with a massive curved blade slung over one shoulder and glowing eyes peering from beneath a jackal skull helm.

They moved with predatory grace, not like bandits or feral beastkin, these were trained. Disciplined. There was unity in their stance, silent coordination in how they surrounded the camp.

Tess drew her sword, whispered a spell, and stepped protectively in front of Abraham. Her sword emitting fire. “More friends of yours?”

Abraham raised a hand. “Let me try talking first.”

The leader grinned, teeth flashing beneath his mask. “Good instincts. Bad timing.”

“Who are you?” Abraham asked, already suspecting the answer.

The jackal-helmed man tilted his head. “We’re the one who affected by what you bring.”

That’s when it hit Abraham—the magic coming off them was necromantic. Raw. Refined. And unlike his own.

“I hate riddle,” he said softly.

“Correct,” said the leader. “I’m Morrick. And I’ve come to test the whelp who cracked the Vault.”

The moment stretched. Then Morrick raised his hand.

From the forest, something surged forward—a stitched beast made of dozens of corpses. Wolf legs, bear arms, insect carapace, fused together into a towering abomination.

Its body writhed with stitched seams and strange, glowing glyphs. It roared, a sound made of multiple voices overlapping in broken harmony.

Even Chop recoiled at the sight.

Tess screamed, “Abraham!”

But he was already moving.

The staff burned in his grip as he raised it high. The undead around them surged forward like a tide—Chop in the lead, the skeletal bear and horned deer flanking it. Abraham’s mind buzzed as he willed each creature into place, directing them like fingers of a single hand.

The stitched horror met their charge with brutal fury. Chop slammed into it, mandibles tearing into its flank, but the beast retaliated with a clawed swipe that sent the ant flying. The undead bear leapt onto its back, trying to tear through its hide, but was shaken off violently.

“Hold it down!” Abraham yelled.

Tess darted beneath the beast’s legs, slashing at exposed joints and tendons. Sparks of corrupted energy danced across her blade with every hit. Some of it burned, spreading a tang of rotten flesh.

Morrick stood calmly on the sidelines, watching.

“You control them well,” he called out. “But control is not mastery.”

Abraham gritted his teeth. He reached into the ground with his senses, felt the lingering death beneath the soil—roots wrapped around ancient bones. He called to them.

With a groan, more skeletons erupted from the earth. Humanoid beastlings, some in ancient armor, others still gripping rusted weapons. Their hollow eyes glowed green as they rose.

The tide turned. The stitched beast faltered under the swarm.

Abraham raised his staff, and with a pulse of energy, detonated necrotic force inside the abomination.

It exploded in a shower of bones, ichor, and half-melted glyphs. The force knocked Tess backward. Abraham shielded his eyes from the light.

Silence fell.

Morrick clapped slowly. “Impressive. Crude. But effective.”

Abraham stepped forward, panting. “Why are you here?”

“To see if you’re worth the trouble,” Morrick said, lowering his weapon. “We Bonebinders don’t take kindly to upstarts. But you… You may be something more. Or less.”

“I’m not like you,” Abraham said.

“No,” Morrick agreed. “You’re still soft. But perhaps not for long.”

He turned to leave, and the others followed. Just before vanishing into the jungle, Morrick looked over his shoulder.

“You’ve got power, boy. But power without purpose is just noise. Find your path—before we decide it for you.”

Then they were gone.

Tess let out a long breath. “So. You’ve got undead plant ladies and some necromancer cultists on your tail. Busy week, ey?”

Abraham stared at the horizon, eyes hardening.

“No more hiding,” he said. “If there’s a war coming, I need to be ready. I need to lead.”

Tess gave him a crooked smile. “There’s the undead king I signed up for. Well, not really actually. But I plunged within anyway. So,….”

The jungle around them rustled softly, as though listening. Far above, unseen creatures stirred. Reacting to both newly raised necromancer, and the unknown catastrophy tailing him.

Somewhere, something far older had started to take interest.

And Abraham, once a timid boy, now stood at the edge of a new war. Not originally his, but for him to face.

***