Chapter 14: Chapter 13 – Walking Corpses & Mindset

Chapter 13 – Walking Corpses & Mindset

Today began like any other day in the Imperial Castle.

The sun cast a gentle warmth over the stone walls, soft light dancing through the high-arched windows. A breeze whispered through the courtyards, rustling the leaves of manicured trees and fluttering the hems of servant skirts. Birds chirped without urgency. Guards yawned at their posts. The kitchens clanged with morning preparations.

There was peace.

Serenity.

No one paid much attention to the fact that an assassin had been executed that morning.

Life was cheap in the Empire—especially for someone like her, a maid turned killer, who had dared to stain the palace grounds with blood. If anything, most felt relief. No one had the time or energy to spare sympathy for a traitor. Not the nobles, not the guards, not even the other servants. It was just another morning.

Another day of chores, drills, gossip, and quiet glances.

The execution was over.

The criminal was gone.

And life… went on.

Until the bodies came walking.

The castle buzzed with life—servants scurrying, guards yawning, and government officers sipping their morning tea.

That peace shattered when a junior maid screamed loud enough to shake the heavens.

She’d been walking through the eastern corridor with a tray of towels when she froze, eyes wide, and dropped everything. Her scream tore through the air like a blade.

People came running.

And then—silence.

Because they saw them.

Ten figures. Marching in perfect sync, step by step, as if pulled by strings. Their movements smooth, mechanical. Puppet-like. Six were headless, and the remaining four had gaping holes in their torsos—as if cannonballs had punched clean through them. Blood trailed behind them in thin streaks, staining the stone floor, but they did not falter. They didn’t stumble. They didn’t moan or twitch like zombies.

They simply walked.

Like they had a purpose.

And that purpose… was to leave.

The guards were the first to respond.

“Undead!” someone shouted.

More soldiers rushed in, forming a perimeter around the corridor. Shields were raised. Orders were barked. Someone was sent sprinting to fetch mages who could purify the damned things.

“Clear the path! Remove all civilians!”

“Don’t let them spread rot!”

“Brace for contact!”

The corpses didn’t react. They simply kept marching—soulless, precise, ignoring the line of guards closing in around them. More troops gathered. Elite archers took position on balconies, drawing their bows. Fire and holy-element mages arrived in full formation, robes fluttering with power.

A commander barked, “Who the hell attacks the heart of the Empire with undead? What kind of third-rate bait tactic is this?”

He suspected misdirection. Perhaps someone was targeting a high-ranking official while drawing attention elsewhere. In response, security around the Emperor and the royal family was doubled instantly.

“Don’t let them near any important quarters. We’ll destroy them here.”

The archers took the first shot.

Ten arrows flew in harmony, each aimed with precision at the corpses’ chests—assuming their heads were no longer an option.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

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The arrows hit. Every shot was a success. Wood split through rotted uniforms and sank into flesh.

And the corpses kept walking.

Not a single one slowed.

The archers fired again. Dozens of arrows pierced them, embedding like spikes until the bodies resembled walking sea urchins.

Still… they marched.

Some of the younger guards looked ready to bolt. Their hands trembled on their hilts. This wasn’t normal undead behavior. Even a necromancer’s puppet would twitch or howl. These didn’t even breathe.

The commander’s eye twitched.

“Fire magic! Holy magic! Burn them to ash!”

The mages responded at once.

Bright flames lit up the corridor, white holy light blasting the walls. Explosions followed, violent and deafening. When the smoke cleared, seven of the corpses had collapsed—reduced to ash, nothing left but crumbling boots and shattered armor.

But three still moved.

One was walking with only its lower body, the upper half completely gone.

Another dragged itself forward with a single arm, legs obliterated.

The last was missing half its torso, yet its single remaining foot marched in perfect rhythm.

All three continued without pause.

The commander’s face went pale.

“What in the hell are these things?!”

One of the senior mages stepped forward, squinting at the crawling figure.

“…They’re not undead,” he said.

Everyone turned toward the mage in shock.

“No necrotic energy. No rot. No curse.”

“Then what are they?”

“I don’t know. They’re not… alive, but they’re not raised by any known necromancy. And there's no spell residue.”

"This... this might be the infamous Puppet Magic."

The guards recoiled slightly. Some crossed themselves. Others whispered prayers.

“Track the caster!” the commander barked.

The mages tried. Every one of them.

Nothing.

No trail. No signature. Not even a trace of mana.

Then… the bodies stopped.

Mid-crawl, mid-step. Just… stopped.

No collapse. No fade. They simply halted like broken machines.

“They’re… done marching?” a younger guard asked hesitantly.

“They must be out of range,” the senior mage muttered. “Some sort of command boundary.”

But the unease didn’t fade.

Because these weren’t ordinary corpses. These were Imperial Guards.

Dead men who once wore the Empire’s crest on their breastplates.

And they had just walked, marched, and obeyed… something.

Not a single person in the corridor dared to speak louder than a whisper.

Because they all had the same question:

What kind of power could move the dead—without magic, without life—and make them march like soldiers… inside the Imperial Castle?

---

– Aurelia’s Room –

Warm light filtered through the curtains, painting soft golden lines across the floor.

Aurelia stirred.

Her fingers twitched first, then her shoulders shifted. The air around her felt unusually still—peaceful, almost too quiet. She opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the afternoon light.

She didn’t panic. She didn’t sit up in a rush or gasp like in the stories.

Instead, she blinked again, confusion dull in her eyes, like a child waking from a fever dream. Her mind was foggy. Like something important had happened… but her memory refused to show her what.

Her small hands reached up and rubbed her eyes.

And then she saw her.

Seraphina.

Sitting on the edge of the bed.

Smiling softly.

Her black hair gleamed under the light. Her eyes—no longer brown, but now a calm, obsidian black—watched her with that same warm gaze. She looked different. And yet, she was the same.

The same Seraphina who tucked her in every night.

The same Seraphina who wiped her tears when her mother wasn’t there.

The same Seraphina who once told her she didn’t need to be perfect to be loved.

The same Seraphina… who had died.

Aurelia stared for a long time.

Something deep inside her chest ached—like a hollow cavity that had been growing for days, weeks, maybe even years.

It wasn’t that her mother, Lysandra, didn’t love her. Aurelia knew her mother loved her dearly. But the weight of duty, the expectations of the court, and a painful incident four years ago had changed something between them. Lysandra had grown more distant, less present. Not out of cruelty, but out of fear—fear that loving her too much would make Aurelia a target.

And so, Seraphina had filled that space. Her steady presence, her quiet affection—it was Seraphina who had done the motherly work, who had soothed Aurelia’s silent cries.

And when she was taken away, something had broken inside the young princess.

But now… something was settling there.

Click.

Like the perfect puzzle piece sliding into place.

The aching in her chest began to fade, like morning frost under sunlight.

And before her mind could tell her otherwise—before logic could argue with emotion—Aurelia moved.

She launched forward and wrapped her arms around Seraphina, burying her face in her chest.

Seraphina blinked in surprise, but the confusion only lasted a heartbeat. Her arms came up gently, wrapping around the girl like instinct. She pulled her closer, one hand resting on Aurelia’s back, the other coming to cradle her head.

Sera and Aurelia [https://i.ibb.co/39tTm4qL/Sera-Aurelia.jpg]

“…You’re safe,” Seraphina whispered. “You’re home.”

Aurelia didn’t speak.

Her body trembled—not in fear, but from the overwhelming relief flooding her like warm rain. Her tears soaked Seraphina’s uniform, but she didn’t care.

She just held tighter.

“I… I don’t know why,” Aurelia finally said, voice muffled. “I don’t remember what happened. I… I think I forgot something important.”

Seraphina looked down at her, expression unreadable but endlessly gentle.

“That’s alright,” she said softly. “You don’t need to remember if it hurts.”

Aurelia hiccuped once, then nodded. “But… I just know that I need you. That’s all I know right now.”

Seraphina ran her fingers through Aurelia’s hair, soothing, slow.

“I’m here,” she said. “I won’t go anywhere. Not unless you tell me to.”

Aurelia flinched, her arms tightening around Seraphina’s waist.

“No!” she cried. “Don’t go anywhere. Don’t ever go again!”

Seraphina tilted her head. “And who would dare take me away from my little star?”

Aurelia blinked at that—she hadn’t heard that name in a while. Little star.

Her face turned up, tear-streaked and puffy.

“…Really?” she asked. “You’ll stay? Even if someone tells you to leave?”

Seraphina leaned forward and pressed her forehead to Aurelia’s.

“I won’t leave unless you ask me to. And if anyone dares force you to say it… you let me know. I’ll take care of them.”

Aurelia stared into her black eyes.

“But… Seraphina, you’re not strong. You can’t fight,” she said, voice trembling. “I won’t let you get hurt just to stay with me…”

Seraphina chuckled softly, then raised one arm, flexing it in a playful pose. “Oh? You think I’m not strong? Should we go punch the Emperor together? You’ll see how strong I am.”

Aurelia burst out laughing—sudden, involuntary, pure. It came with tears in her eyes and a hiccuped breath, but it was laughter all the same.

“Nooo, we can’t go that far!” she said through giggles. “But… I’ll believe you. I’ll believe Sera is strong.”

Seraphina smiled, one hand reaching out to cup Aurelia’s cheek.

“I only need enough strength to protect you. Nothing more.”

After Seraphina gave her arm-flexing pose, joking about punching the Emperor, Aurelia giggled with her teary eyes still glistening.

Then, with a soft chuckle, Seraphina opened her palm.

There, without fanfare or spell, a flame appeared.

It had no color—transparent like glass, yet clearly burning. A flicker of something that didn’t seem to belong to the world. Beautiful. Ethereal. Pure.

Aurelia's eyes widened in wonder.

“Sera! You can use magic!?” she shouted, voice breaking into uncontainable excitement.

Seraphina smiled, tilting her head.

“I was going to show you last night,” she said casually, “but someone fell asleep before I could.”

Aurelia gasped. “I did not! Wait—maybe I did...” she puffed her cheeks, then laughed, quickly accepting the excuse without doubt or suspicion. Just pure, childlike joy.

She stared at the flame in awe, her tiny fingers hovering near it, hesitant to touch.

It looked like burning glass, shapeless and elegant, flickering without heat or smoke.

But what Aurelia didn’t know… was what that flame truly was.

It wasn’t magic.

It wasn’t even made of mana.

It was a spark of Cosmic Aether—the highest form of energy, the very essence of creation and annihilation. An energy that flowed through the bones of the cosmos itself, too dense and vast for mortals to perceive, let alone control.

Only two beings had ever commanded it: the Creator, and End.

Because they themselves are both the will and rightful owners of this all-powerful energy.

And now, a tiny piece of that impossible force flickered gently in Seraphina’s hand like a toy.

Then Seraphina gently closed her hand—

And the flame vanished without a trace.

Quietly, Aurelia shifted her weight, climbing onto Seraphina’s lap and curling up like she used to when she was even smaller. She tucked her head under Seraphina’s chin, arms curled in close.

“I missed you,” she whispered. “Even if I don’t remember… my heart missed you.”

“I know,” Seraphina murmured. “Mine missed you too.”