Darkness...That was the first thing he felt—before the crushing weight from all directions pressed in, leaving not even a breath of space to move.
"...Awaken."
The voice was faint, like a whisper echoing through a lifeless graveyard.It wasn't human, yet it carried a strange power that seeped deep into his consciousness.
His hand twitched.Rigid fingers tore through the damp soil, scraping against dry grass, dead leaves, and tangled roots before pale bone broke through the surface.
Bone. No blood. No flesh.The earth cracked and shifted as a skeletal arm slowly pushed itself out of the grave.Sunlight spilled through the forest canopy, glinting across dirt-stained bones—revealing the bare, hollow form of what once was a man.
He brushed dirt from his empty eye sockets.Though sightless, he could feel the world around him, as if a silent wind stirred within his mind.
"What... is this? Am I dreaming?"
"...Rise."
The voice came again—clearer now, cold yet commanding.Not an order, but... an awakening.
"Who are you?" he rasped, his voice brittle and hollow as dust fell from his jaw.There was no reply—only silence, and a sky the color of faded ash above the trees.
He lowered his gaze.His bony hands gleamed pale, perfectly formed—without flesh, without life.
"I... truly am dead, then."
He rose slowly from the ancient grave.Around him, a damp forest stretched endlessly, thick roots sprawling beneath his feet.Strange birds called in the distance, their cries sharp and alien.
Sunlight streamed through the leaves like golden dust.The air was heavy with the scent of wet earth and rot.He wandered aimlessly, his mind echoing with unending questions.
Who raised me? Why can I still move?
The sound of running water drew him to a narrow brook.He leaned forward.A reflection stared back—an empty skull gazing from the water's surface, as though mocking him.
"So... this isn't a dream. And I'm no longer human."
He reached out, touching the surface.Ripples shimmered, distorting the pale frame of a body that no longer breathed.The silence pressed down like a weight upon a heart that no longer existed.
He walked along the stream until he found a dead bird lying beside a stone.He knelt, touching its chest.For a brief moment, the wings twitched.
He jerked back, startled.The bird spasmed once more—and went still.
His skull tilted toward his own hand."Did I... bring it back? What am I?"
The whisper returned—slow and distant."You are that which exists between the living... and the dead."
He tried to answer, but the voice faded, leaving only the heavy stillness of the woods.The stream flowed like the world's cold blood. He looked into it again—his reflection bent and twisted by the light.Then he froze.
Across the brook, something stood among the shadows.Tall, slender, its skin dark as burned ash, its form sculpted from smoke and cinders.Two dim lights glimmered where eyes should be—embers refusing to die.It did not move.It merely watched him, as if judging what sort of thing he was.
A chill wind swept through the forest.When he blinked, the figure was gone—leaving only the sound of water and the scent of damp earth.He could not tell whether his mind had conjured it... or if something truly watched from across the stream.
Before long, faint footsteps and laughter drifted from the underbrush.He crept closer and saw three goblins hunting in a clearing.
They were short but muscular, their skin a mottled green-gray, cracked like old leather.Jagged tusks jutted past their lips, and their long ears twitched with every motion.They wore scraps of hide armor patched with bone and bark, the air around them thick with the stink of rust, sweat, and blood.Their movements were sharp and feral—each thrust of their spears and loops of rope executed with practiced precision.Their laughter rang high and harsh, rhythmic, almost ritualistic—like the chant of a savage hunt.
He watched silently from the shadows, uncertain whether he was something to hunt or something worse.
When they were gone, he continued deeper into the darkening woods.The forest grew quieter—unnaturally so.He walked until he reached what looked like a giant nest beneath the trees, its surroundings wrapped in thick, milky-white webs.
He crept closer.Several animal carcasses hung within the silk—some still twitching faintly.A sharp rustle came from above.He looked up and saw a black spider—massive, twice the size of a man—crawling along the branches.
He stepped back slowly, moving as silently as a body without lungs could.He chose to hide instead of fight.
When night fell, smoke curled above the treeline.The scent of roasting meat and human laughter reached him.
"Humans..." he murmured, hesitant.
Ahead, a small campfire glowed.Three men sat around it—leather armor, daggers, a bow—mercenaries by the look of them.
From the shadows, he watched.He wanted to approach, to ask where he was.Part of him still felt human.But when he looked at his skeletal hands, he wondered... who would ever listen?
A branch snapped underfoot. Crack.
The laughter died.
"I saw something!" one of them shouted."It looked like... a skeleton!"
He panicked. "Wait! I—I mean no harm—!"
An arrow hissed through the air, grazing his shoulder bone to splinters.
"Kill it!"
He ran.Footsteps thundered behind him."Don't let it escape!"
He dashed across the shallow stream—his body lighter than he'd expected, yet brimming with unnatural strength.He dove beneath the water, wedging himself under tangled roots, holding a breath he didn't need.When one of the men broke off from the others and stepped closer, the skeleton burst from beneath the surface, grabbing his arm and dragging him under.
The man struggled, smashing the skeleton's skull with his bow again and again.But at last, the water stilled.
Two others arrived to find their comrade's body face-down by the bank.
"Where are you, monster!?"
He said nothing, slipping through the trees.He moved to draw them deeper into the forest—using the shadows, the roots, the darkness.Their footsteps grew nearer.He tried to separate them, but they stayed close.They pushed him toward the river again.
He seized a fallen branch slick with moss and swung, knocking one into the water.He pressed his head beneath the surface, but lacked the strength to hold him down.
He began to falter.One of the mercenaries slashed at his leg.He dodged the first strike—but a kick sent him sprawling.
"Die, you damned skeleton!"
The blade came down again and again, sparks flying against bone.Yet his body held together—unyielding.
Then suddenly...The archer he had drowned earlier—stood up.
Empty eye sockets stared hollowly as the corpse stumbled forward, seizing the attacker from behind.
"What the—!?"
The undead bit into the man's neck, dragging him into the water.The skeleton snatched a dagger from the corpse's limp hand, twisted, and drove it into the stomach of the last mercenary—then plunged it once more into his chest.
The river ran red.
He sat by the bank, panting out of habit—though he had no lungs to breathe.Before him, the three men slowly rose again, staggering and lifeless.Not because he willed it... but because of the power pulsing within him.
He returned to their camp.He stripped an old set of clothes from a tent, wrapping them around his frame to look more... human.He took a cloak, a hood, a satchel, and a map.
Then he looked back at the three corpses wandering aimlessly like lost children.
"You'll stay here..." he whispered.He still didn't know how to control them.But he didn't have the heart to kill them twice.
In his hand, the map pointed south—toward the city of Phon, in the kingdom of Khonkaen.He traced the name with a finger.
Then the voice returned."Walk forward... Mortis."
He froze."Mortis... that's my name?"
He said it softly, testing the sound."Mortis..."
A faint smile touched the edge of his jawbone."Well... it's not a bad name."
Beneath the hood, the lifeless figure walked deeper into the forest.And thus began the legend of the one who rose from the void...to rewrite the fate of the world.