A couple of draconians approached. I knew it—I could hear the swamp creatures hiding. Those damned always lived in predation, all working quickly, not wanting anyone else to disappear. If the Dark Lord was right, we would be safe. Otherwise, my poor daughters, who had already entered adolescence, would be the ones to leave to be used and abused. I promised myself that I would die before this happened. But if I could avoid it, I would prefer to accompany them as long as I had life.
My hands trembled trying to grab a broadsword left by previous attackers—it was to one side of the pile we were working on. It seemed simple, but due to the poison smoke, I tried to be the only one with access to the pool left by the warrior. It floated with a sickly green tint of rotten food. There, I submerged a finger bone. First, I was the only one doing it, but the others in the village agreed to help me. So, to keep them from suffering from whatever that thing had, I was the only one handling that pool. But from there, the pointed extremities were carried by those with better eyesight. They observed the two symbols the Overlord traced on the skulls. He said that without being different, the way we ordered them changed their meaning, activating a field in them—something that kept them united to a power. That would make the enemies not come for us. I did not want to believe it—who could blame me? Whole lives lost by trusting. Yet I was the only one with strength to oppose. So I worked—with sweat in my eyes, with the desperation on my people's faces, with the smoke of a substance burning the skulls of those we hated who seemed to be the ones who would save us.
Limping, I walked among all places. Every corner of the village had two skulls and a path of bones, each with the symbols he taught us. I did not know what they meant, but they went in the order he traced on the ground. I knew he was in a hurry, yet he stayed until I understood. When I finished, he did something—from his eyes—how horrible he must have gone blind from something like that—a violet glow shone. He made an impossibly high jump, and when he landed, he uttered some oaths and left. He assured me it would be the last thing we had to do, that the more bones remained placed as he taught me, the larger an area they would protect. Then he left.
The last of the skulls was ready. Like a framework, this piece of bone was in the center of the village. There, the warrior carved the only runes he did not teach me—they looked complicated. Just as I began to hear the hunting whistles—those calls they made with their impossibly large snouts, that mockery of one who knew where we were but did not care, was not in a hurry—we were not going anywhere. I waited no longer. With a howl very uncharacteristic of one trying to keep a place secret, I slammed the bones against the pile of five skulls in the center. The piece broke, and cold sweat ran down my back—what if I was wrong? But no—the pieces began to move. The fragments joined the skulls, and they began to dance, changing the meaning of the runes we carved on the bones. I did not know what they said, but they were powerful. Would they be enough?
While this spectacle continued, arguments were heard—incredible as it sounded, none of the giant lizards passed the clearing. I heard them fighting in dry hisses. Finally, they threw one of them—he looked weak; I imagined he was cannon fodder, to find out what the humans were planning. Without considering anything—what was left for me?
The sword was between me and the enemy. His claws could split bronze; I had seen it. I wore no armor worthy of the name—just a few braided metal parts protecting my chest and part of my back. No speed from war injuries from the war we lost, but I would not lose! Not this time. I faced him. The first looked scared, but when he saw me, I could distinguish his mocking grimace—he probably thought I was not worth even killing. But I was the one standing between them and their prize—all my people were in the center; we had nowhere else to flee.
I think I was like that for several minutes. He made no gesture to attack me. Slowly, he raised his claw. Without a shout, I attacked. My sword—his sword—cut the arm at the elbow. A stream of his pestilent blood fell, but I could not marvel. Others entered hearing him scream, and my soul fell to the ground. I was right—the rest of his squadron was at least a head or two taller, much more corpulent, and had no expression of fear or mockery—it was rage.
"Caro de carne mea" —Flesh of my flesh.
The voice came from nowhere.
"Sunt dedecus" —They are a disgrace.
I saw them terrified. I never thought those little reptile eyes could reflect such a human emotion as fear—but they did, and greatly. I did not understand what language it was, but its meaning echoed in my mind like a horrible baptism.
"Admoneo mortuis —The dead remember.
Memento peccatum —They remember the sin.
Proditionemque ossa —The betrayal of their bones.
Nisi in morte esse praemium —Death is the only prize.
Ipsi servierimus —They will serve as slaves.
Verus draco —To the true dragon.
Bellatorum mortuis —Dead warriors.
Exsequendo officio —Fulfill your duty.
In vitam falsam —The false life.
Suscitas Imperator —Will awaken the Emperor.
Novum vitae finem —A new life.
Incipit —Begins."*
I could say no more—nothing to express. The faces of those who terrorized us turned gray, but only for an instant. From their snouts, blood began to flow. In their chests, carved bones pierced them like arrows. Thus, I saw the threat to my people fall—there were few, but it was a beginning... Suddenly, I remembered their venom. My village could be saved from their weapons and claws but not from the blood's toxicity—the crops, the lives. Just as I was about to warn them and ask them to flee, I saw that the blood was absorbed by the other bones. Not believing my eyes, the flesh, blood, and skin disappeared from the corpses. A pile of bodies fell, and the weapons that defended us returned to their positions without apparent movement. Incredible!
A scream snapped me out of this magical moment. My daughters pointed to the well—the one we emptied to mark the bodies. There, it was seen filling with these beasts' blood. Not to mention their leather, which was in the center of the village, and under the skins, a skull—small, so I imagined it was from the first one who entered. On its surface were marks like those the dark warrior left. Everyone celebrated, but I did not. There was much to do here. When they stopped celebrating, I gave orders: check if we could forge armor from the leather, what weapons we could bear, who was fast and who was reckless. We had bones and other villages suffering like us—I resisted thinking we were the only ones who survived this brutal harvest. We would trace a path using these bones, attract more patrols inside. We must give these swamps a new freedom, paved with the bones of the creatures that almost took us to extinction! When my voice died, I saw it in their eyes—they had understood.