Silas Calcinor, leader of the Obsidian Banner Sworn—freed mere days prior from the Zephyr Aterior's madness yoke—stood troubled. The light from Tyburn Liardine's pleas and a celestial messenger's miraculous appearance had shattered their chains mid-battle for Runamor City. Yet many bore severe mental scars, including one of their elite Knights of the Eternal Vow: a fierce, battle-hardened she-wolf who'd proven her loyalty to the Obsidian Banner.
As commander and brother, he personally visited each afflicted knight. Beyond military rank, they shared unbreakable bonds—a brotherhood forged in non-death and, above all, in having fallen to their comrades' blades.
When he entered the fifth-floor chamber of Zhal Obryn's army champion within the Obsidian fortress, he found the gray-furred metamorph curled on her straw-mattressed wooden cot.
Like the Sworn, Knights of the Eternal Vow needed neither sleep nor sustenance. Yet barracks and private quarters existed for high-ranking officers to recuperate when wounded—as now. Since their founding by the Zephyr Aterior (as the Supreme Cardinal styled himself while incarnating the righteous God of the Death), they'd been self-funded through plundered gold and ores. They maintained research teams under Amel K'zahr and their own production means. The flying necropolis Zhal Obryn currently housed ten thousand troops, three research divisions, jailers, necromancers, and an aerial unit of a thousand.
Another reason for his visits: Lord Corvas had requested the bodies of those shattered beyond recovery. Those who wouldn't wake, whose minds were irrevocably lost. Harsh—yet experiments on these fallen brethren would benefit Zhal Obryn. Their sacrifice might bring peace...
The figure on the straw pallet could aid their brothers' research.
Silas weighed his options, poised to order the broken troops transferred to the labs—when the she-wolf jolted upright with a shriek before collapsing unconscious.
Then watched her slack-jawed form as the necromancer-physician rushed to her side. "Another mental shock." Perhaps he was rushing. He'd yield the bodies to Lord Corvas—but grant them one more week. The undead form still held too many mysteries.
********
She awoke an hour later. Still half-convinced it was obviously a dream, she resisted opening her eyes—yet slowly, fearfully, she did. The dark ceiling loomed above, adorned with skeletal candelabras. She lifted a hand—a large, fur-covered paw tipped with claw-like nails. Five knuckled fingers fused with cartilage blades hard as sabers formed natural weapons. Grey fur, short and soft… She flexed them. It didn't take long to realize: this was her hand.
She sat up, stunned. She should feel more alarmed, more terrified—yet her emotions felt steadier than ever. Now studying both gray-furred paws, she touched her face. An elongated muzzle, canine nose damp and cool. Everything was covered in fine, velvety fur. Pointed ears stood erect, pierced with silver rings; beneath one, a small braid dangled like a dreadlock. A wolf-like mane fell to her back—streaked white patterns woven into grey—with braids taming the fringe across her broad forehead.
She looked down. Her once-human skin was now pelt. Her furry chest—larger than she remembered—and powerful limbs mirrored her online gaming avatar from youth.
"Maybe this surreal dream is a coma hallucination," she rationalized inside her thoughts. "My dying mind's sweet escape—a fantasy adventure reliving the days I met my husband. Yes. That's it."
The necromancer doctor watched her silently from across the room. The commander seemed absorbed in self-inspection—perhaps checking for needed repairs. Thankfully, her body was impeccably preserved, unlike ghouls cobbled from bones and rot. Her soul had been reforged before death, halting decay—though finding female werewolf spare parts remained absurdly difficult.
"Suffer with honor, Commander." Arteus the Forsaken—once a Light God priest, now Zhal Obryn's doctor—removed his raven-beaked gas mask, revealing pale skin and phosphorescent white eyes set in a strong-jawed face.
She returned his gaze with an involuntary growl. Discomfort. New. Then, clinging to dream logic: "If this is lucid dream, why not play along like I did as a teen?" Take control. See how far it goes. A shame she'd never write this one down.
"Suffer with honor," she rasped—a voice rougher than expected. Strange, but fitting. "What happened?"
"Starter question for any amnesiac dream," she thought. Even lucid, she controlled nothing—not even the plot.
"Permission to speak, Commander?" At her nod, he continued: "Do you truly recall nothing?"
"No. My mind's chaos." Close enough to truth.
"What of the Battle of Runamor?"
Runamor… The antihero campaign's turning point. Where the special class breaks free from the Zephyr Aterior control after the Light God's miracle. After the character die, get reforged—brainwashed with necromantic torture and rituals—into an elite non-dead scourging the planet.
"Gods, I miss those days so much my subconscious sent me to the game's start?" she mused. "Reliving how I met my husband?"
"We were freed from the Zephyr Aterior somehow," she answered after a pause. "We reclaimed our past."
"Memory returns slowly, I see. My runic scans show no external influence. Have you recalled more?"
She almost said no—then images flooded her mind. A crying child. Chaos. Flames. Death. Disturbed, she shook her head. "A dream within a dream?"
"I think it's pretty good. I will inform Highlord Silas you're physically sound, commander. But you need stay in the necropolis —for now."
******
Zhal Obryn—the necropolis known as the Obsidian fortress. The Knights of the Eternal Vow rising against their former master. This is a startlingly realistic rendition of the game. She recalled crafting her character's backstory: a tragic tale, like most for this class. The premise? These knights had been heroes in life, slain or captured by the Zephyr Aterior non-dead horde, then raised with reforged souls—mentally enslaved by the God of Death madness, rendered near-immortal.
Typically, such heroes were paladins or beings deeply aligned with the Light God in life. Though she hadn't roleplayed back then, she loved fleshing out her characters. So she'd woven an elaborate history for her main: abandoning her walled kingdom to fight for Yranthis, the academic City of wizards. She followed Valderon to the Whispering Woods, where he summoned the first anthropomorphic wolves—only to be mauled by one, losing her sanity. While Valderon rounded up surviving wolves and imprisoned them in a fortress, she wandered for months... until captured by the undead for experiments in the frozen northern continent. There, she was transformed.
The non-death restored her rationality—yet under the Zephyr Aterior command, her consciousness twisted. She'd even slaughtered defenseless children in his name. This was the unwritten lore she'd created for her character. And now, it seemed, this dream's narrative thread.
Because this is just a dream... wasn't it?