Embrace what you are.
Without death, the threads of life would never tie together to create the binding of the world. The bounty of our harvests would not be as precious; the ground would never be filled with leaves; and we would never see the beauty of embers after a roaring fire.
Yes, Autumn is death.
And I shall become death to save the living.
I stand on shaking legs, holding the scroll with one hand on top, one on the bottom. Rosalina rises beside me, her eyes shining.
The words seem to light into flame as I say the incantation aloud: “Ancient winds and shadows deep, hear our call and spirits reap.” Vast power grows within my chest. “Send these souls to their final rest, where earth may claim them and death attest.”
A stinging clang shoots through the air as Dayton’s sword meets again with Quellos’s spear. But Quellos stumbles back. “What are you doing? Stop that!” he snarls.
“In darkness and silence, you will lie, where no living gaze may pry.” My voice carries on the breeze like a great echo. “Rest now in eternal sleep and let your souls find peace to keep.”
My eyes catch on a cluster of wraiths. They step back, dropping their weapons, blank eyes turned upward. Their frosted bones shiver, pieces of sparkling dust creeping away into the wind. The living dead drift away, back to the soil where they belong.
“Slumber, oh dead, and take your rest. Your bones will crumble, your souls now blessed. Return to the earth and let the living be. And in your final death, you shall be free.”
“It’s working,” Rosalina cries, spinning. Around us, the wraiths look toward the sky. A sense of peace overtakes their frozen expressions as their bodies float away, glimmering like snowflakes.
Reaching for the deepest well of my magic, I speak the final words of the spell: “For death is not the end, but a new beginning. A part of the cycle, forever spinning. Your time on earth has now ended, a peaceful death, a circle mended.”
A torrent of wind blows across the battlefield. My soldiers blink and lower their weapons as the poor wraiths, forced to fight even in death, are finally gifted peace.
“No! No!” Quellos cries.
Dayton lunges at him, but Quellos jerks away.
I drop the scroll, panting. My chest feels empty, every reserve of magic I have depleted. “It’s over, Quellos. It’s time to surrender.”
“Never,” the snake cries. “It’s not over yet, princeling.”
Dayton stalks toward him. “You have no army.”
Quellos backs up, and there’s something frantic and wild in his expression. A cornered animal. “You’re right. I have no army. So, I’ll take yours.”
His green eyes glow with sickly flame; a mist oozes out of his fingers and swirls around his body. His mouth works, but no sound comes out.
“Stop him!” Rosalina cries. “Get the crown!”
Dayton pitches forward, but it’s too late.
With utter horror, I look around. The dead are rising again. Not the ones I just set free.
Our dead.
Our fallen soldiers.
And they’re turning against the living.
I clutch my chest as if I could replenish the magic well I’ve just run dry. No, no, we’ve come this far. But there’s so many fallen soldiers, our own ranks so thin. The deads’ eyes blanch as they turn on their own comrades. Horrified screams rise.
There’s nothing left—
A horn blares in the distance. A sound as powerful and thunderous as a winter storm.
My feet shake beneath me as the ground trembles. Atop the hill emerges a host of riders, their great steeds varying from polar bears to moose to eagles.
