The sky had barely begun to pale when Nova returned. The streets lay empty, mist crawling low over the cobblestones. His two new creations followed behind him like broken shadows, the skeletal one dragging its bladed limb with scraping certainty, the newly bound corpse moving with a stiff, jarring gait, its clouded eyes locked on him alone, it was as though he was glaring at Nova.
The inn was silent when he entered. The others were still upstairs, deep in slumber. No creak of movement, no shuffle of armor. Just the faint rhythm of breathing and the quiet crackle of the hearth left from the night before by the innkeeper.
At the far end of the corridor, the guardian he had stationed by her door stood exactly where he had left it. Its hollow gaze shifted the moment he stepped into sight. The undead did not move, but the room behind it remained undisturbed.
