After the exhausting battle with the bear, Aiden staggered through the forest, tired, hungry, and miserable. He gnawed on a piece of stale bread, wishing he could start a fire but utterly clueless as to how.
His stolen supplies were cold and tasteless, but without a fire, he was stuck with them. Even his undead, shuffling along behind him, seemed to mirror his low energy—though that was probably just wishful thinking.
"Great," he muttered to himself, glancing back at his silent entourage.
"We could take down a bear twice my size, but I can't manage a little campfire?"
As he wandered, his eyes scanned the ground, spotting a few sticks scattered among the fallen leaves. He remembered scenes from survival movies, where people started fires by rubbing sticks together, creating enough friction to spark a flame.
'If they can do it, so can I,' he told himself, crouching down and gathering two sticks that looked reasonably dry.
Gripping one stick between his hands, he pressed it against the other and began rubbing them together with hopeful determination, pushing through the ache as he tried to create heat. Minutes passed, his arms aching, and his hands growing sore, but there was no sign of smoke, let alone a flame.
He gritted his teeth, focusing harder, pushing with all his remaining strength.
But his hands slipped, and one of the sticks dropped to the ground. Frustrated, he picked it up and gave it another go, only to have it fall again, barely even warm. With a defeated sigh, he tossed the sticks aside, slumping back against a nearby tree.
"So much for survival skills," he muttered.
"I can raise the dead, but I can't get a single spark going?" Then he continue the journey.
Finally, through the trees, he spotted something promising—smoke rising from chimneys. A village! Aiden could practically smell the food already. He picked up his pace, staggering toward the houses, his undead dutifully following, though they weren't much help in his current state.
But as he approached, he sensed something was off. He could feel eyes on him, and before he knew it, he heard shouts from the village.
"Look! There's a kid being chased by the undead!" one of the guards yelled.
'Chased?' Aiden blinked, glancing over his shoulder at his undead, who were plodding along at their usual speed, completely harmless.
'These guys?'
Before he could even process the misunderstanding, the guards sprinted forward, swords drawn. Aiden froze as the guards charged right past him, shouting,
"Stay back, kid! We'll take care of these monsters!"
"Oh, no, that's—" he started to protest, but the guards were already swinging at the first undead, their swords clanging against bone. His undead, obedient but clueless, stared blankly at their attackers, making no attempt to defend themselves.
"Yeah, they're really not that—" Aiden tried again, but one of the guards turned to him, eyes blazing.
"Stay back! You don't want to end up like these poor souls!" the guard insisted, misreading Aiden's blank look as shock.
"Oh, no! My precious undead!" Aiden thought, his stomach twisting as he watched his loyal minions being hacked apart, limbs and bones scattering across the ground. Each strike felt like a blow to his own efforts and survival plan.
But before he could process his loss, he noticed one of the guards watching him closely, misinterpreting his devastated expression as overwhelming gratitude.
The guard's face softened, a proud smile tugging at his lips.
"Aw, lad, you're so moved, aren't you? Don't worry. We'll make sure nothing like this happens again." He nodded solemnly, clearly mistaking Aiden's look for joy mixed with relief.
"Uh… right," Aiden muttered, trying to hide his frustration.
"Thank you. Really."
The guard clapped him on the shoulder, the force of it nearly sending Aiden stumbling forward.
"Stay clear of these woods, alright? Necromancers and their foul creatures haunt the place. We'll increase patrols from now on to keep scum like that away."
"Go on now, lad," the guard urged, giving him a gentle push toward the village outskirts.
"Get some rest, find some food. You've had a rough day."
"Yes, a very rough day," Aiden replied dryly, watching as the guards congratulated each other on their "victory" over the undead.
As he staggered away, he glanced back at the forest, where his loyal—if somewhat clueless—undead were now scattered in pieces. He barely managed to stifle a sigh.
As he walked away, he couldn't resist glancing back, rolling his eyes as the guards puffed up over their "victory."
"Great job, Aiden," he muttered to himself with a sarcastic smirk.
"Now you're not just a hungry necromancer—you're a necromancer with no backup and a bunch of extra guards around. Brilliant."
After the guards departed, Aiden sighed, eyeing the remains of his undead scattered across the ground. Though their expressions were as blank as ever, he found himself feeling oddly sentimental. They had been his first reliable minions, and while they hadn't exactly been helpful, he'd grown used to their silent presence.
"Well… guess that's the end of you lot," he muttered, nudging a piece of one of the undead with the tip of his boot.
"Could've at least made it through the week." He squatted down beside a crumpled arm, folding his hands with a mock seriousness.
"You served me well… sort of. I'll remember your, uh, tireless devotion."
With a resigned sigh, he continued on, heading to the village outskirts in search of food and maybe a little rest.
As Aiden trudged toward the village outskirts, one of the guards called out to him, waving him over.
"Hey, lad! Come this way," the guard said, beckoning him to follow.
Aiden tried to hide his reluctance, putting on a mask of fatigue and quiet gratitude. His stomach rumbled again, reminding him that food was a priority, even if it meant sitting through a few questions.
The guard led him to a small wooden outpost near the entrance to the village, a simple structure with a thatched roof and a couple of chairs inside. He gestured for Aiden to sit, and Aiden sank into the chair gratefully, trying to play up his weariness as best as he could.
The other guard leaned forward, scrutinizing him.
"So, kid, what's your name? And where'd you come from?"
Aiden paused, his mind going blank.
'This boy's name… what is it? Do I even remember it?' His heart sank as he realized he had no recollection of any details about this young body he now inhabited—not even a name. Thinking quickly, he decided to use his own name.
"Aiden," he said slowly, as if saying it for the first time.
The seconds dragged by, and he could feel his mind slipping for a moment, his vision blurring slightly as he tried to focus.
'Stay calm, Just go with it.' he thought.
The guards exchanged a glance, one of them raising an eyebrow.
"You alright, lad? You look a bit… out of it. Been through a rough patch, huh?" The guard's tone was tinged with concern, but there was also a hint of suspicion in his eyes.
"Yeah," Aiden replied, nodding wearily.
"It's… been a long day. A bit too much, really." He cast his gaze downward, hoping they'd attribute his pause to exhaustion and fear.
The guard's expression softened.
"Poor kid. Probably terrified out of his wits, what with those undead chasing him," he muttered, glancing at his partner.
The other guard nodded in agreement, then leaned in, trying to be more gentle.
"Alright, Aiden. Do you remember anything about where you're from? Got any family nearby?"
Aiden shook his head, feigning a lost look.
"I… don't remember much," he replied softly.
"Just that I was running and… I ended up here."
The guard sighed, seemingly convinced.
"Well, we'll figure something out. For now, you should rest up. We've got some food and water for you if you need it."
At the mention of food, Aiden's stomach growled loudly, and he gave a weak, embarrassed smile.
"That would be… much appreciated."
The guards chuckled, one of them getting up to fetch some food.
"Just hold tight, lad. You're safe now."
Aiden leaned back in his chair, trying to hide his relief. He'd managed to slip past their suspicions, for now. But he knew he'd have to stay alert—every slip, every pause could make them wonder about who he really was.