A skeleton comes by with a chair—the kind that’s intended for reclining. This one even has an overhead umbrella attached.

“What’s your name?” I ask. I hoped that when I introduced myself earlier, he’d tell me of his own accord.

“J-Jeremy.”

I hum soothingly. “Now, Jeremy, I’ve brought over a chair for you to sit in.” I walk over and grab onto his hands, lifting him up. He can’t be more than a hundred and twenty pounds. Based on his height, a healthy weight would lie somewhere around one-sixty. He’s as unsteady on his feet as a newborn foal. I remember how the skeletons had labored bringing him to me. I was wrong in assuming it was because Jeremy was struggling. No: They’d practically dragged him because he’d been unable to move.

He shouldn’t be that weak, especially since I’d given him water. He should be able to stand. Maybe he’s just that pathetic. But I don’t say anything—doing so would be counter-productive. If I do this right, it seems like I might actually have new, valuable information on the situation.

I ease Jeremy into the chair, helping him to adjust his head onto the neck cushion while positioning the umbrella to fully cover his body.

As I step back, I notice that he looks incredibly embarrassed. “Is something wrong?” I ask.

“I—I’m not wearing clothes,” he says, his voice practically a whisper.

No shit.

“Nothing to be self-conscious about,” I say. The malnourishment has rendered his sensitive parts...shriveled. “But let me fetch you a towel.” A skeleton comes forth and drapes one over the man.

“Who—who’s with you?”

“Oh, just my subordinates,” I reply. “They’re all mute.” Perhaps it’s useful that the man is blind. Most people would refuse to talk to me on principle after seeing me control the skeletons. Given how desperate the people in the pools are, though, I don’t think his ignorance matters too much.

“Oh.”

“...You were saying?”

“Right...”

I wait for a solid ten seconds, but the man’s mouth remains closed. I cough, and he jerks as though startled.

“This used to be an actual cruise ship,” he explains, his voice soft, almost reverent. “We were on vacation.”

I ‘mhm’ to show him I’m paying attention. “Go on.”

“And...well, I woke up in the morning to a legion of skeletons. I opened the door to my room, went upstairs, and then—”

“Then what?”

“They knocked me unconscious. “Next thing I knew, I was in the pools.”

“Did the pools always used to be there?”

The man shook his head limply, barely moving it over the surface of the cushion. “No.”

“Did you ever hear anyone speak?” I asked. “Anyone with a semblance of authority?”

“Only Miles Walker,” Jeremy admits. “The captain of the ship...though I think...he...”

“He what?”

“I think he’s already dead.”

I tsk. “Shame.”

“Right.”

“Anything else you have for me?” I ask. Be patient, be patient.

“I only went blind a few days ago,” Jeremy says. “Before then, I saw...some things.”

“Really?” I say, feigning interest. I doubt Jeremy has anything worthwhile to give me—yet another wild goose chase. Besides, what was I expecting? Rescuing the captives is hopeless.

“There used to be a man on a bone wyrm,” he begins, “but he left a week ago, taking at least fifty skeletons with him.”

Must have been a massive wyrm to take on so much extra mass, I reckon. My gaze sharpens. I’m oddly...surprised. Jeremy actually did have useful information after all.

A skeleton comes forth with refrigerated food. It looks a little...dated, but it should be fine.

I leave the skeleton with Jeremy and walk away. “Enjoy the food,” I call out. “I’ll be back later.”

I head into the captain’s quarters and sit down at the man’s desk. I pull a book out from the shelf—the third volume of Hercates’ Grimoire. A bone construct... Perhaps a way to leave the ship before it reaches the shore?

Maybe a way to break the vicious cycle of this game.

I page through the grimoire, scanning for the illustration of bony wings... Ah, yes, flying constructs.

Difficulty: expert, requirements...I skip over them, they don’t matter...description doesn’t matter...reagents: a bare minimum of twenty full, intact human skeletons or suitable equivalent. Two soul gems. A flight focus.

I gaze coolly at the requirements. I return to the surface, then look up at the seagull that’s been circling overhead for the past thirty minutes. As I pinch my index and middle fingers to my thumb, the bird seizes and falls, crashing onto the deck with a splat.

“Who’s there?” Jeremy’s startled voice rings out, muffled by half-chewed food.

“It’s nothing,” I call back. I walk over to the bird and rake my fingers over its chest plumage. As they come up, I see the bird’s energy swirling around them like inky, violet water. I distill the dark energy into a soul gem. Afterward, I suspend the bird over the ship’s aft and swipe one hand right, effectively skinning the bird and cleaning it of flesh. I swipe again; this time, 70% of the bird’s skeleton falls away into the water, joining the superfluous meat. What’s left is my flight focus—a double-triangle formed by the bird’s spine and wings. It’s too big to place in my pocket, so I deposit it onto the deck.

I still need one more soul gem. I glance over at Jeremy...and mentally shake my head. He could be useful, I think, justifying mercy to myself.

Instead, I direct a pair of skeletons to head over to the pools and kill someone at the very edge of death. Then, I direct them to bring me the corpse. I place my fingers upon the emaciated human’s chest, pulling them back to form a violet soul gem. I have twenty skeletons on board, not even counting the dead captives. Enough to make a large skeletal mount and have servants left over.

I direct the closest skeletons to my side while holding onto the flight focus with both hands. On either side of the focus float the violet soul gems.

I collapse the skeletons en masse, watching as their bones fall away like broken teeth. They begin to take shape, flowing like water over the focus, soul gems, and myself. I step away to let the process continue to completion, watching the wyrm’s construction with interest.

It’s said the exact form of a wyrm depends on the psyche of its creator. The thought almost makes me giggle but for the watchers...and Jeremy. If I had to describe wyrms in simple terms, they’re supposed to look like snakes with crested lizard heads. Given the simplicity of the design, I’m curious to see what variations in form might arise.

The wyrm finishes self-assembling in five minutes. It’s long and definitely wyrm-like, though I don’t see anything unusual about it. Maybe all decemancers are as fucked up in the head as me.

The wyrm roars, though it doesn’t sound like the cry of any living creature. It’s hoarse, like the grinding of metal, the sizzle of a pan. Jeremy panics, screaming, “Oh no, he’s back! I shouldn’t have said—”

“Relax!” I bellow. All is silent. “This wyrm is taking me—us—to safety.” Why “us?” Am I too soft? Was it Jeremy’s noticeable drop in vitality when I said “me?”

I suppose deserting the man would push him closer to suicidal depression and loss of will to live.

“Really?” Jeremy doesn’t ask the question I know he must be thinking—how I summoned a wyrm if I, myself, am not a decemancer. He’s undoubtedly figured it out if he has two brain cells to rub together.

“Really.”

“Thank you so much,” he says, his voice catching in his throat. He begins to shake, then sob, then wail, until the only sound in the whole world is the peeling joy of Jeremy’s restored hope.

I swallow. “It’s nothing.” It isn’t nothing, but I’m not sure what it is yet. “Can you stand?”

“Yes”—Jeremy gasps—“I can stand.” And he does, though he grabs onto the chair for support. I direct one of the remaining servants to lead Jeremy over to the wyrm’s ribcage—an area generally designated as the guest seating area. At least according to Hercates, though given the man’s notion of safety...

Not that there are any alternatives.

“Your servants,” Jeremy begins, licking his chapped, sun-blistered lips. “They’re quite warm.”

“The same temperature as you or me,” I reply.

“...Right.”

“Hold tight,” I warn. His hands currently grip two arcing ribs with all the strength of a starved, traumatized man—not enough force. I sigh, then collapse the skeleton that led Jeremy into the rib cage. I wrap its bones around Jeremy’s torso and secure them to the wyrm. “I’m strapping you in with a harness.”

Good thing that Jeremy’s blind.

“A-alright.” Jeremy licks his lips again. “Very...warm... Are you bringing anyone else?”

“No.” One passenger is already enough for this time. I’ll see where this change in events takes me before I escalate things further.

I climb onto the back of the wyrm, eventually positioning myself firmly onto the crest of its head. There, my hands once more take control of the flight focus, wrapping around its spongy, delicate bones. With a thought, the other nine skeletons on deck collapse into their components and fly onto the tail of the wyrm, extending its length by another seven feet for a final length of twenty-five feet from head to tail tip.

Though Hercates draws the image of a bony winged dragon on the cover of the flying construct chapter, he never discusses the creation of such a mount. Wyrms are superior in that they’re aerodynamic, can be made with bones from a plethora of sources (even though Hercates only uses human bones in his reagent list), and are easily extended out to account for additions—and subtractions—of bone.

“Ah,” Jeremy exclaims as the wyrm rises off the ground. I ignore him, lifting the construct farther into the air. Once we’re around a hundred feet above the water, I direct the wyrm forward, towards the mainland. In minutes, the ship is a speck on the horizon behind us.

“Where are we going?”

“The mainland,” I reply.

“But whe—”

“Menocht Bay.”

I hear Jeremy audibly gape. “Menocht Bay? We’re saved!”

If only that were true.

“Don’t get your hopes up yet.” Maybe a day or two’s head start in the city will give me a better chance at preventing the worst of the outbreak.

The city is within sight after four hours of flying, its skyscrapers towering over the horizon. The glass reflects the sunlight and magnifies the glare coming off the water, so much so that it’s difficult to look at the city directly.

I touch the wyrm down onto the waves, disengaging myself from its head and lowering myself down to Jeremy. Since he’s already in his ‘harness’, I simply detach him from the wyrm’s ribcage and float him next to me.

“What’s happening?” he asks, flustered.

“We need to travel inconspicuously. I’ll lead you along next to me; you won’t have to do anything.”

Jeremy breaks the silence after a minute. “How—”

My head snaps around. “Hmm?”

“Do you have a harness too?”

Funny. “No.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Before this nightmare, I worked at an Arts academy. To cover all our bases, we ensured that we had personnel proficient in all practitioner domains.”

I see where he’s going with this. “So you have a basic familiarity with decemancy.”

“Something like that.”

“Then you should understand why we should travel inconspicuously.” It’s best to avoid headaches, even in a world with no consequences.

The man grimaces. “I know how you’re moving me”—he spits the last word, shivering with disgust—“but how are you moving?”

I yawn. “We’re all made of bones, after all.” Sure it’s considered dangerous to manipulate your own bones, but I’ve done it enough times now that it’s old hat. I can’t blame him for being surprised—most would never dare experiment with their own bodies. “But you’re not far off the mark: I’m not using a harness like yourself, but I have a few bones stashed in my clothes.” A blatant lie but easier to digest than the truth.

Jeremy settles down with that revelation. “Of course.”

“When we arrive,” I begin, “I’m going to remove your harness. You’re going to have to walk with me... Can you do that?”

“I’ll do my best. It’d be easier if I had eyes.”

He’s obviously hinting that I should bring him to a healer. But, seeing as neither of us has money or identification, I can’t see it working out. I could try to fix his eyes myself, but my practice is more suited for destruction than restoration.

“I can whip something up for you. It’ll make people look at you funny, but it should serve as a stop-gap until you can see a proper Life practitioner.”

His lip curls up. “A stop-gap?”

“Well?”

“Fine.”

I pull the soul gems I used to animate the wyrm from my pockets. I crunch them, turning them into a liquid, and direct them into Jeremy’s eyes.

He jumps. “Everything’s in shades of gray!”

I smile and tap my head. “You’re seeing the world in shades of vitality.” In other words, with the sight of Death.

“You’re white,” he murmurs.

“I’m alive,” I point out. “Look at your own arm. You’re a pale gray because you’re still teetering on the cusp of death.”

He pales. “I am?”

I need to find him a pair of sunglasses—his eyes are glowing violet. “Yes, you are.” I really need to work on my patience as I keep snapping at the man. “But you’ve already lightened up quite a bit,” I say encouragingly.

“I didn’t realize how quickly we were moving,” Jeremy comments, probably referring to the speed of the wyrm over water. He looks at me, his eyes narrowing. “Who are you?”

“Ignatius.”

He snorts. “I should’ve heard of a decemancer of your caliber.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I murmur, directing us around the docks and toward the cliff by the left edge of the city. There’s a small overgrown area that I use as cover to sneak us in. I lower our feet onto the ground and strip Jeremy of his skeletal overcoat.

I sigh. I’m not here to rescue them, I tell myself. Every time I’ve gone down that route in the past... And yet, what else is there to do? Screw it.

“Let’s go to the consulate and try to get in touch with an official.”