Unwritten

It took all three of us to push the lid.

The sarcophagus let out a low groan, ancient dust hissing through the cracks as we shifted the stone aside. Inside wasn’t bones or treasure, but a skeletal figure wrapped in regal tattered robes, its skull crowned with a weathered circlet.

It sat up.

Lae’zel immediately reached for her sword. Shadowheart took a cautious step back. I just folded my arms. The figure rose, fluid despite the clear lack of muscle or flesh. It tilted its head, studying us, then locked its gaze on me in long, deliberate silence.

"Curious," it finally rasped.

"You are not dead. And yet, you are not alive in the way things are alive. I have seen the spiral of time. Countless endings. Countless beginnings. But you... you have neither."

"Look, I take decent care of my skin, but I wouldn’t say I’m timeless."

It said nothing.

"I’m Tav," I added. "Let’s say I’m... visiting."

"And from whence did you visit?"

"Uh... a different land, with no way of getting back at the moment"

The skeletal head twisted ever so slightly, giving me a curious look. "Elaborate"

"No." I replied, trying to keep my best poker face..

The faintest trace of a smile flickered across his face.

"Very well. You are unwritten. Not lost. Not erased. But un-entered."

"That tracks."

"I am Withers. I tend to the balance between life and ****, I have seen empires crumble, gods turn to dust, but I have never seen.. you."

"Guess I’m a true original then," I said.

Another pause. Then he bowed, a slow, scraping motion.

"Very well. I shall walk with you. Observe. You are not in my books. But I am curious to see what your story becomes."

Lae’zel muttered something about skeletons with egos. Shadowheart looked like she didn't know whether to speak or not, but kept silent for now. I just clapped my hands together.

"Great. Welcome to the gang"

The girls were clearly unimpressed, but something in Withers' demeanor—ancient, composed, and utterly unshaken—made it seem wiser to have him with us, rather than against us. And in his own unnerving way, he almost came off as harmless.

We exited the crypt without issue and climbed back into the late daylight just beyond the ruins. The sun hung low, bleeding through the trees. Lae’zel, wasting no time, decided grumbling to pitch her tent right by the campfire in the middle, while Shadowheart lingered a moment longer, casting one last suspicious glance at Withers before slipping away to find a quiet spot on the edge of our little camp.

He waited until we were alone.

"You should not be here," he said.

"You don't like my company?" I replied

"You are unrecorded. I cannot write your fate. I cannot restore you if you fall."

That stopped me cold. "Come again?"

"Should you die, I cannot return you. You are not among these souls. You are not of this place."

That was... not reassuring.

He regarded me with what might have been sympathy—or as much of it as a skull can muster. "I will not interfere. But I will watch."

"Comforting.."

He turned and wandered into the shadowed edge of the trees, humming to himself. Well that was new.

I stood there for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle in. Usually, it would be Withers who brought back fallen companions—for a fee, of course. But for me, there’d be no return. No resurrection. No second chances. The stakes were real now in a way they hadn’t been before..

After a long breath, I squared my shoulders and made my way toward Shadowheart’s tent. I still had work to do.