The road to the next hamlet led through gentle hills.

  Light rain fell from the gray sky, but winter was over, and spring was already visible in the surrounding vegetation.

  The party had been walking in companionable silence when a figure suddenly appeared at the crossroads - a young woman in a simple grey dress.

  Her mourning veil was lifted up, and her face was pale but determined.

  She stepped forward, hands clasped.

  “Please - noble adventurers!” She glanced at the Faná nun’s robe and added, “Holy one! I beg for your aid.”

  The party stopped.

  The widow looked to be about twenty.

  She was pretty in a charming way, and the sadness visible on her face only further emphasized this.

  Restless, she hugged her arms to her chest and trembled, unsure how the strangers would respond to her plea.

  “My husband passed away a month ago. I vowed to visit his grave every day.

  But lately... something has been wrong at the cemetery. The shadows move even when there is no light to cast them.

  The earth feels restless somehow.

  I fear greatly that someone might be disturbing the dead."

  She grabbed the Faná by the hands.

  "But the villagers say it's my grief speaking. Yet I know what I feel.

  I have little coins, but this would be a good deed for the Goddess.”

  Before Faná could even react, Erian stepped forward instantly, cheeks pink.

  “We’ll help. Of course we will.”

  Barbarian also stepped forward.

  He gave the woman a very, very long, appraising look. Clearly appreciative of more than just her piety.

  “Aye. Grave-robbers are scum. We’ll sort it lass.”

  Faná beamed.

  “The Goddess abhors defilement of the resting. We shall investigate at once.”

  Liora just sighed loudly, while Thrain muttered: “Ah, another unpaid good deed. My favorite kind.”

  The widow led them to the cemetery, but nothing out there was out of the ordinary.

  Rows of tombstones etched with Goddess Sigil lined up in solace.

  From between them, a few small crypts was erected by wealthier families.

  Liora circled the cemetery three times, but found nothing.

  “The ground is wet, but there are no tracks,” she said, casting a contemptuous glance at the barbarian and the dwarf, whose heavy boots were sinking into the muddy ground, trampling any traces in their path.

  “We'll have to come back here, when the rain stops and the ground dries up,” she added.

  The widow led them to her small cottage - her home near the edge of the hamlet.

  It was a simple house, with thatched roof, a small herb garden and small wooden fence half surrounding it.

  She offered what she had: bread, cheese, warm milk.

  Erian accepted the milk with stammered thanks, then tried: “Your… your garden is lovely. Very… orderly.”

  She smiled faintly.

  “Thank you. My husband planted it.”

  Sensing a sudden chance, Gorzod leaned against the doorframe, presenting his muscles.

  He said surprisingly gentle: “Hard thing, losing half your world. A pretty lass shouldn’t be left alone in the dark.”

  The widow looked down.

  “I appreciate the kindness. But once this is resolved…

  I mean to join the cloister. Become a nun. The Goddess has called me.”

  Mage's face fell like a dropped spoon.

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  The barbarian blinked once, and then gave a slow solemn nod.

  “All right. But the secular world will surely weep over your new holy calling.”

  Faná clapped her hands happily.

  “How wonderful! The cloister will be blessed to receive a pious sister like you!”

  Thrain just hid a smirk behind his mug.

  Rain ended in the late evening, and the night fell, cold and clear.

  The party went to the graveyard again.

  Amid the few yew trees and rows of tombstones, Liora moved with practiced ease.

  After an hour of searching through, she crouched down next to a large family crypt off to the side - it was slightly bigger than the others, and its stone door was slightly ajar.

  “A-hah, a lead,” she whispered.

  “Fresh boot prints. And something else. Unsettling.”

  The inside of the crypt was bigger than it looked.

  A hidden stairs descended to a torch-lit chamber.

  In the center stood a man in a dark robe - hooded and terribly emaciated.

  Around him stood the old dead - skeletons and ghouls, standing at attention, as if they were servants or soldiers awaiting orders.

  Strange devices along the walls exhaled plumes of iridescent smoke, and on pedestals stood several glass spheres in which purple mists swirled.

  He turned, eyes widening.

  “You- how did you-”

  But the room smelled of dark magic.

  So, without answering Gorzod charged first with a battle cry, his axes whirling.

  Party joined the frey. Thrain’s hammer smashed an old skeleton’s ribcage.

  Liora arrows pierced howling ghouls, their black ichor flowing on the cold stone floor.

  Both Erian and the dark magus started to channel their spells, as two groups crashed.

  The fight was brief and ugly.

  The magus shrieked:

  “Twenty years! Twenty years have I been building this power - and you came to ruin it!”

  Just as he was ready to unleash a powerful dark spell, Faná's hand flashed.

  Something shiny, shaped like a hammer and impossibly heavy flashed through the air and hit the mage square in the chest.

  The force knocked him off his feet.

  Golden light flared.

  "No- Noooo!" he cried.

  The dark magus dissolved into a pool of ash and holy motes.

  Fanática stepped up and picked her holy maul.

  Remaining skeletons crumbled, and soul orbs of stolen vitality popped out like soap bubbles.

  Gorzod stomped a lingering skull under his boot.

  “What a shame,” he muttered. But the way he said it and his tone clearly indicated that he wasn't referring to their adversary ruined plan.

  After brief looting, the party went outside.

  Under the moonlight, Faná gently spread her arms.

  “This place has been defiled. I shall consecrate it in Goddess name.”

  The party froze.

  Erian: “Wait- Faná-”

  Thrain: “Lass, maybe just-”

  But it was too late.

  “O Goddess of Eternal Rest and the Cleansing of Troubled Earth, let this ground be purified, the dead be honored, and all shadows flee before Your light!”

  A wave of golden radiance bloomed outward.

  Graves smoothed. Then turned into motes of light.

  Crypts glowed in silence, stone turning briefly into gold before dissolving into holy motes.

  The entire graveyard became a meadow of soft grass and floating golden motes - peaceful, beautiful, utterly unearthly.

  The widow, staying behind near graveyard gate, stared with wide eyes.

  She whispered, “It's… his grave...”

  Her pale face turned even paler as she suddenly realized what had transpired.

  She turned away with a quiet sob and ran back to her hut.

  Later, when the party returned to the cottage, she didn’t step out to welcome them.

  Faná approached the doors, smiling.

  “The disturbance has ended. Your husband can rest now.”

  From behind the door, the widow said in a quiet voice, “Please... don't come here anymore.”

  Her voice cracked a little.

  “Don't tell anyone that I begged you for help. Oh goddess, if only I had known... If only I had recognized who I had encountered on my path…”

  The door remained tightly closed.

  Sobbing drifted through the wood.

  Faná stood there, confused.

  Liora walked up to her, and gently patted her shoulder. As deadpan as ever.

  “At least the dead have happily ascended to heaven.”

  A pause.

  “Instantly.”

  Thrain sighed, sheathing his hammer.

  “Come on, lass. Let’s go before the entire village discovers their entire history was just erased...”

  The party trudged away under a sky full of stars.