I WILL FOLLOW YOU TO THE GRAVEYARD

The First Door

The scratching ceased abruptly.

For a moment, everyone in the devastated armory stood still.

Exodus found himself amidst the chaos, his gaze fixed on the charred mark on his palm. It resembled a miniature grave—a small rectangle with a crooked headstone and beneath it, six faint lines, each representing an empty space.

He clenched his hand, and a searing pain raced up his arm. Exodus remained unfazed, though his mind's Graveyard quivered.

A whisper echoed in his thoughts: "Six remain." Then silence.

Exodus lifted his head, noticing General Viktor's intense stare—not directed at his sword or face, but at his hand.

"The mark," Viktor stated.

Exodus narrowed his eyes. "What mark?"

Viktor didn't answer him directly. Instead, he addressed the paladins. "Lower your weapons."

They hesitated. "General—"

"Lower them!" Viktor's command reverberated through the armory, and reluctantly, the paladins complied.

Lyra approached Exodus, curiosity etched on her face. "What is that thing on your hand?"

Exodus glanced down. "I’m not sure."

Viktor’s expression darkened. "You’re lying."

Exodus turned to him, urgency in his voice. "You have five seconds to explain."

The general swallowed. "You shouldn't have that mark."

"Four."

"Commander—"

"Three."

Viktor looked at Darius, who was struggling to breathe on the floor. Then, he revealed the words that made Exodus stop counting.

"The mark belonged to the last man who opened the first door."

Exodus's jaw tightened. "Who?"

Viktor hesitated, then pointed to the sealed chasm. "Your father."

The word lingered in the air.

"My father?"

Viktor nodded. "He was the first Revenant Commander."

Exodus stared, disbelief shadowing his features. "No."

"You never knew him," Viktor replied calmly.

"I know enough."

"You know what the Empire told you."

Exodus gripped his sword tighter. "Then tell me something I don’t."

Viktor exhaled deeply. "Your father wasn’t killed in battle."

The emerald light in Exodus's eyes flickered. "He disappeared."

"How?"

"Twenty-three years before the First Cleansing, he walked into the Graveyard."

Exodus glanced at the darkness. "He never came back."

A chill passed through Exodus, not from his father's vanishing but from a faint memory of him.

A comforting hand on his shoulder. A voice in the dark. A whispered warning as a child: Never follow the dead.

Exodus's breath caught, the memory slipping away.

He blinked. Lyra noticed his distraction. "Exodus?"

He ignored her. "What was his name?"

Viktor hesitated. That pause was all Exodus needed.

In a heartbeat, Exodus crossed the room, his hand clamping around Viktor's throat.

The paladins raised their weapons. Lyra readied her daggers.

"Move," Exodus commanded. No one dared.

The black mark on his palm pulsed. Every torch in the armory extinguished, shrouding them in darkness.

The Graveyard in his mind opened slightly, revealing a man before a massive stone door, cloaked in black, a sword at his side. Exodus couldn’t see his face.

The figure spoke, "Don’t open the door."

Exodus demanded, "Who are you?"

The man raised his hand, showing six black marks across his palm.

Then the vision broke.

Exodus returned to the armory, his grip still on Viktor, who was looking past him in fear.

Exodus turned.

Darius was standing, barely. Blood trickled down his chest, his eyes fixed on Exodus’s palm.

"You really don’t remember."

Exodus released Viktor. Darius’s laugh was weak and broken. "That’s the problem with resurrection."

Exodus pointed his sword at Darius's throat. "Explain."

Darius glanced at the blade, then at Exodus. "The dead don’t come back empty."

The words struck deeply.

Exodus leaned in. "What came back with me?"

Darius’s smile faded, his honesty evident. "I don’t know. But I know what your father was trying to stop."

Before Exodus could respond, the armory trembled.

A deep groan echoed from the floor.

The paladins looked around. A soldier shouted from the entrance, "General!"

Viktor turned. "What?"

"The eastern corridor!"

The soldier pointed as blackness spread across the stone walls, resembling smoke but moving like living veins.

Viktor went pale. "Seal the corridor."

The paladins rushed, but it was too late.

The black veins reached the first soldier. He screamed, his armor turning black.

"Help me!" His scream morphed into a growl, then silence.

His helmet fell, revealing only darkness inside.

The soldiers recoiled. Lyra raised her daggers. "What was that?"

Viktor’s voice trembled. "The door isn’t closed."

Exodus looked at the sealed chasm. "The grave closed."

"Yes."

"Then what is that?"

"Something got through before it did," Viktor said, his voice dire.

The blackness vanished. The soldier’s armor clattered to the floor, empty.

Then a bell tolled, deep underground.

Dong.  

Every paladin froze.

A second bell.  

Dong.  

The mark on Exodus’s hand burned.

A third bell.  

Dong.  

The Graveyard in his mind trembled.

Exodus closed his eyes, hearing them. Hundreds, thousands of voices—dead soldiers, kings, children—all whispering the same phrase.

"The first has opened. The first has opened. The first has opened."

Exodus opened his eyes. "Everyone leave."

Viktor stared. "What?"

"Get out of the fortress."

"Why?"

"This isn’t staying underground."

Viktor hesitated. Then the floor cracked, a thin line of black light snaking between the stones toward Exodus.

The paladins backed away, the line stopping at his feet. Then more lines appeared.

Six lines.  

Six directions.  

Pointing to different parts of the kingdom.

Exodus watched.

The mark on his palm transformed. The tiny grave opened, and six black lines extended from it like roots.

Words appeared, neither written nor carved, just there.

SIX DOORS.

Exodus’s eyes narrowed.

Another line appeared.  

SIX KINGDOMS.

Lyra stood beside him. "Exodus..."

He didn’t respond.

The final words formed.  

SIX DEATHS.

The mark dimmed.

Then the fortress itself seemed to scream. Stone groaned, iron bent, and alarms blared above in the military quarter.

Viktor turned to the door. "What now?"

Exodus looked at the glowing lines beneath his feet, his voice calm. "We find the other doors."

Darius coughed. "Too late."

Exodus turned. Darius was fixated on the eastern wall, where a small black crack had appeared.

Darius lost all color. "They’re already opening."

The crack widened, cold air seeping into the room. Lyra’s daggers frosted over.

Something brushed Exodus’s mind—a voice, soft and almost kind.

"One door opened." Exodus’s eyes darkened. The voice continued, "Six will follow."

Then it whispered the words that halted his thoughts.

"And your father opened the first one."

The crack in the wall burst.

Something emerged—a man’s silhouette, cloaked in black, a sword at his waist, his face hidden beneath a hood.

Exodus stared.

The stranger lifted his head slowly.

For a moment, Exodus saw his own eyes reflecting back at him.

Then the stranger smiled.

"Hello, son."