The wizard’s skull, still charred and partially buried in earth, lay motionless, its soil-caked surface offering no response to Rudolf’s demand. He withdrew the flashlight, plunging the vertical shaft into darkness once more.

  His finger hovered over the trigger, which had shifted slightly from its resting position. There were many ways to silence the whispers—not just heeding their plea, but eradicating their source entirely.

  “Wait! Young patrolman!” A raspy voice echoed from the hole, strained yet urgent. The wizard, now utterly vulnerable, had no means to resist: “Let me out! I can save your life!”

  “Save me?” Rudolf paused, curiosity overriding caution. He tilted his head, the barrel of the shotgun still aimed steady.

  “You’ve been tainted by stellar energy! Don’t deny it—you know what I speak of.” The wizard’s words tumbled out, rapid and desperate. “If you cross a seasoned witch hunter or inspector, you’ll be exposed in an instant!”

  Rudolf frowned. Witch hunters and inspectors—terrifying figures from the Inquisition, specialists in eradicating sorcerers. Had the moment he’d picked up the starstone truly doomed him?

  “Let me out! I can make you my apprentice! Shield you from inspectors! Look—am I not still alive?” The skull seemed to strain toward him, though its jawless maw could only grind out words.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “Help me?” Rudolf’s skepticism lingered. “You’re a charred skull. How?”

  The wizard, sensing doubt, pressed on: “Dig up a fresh corpse. I’ll regain enough power to aid you. A skull alone can do nothing—give me a vessel.”

  “Fresh corpse?” Rudolf’s brow furrowed. “I’ve read Inquisition files on revenants. Only certain undead can transplant limbs. Since when do wizards wield revenant magic?” His finger tightened on the trigger, metal cold against his palm.

  “Wait! Wait!” The wizard’s voice cracked. “You understand nothing. Know why wizards are hunted to extinction?

  There are twelve apostle types, each with unique powers—alchemists like your sheriff, knights, giants, even dark gods’ servants. All seek our deaths. Why? Because we can forge witchcraft artifacts from other apostles, stealing their abilities.”

  If true, wizards were indeed enemies of all. Rudolf’s mind raced—could he use such an artifact to masquerade as an alchemist? Evade inspectors with careful deceit?

  After a heartbeat of hesitation, he lowered the shotgun, gripping the cylindrical shovel once more. A swift strike lifted the charred skull from its earthen prison, the motion so sudden the wizard’s jawbone rattled.

  The relentless whispers vanished, leaving Rudolf with only the ringing silence of his own breath.

  Witchcraft, pyres, revenants, artifacts…

  He studied the skull, marveling at how it had survived the Inquisition’s scrutiny. Leman Town lacked an Inquisition branch; hunters from Fabro City had handled the arrest, seasoned men who’d plucked the wizard’s eyes to ensure compliance. Yet here it lay, alive.

  “Fear not the hunters. Wizards are the strongest apostles! Serve me, and you’ll wield power beyond