Zich did not dream.
He was not asleep either, not exactly. His body had shut down on its own and dragged his mind down with it. No sensation. No sound. No thought. Just the faint awareness that he was still alive.
He did not know how long he stayed like that.
He did not know he had collapsed face-first in the market square. He did not know his blood had been pooling under his left sleeve long enough to stain the cracked stones dark, or that the soul stone bag was pinned under his chest with one arm wrapped around it.
He did not know any of that.
But someone else did.
The Elite Undead Knight stood over Zich's body, motionless.
It had not moved from the spot where Zich fell. When its master's consciousness cut out, the summoning link should have severed. The knight should have dissolved back into the graveyard like every other summon did when its caster lost grip. That was how the magic worked. That was the rule.
But it did not.
