The iron door bent outward.
The hinges tore free, and the door struck the chamber floor hard enough to shake dust from the coffins.
Smoke rolled over it.
Dalen pulled his men back from the threshold.
"Stay behind the coffins," he ordered. "Edrin, keep the salt ready. No one touches that smoke unless we know what it does."
Teclos stood at the front with Serenna beside him.
The smoke stopped before their boots and gathered in the doorway until a shape formed inside it.
Something wearing the remains of a man stepped through.
He was tall and thin, wrapped in burial cloth beneath a black ceremonial robe. Gray flesh clung to his skull, and a dark iron crown had been driven directly into his head.
Green fire burned inside the empty sockets.
He looked over the chamber slowly.
His gaze lingered on the bodies of the oathbound guards.
"They endured longer than I expected."
Dalen tightened his grip on his sword.
"Are you the one controlling the dead above us?"
