Chapter 7 - Earth

Alina sat on the edge of the worktable, flexing her fingers as she examined the fresh markings on her skin. The lines of the emblem Thorne had burned into her body pulsed faintly, the pain from the ritual still lingering beneath her skin like an echo of fire. But beyond the pain, there was something else—a new awareness of her muscles, her movements, the very way her body existed. She clenched her fist and felt the strength in her grip, stronger than she had ever known in life.

Excitement bubbled inside her. "What's next? Can we continue the embalming now?"

Thorne let out a short laugh. "Eager, are we? No, you need time to settle. This was just the first step, and I need to observe how it affects you before we proceed. The mind is just as important as the body in this process, and I won't risk losing you to madness."

Alina frowned but nodded. It made sense, though it wasn't the answer she wanted. "So what should I do in the meantime?"

Thorne motioned to a nearby set of wooden training dummies and a row of weights, their metal corroded but sturdy. "Get used to your new strength. Move, lift, strike. You need to understand your body before you can control it fully. I have preparations to make before we leave."

Alina blinked. "Leave?"

"I'll explain later. For now, train."

With that, Thorne disappeared into another section of the lab, leaving Alina alone. She eyed the training equipment, then rolled her shoulders. If she was going to be undead, she might as well learn to use it to her advantage.

She began with simple exercises—lifting the weights to test her new strength. At first, it felt unnatural, the weights far lighter than she expected. With little effort, she hoisted them above her head, her muscles barely straining. A grin spread across her lips. This was incredible.

Then came the strikes. She approached the wooden dummies and threw a punch. The force splintered the wood on impact. Alina gasped, staring at her hand in astonishment. Her mind still remembered the limits of a human body, but those limits no longer applied.

She spent the next few hours pushing herself further, running, jumping, striking, until she had a solid grasp of her newfound abilities. By the end, she wasn't exhausted—her body didn't tire the way it used to—but she did feel more attuned to herself.

Satisfied, she took the opportunity to explore the lab further. She wandered between the towering bookshelves, traced her fingers over old vials and strange concoctions. Some contained preserved organs, others unfamiliar herbs. In one corner, she found Thorne's personal workspace, filled with scattered notes and strange diagrams of undead anatomy. A few pages depicted modifications to human bodies—enhancements, repairs, experiments.

Beyond the lab, she ventured into the rest of the camp. The reanimated creatures that guarded the compound were grotesque but strangely obedient. Some were pieced together from different corpses, stitched abominations that moved with eerie coordination. Others were skeletal, empty sockets glowing faintly with necromantic energy.

For all the horrors she had witnessed since her rebirth, Alina couldn't deny the sense of wonder that came with it.

Eventually, Thorne returned, carrying a bundle of folded fabric. She tossed it to Alina. "Here. Put this on."

Alina unfolded the garments—a dark, high-collared coat, sturdy trousers, and fitted gloves that concealed most of her newly marked hands. The fabric was heavy but well-crafted, clearly designed for protection as much as concealment.

"We're leaving the compound," Thorne explained. "There's someone we need to meet."

Alina hesitated. "Leave? But… I can't go out looking like this. What if people see me?"

Thorne stepped closer, resting a hand on Alina's shoulder. "No one will care. Not where we're going. Trust me."

Alina searched Thorne's face for reassurance. Finally, she nodded and slipped into the new clothes. If Thorne believed this was necessary, she would follow. After all, she had nowhere else to go.

The carriage rattled as it rolled over the uneven dirt road, the sound of creaking wood mixing with the rhythmic clatter of hooves. The creatures pulling the carriage were no ordinary horses; their flesh was taut and gray, their eyes sunken and empty. Yet, they moved with an unnatural precision, their bodies immune to exhaustion. Alina sat beside Thorne, gazing out of the small window, watching the landscape shift from dense, lifeless forests to barren, cracked earth.

She had never seen a carriage quite like this. Its design was both ancient and oddly advanced, reinforced with dark metal plating and intricate runes carved into its structure. It was comfortable, yet the air inside was thick with a sense of foreboding.

"Where are we going?" Alina finally asked, turning to Thorne.

"Somewhere you should see," Thorne replied, her voice neutral. "You'll understand more once we arrive."

For the rest of the journey, they rode in silence. The farther they traveled, the stranger the scenery became. The trees turned skeletal, their trunks blackened as if by fire. Eventually, they crested a hill, and before them stretched a vast ruin of what had once been a city.

Alina sucked in a breath. This was unlike anything she had ever seen. Enormous structures of glass and steel jutted into the sky, many of them collapsed or leaning precariously. The ground was littered with debris—twisted metal, shattered concrete, remnants of what once must have been homes, shops, places of worship. But what unsettled her most was the eerie silence that hung over it all, like a graveyard where the dead had been left unburied.

"What is this place?" she whispered.

Thorne steered the carriage forward. "This used to be a city. A great one. Millions of people lived here, worked here, built their futures here. And then, it was all wiped away."

Alina frowned, her mind struggling to comprehend the magnitude of destruction. "What happened?"

"A war," Thorne said simply. "A long time ago. A war that left the world in ruins."

Alina looked back at the crumbling remains of the city. She had heard tales of wars—kings clashing over land, nobles feuding over power. But nothing like this. Nothing that could bring entire civilizations to ruin.

The carriage descended into the city, maneuvering through broken streets until it reached a clearing where a group of people waited. Alina felt her breath hitch as she saw them.

They were human—at least, they had once been. Their bodies were gaunt, their skin stretched thin over protruding bones. Their hair was sparse, their eyes sunken and hollow. Some bore strange markings on their flesh, dark veins that pulsed faintly under their skin. Others had deformities—extra fingers, patches of discolored flesh, twisted limbs.

Radiation sickness. Thorne had mentioned it before, but Alina had never truly understood what it meant until now.

As the carriage came to a stop, the group approached cautiously. One man, taller than the rest, stepped forward. His face was weathered, his body thin, but his posture remained firm.

"Thorne," he greeted, his voice hoarse. "You've returned."

"I always do," Thorne replied. "How are things here?"

The man exhaled, glancing back at his people. "The same as always. We survive. Barely."

Thorne nodded, then gestured to the carriage. At her command, several undead figures climbed down and approached the group, their empty eyes staring straight ahead as they carried crates of supplies—tools, dried food, medicine.

The sickly people accepted them with gratitude, murmuring thanks under their breath. In return, the man handed Thorne a sealed box, its exterior reinforced with strange, rune-covered metal.

"As agreed," he said. "This should help."

Thorne took the box without hesitation, placing it beside her. "Good. I'll return when I can."

The exchange was brief, but Alina could feel the weight of it. This was not the first time Thorne had done this. This was routine.

As they turned to leave, Alina looked back at the people. They were already opening the crates, their hollow eyes lighting up as they distributed the supplies. Children clung to their mothers, their bodies just as thin and frail as the adults'.

Once they were back in the carriage and moving again, Alina finally spoke. "What happened to them?"

Thorne kept her gaze forward. "This is how people are born now. The war poisoned the land, the water, the very air. Those who survived became something… else. Their bodies changed. Some lived. Many didn't. And those who do… well, you saw them."

Alina shuddered. "It's like a curse."

Thorne let out a short laugh. "You could say that. But it's not magic. It's science. And science has solutions."

Alina looked at her, confused. "Solutions?"

Thorne finally turned to her, her crimson eyes gleaming. "This is why I do what I do. Why I study the undead. Why I research preservation. I want to find a way to stop this—to reverse it."

Alina stared at her, trying to process her words. "You mean… you think you can cure them?"

Thorne exhaled slowly. "Not just them. Most of humanity is like this now. Scattered, sickly, barely clinging to life. But if I can find the right method—the right balance—I might be able to restore what was lost."

Alina turned her gaze back to the window, watching the ruined city fade into the distance. A heavy silence settled between them.

She had spent so long lamenting her own fate, her own death and rebirth. She had thought of herself as a monster, an aberration. But now, she realized the world itself had changed into something she could barely comprehend. And Thorne… Thorne was fighting to fix it.

For the first time since her resurrection, Alina felt something stir within her. A purpose. A reason to keep going.

Perhaps, just perhaps, she could help too.