Bones Meet My Love, Once‑Yours Now Undead

Chapter 1: Ashes of the Ruins, Five Years of Unrequited Longing

The chill of the wilderness bit through the frayed edges of Lucien’s cloak, stinging his pale, sharp‑featured cheeks as night fell. Broken walls and shattered remnants of the ancient ruins stretched endlessly beneath the darkening sky, littered with loose stones and overgrown weeds. Dust and the stale tang of decay hung heavy in the air.

This was where the catastrophic expedition had ended five years ago. Where Kael had perished. And the place Lucien had revisited countless times, a prison woven from his own dreams.

Five years prior, ancient magic leaked forth from long‑buried relics across the continent, drawing hordes of adventurers and exploration teams to venture into the unknown. Young and full of fire, Lucien and Kael had joined one elite expedition unit. They chased glory and hidden treasures, yet cherished a tender bond shared only between them. Kael, the unit’s most formidable fighter, stood tall and resolute. His sword had turned countless battles, and all his softness and affection belonged solely to Lucien. Side by side, they had braved raging rapids and deadly traps, surviving one close‑call after another. They had dared to hope the mission would end in victory. No one foresaw the disaster waiting deep within the ruins.

An ancient curse slumbered in the heart of the site, alongside hordes of dormant shadow monsters. Once the team pressed too far inward, traps detonated one after another. Beasts swarmed out of the dark, tearing the expedition apart. Men fell in droves. Fire roared, rocks crashed, and screams and explosions drowned out every gentle memory they had held dear.

To buy the surviving members time to flee, Kael, their strongest warrior, chose to hold the rear.

No one understood the horror of that stand better than Lucien.

He watched Kael turn his back on retreating comrades, standing alone against surging monsters and crumbling rock. Golden sword‑light flickered through flame and shadow as he struck down foe after foe, absorbing blow after fatal blow. The wet crunch of steel piercing flesh, the sick crack of breaking bone carried over the smoke. Lucien had tried desperately to rush back, only to be restrained by panicking teammates.

“Lucien! Go! Get the others out of here!”

Kael’s voice, hoarse yet unyielding, cut through the thunder of collapse and burned itself permanently into Lucien’s soul. Those were his final words, gentle and uncompromising.

When the monster assault briefly relented and a crack opened amid the falling masonry, Lucien broke free from every hand holding him back. He charged through roaring fire and heaped rubble, forcing his way into the ruined core at the cost of his own strength.

He was too late.

Fires dimmed. Dust settled. The battlefield that had raged moments before lay deathly silent.

Kael lay motionless upon cold stone. His silver armor split and caked with blood, his great sword snapped beside him. Warm lifeblood had long since seeped into the stone, drying into dull, dark crimson stains.

Lucien stumbled and dropped to his knees. Trembling, he reached out. What his fingers met was unrelenting, lifeless cold.

Once, those limbs had pulled him close, brushed snow from his hair, clasped his hands as they fought shoulder‑to‑shoulder — always warm, always alive. Now the man he loved drew no breath. His eyes would never open again. Stillness clung to every inch of his body.

Agony clenched Lucien’s chest, sharp and crushing, spreading through every nerve until he shook, barely able to breathe. Kneeling amid wreckage, he wiped blood and grime gently from Kael’s face, calling his name over and over. Only hollow wind drifting through shattered stone answered him.

All he wanted was to stay. To pile earth over his beloved, to give him a proper burial, so Kael might rest free of these desolate wastes.

Fate would grant him no such mercy.

Distant thunder of hooves and the clamor of war rang out. Enemy pursuers had tracked them down. Fighting erupted anew, sealing off the entire ruin complex. Above, the mountain shuddered from the earlier carnage. Boulders thundered down, thick clouds of dust blotting out the sky. The whole site was about to bury itself forever.

Survivors grabbed Lucien’s arms, shouting for him to run. There was not a single moment to linger.

Lucien squeezed Kael’s cold hand, his eyes burning raw. Grief, regret and despair swelled until they threatened to overwhelm him.

He had no choice.

Dragged away amid falling rock and smoke, he fled, broken and disgraced.

That moment became an unerasable scar, a chain binding him for five long years.

He had failed to protect the person he loved. He could not stay for his final moments. He could not even grant him a grave.

Five seasons came and went across the world. But Lucien’s own time had frozen within that burning, collapsing ruin.

He turned his back on ease and security, abandoned every comfortable future laid out before him. Alone, he roamed wastelands and forgotten relics across the continent.

Carrying a tattered pack and Kael’s broken sword, he travelled year in and year out through sandstorms and mist. While others built lives and sought safety, his existence narrowed down to one endless search.

He combed every stretch of land surrounding the old ruins, trekked through barren deserts and icy rivers. Again and again he returned to this desolate place. He sifted through piles of stone, examining every nook, clinging to the faint hope of finding something left behind: a shard of armor, a wisp of remnant aura — any small token to soothe his aching longing.

Friends told him the dead should be left to rest; five years of searching was more than enough to let go. Lucien alone knew he could not, would not.

The wound carved by loss had never scabbed over. It festered, throbbing night and day. Night after night, nightmares dragged him back to the massacre: Kael’s last silhouette, the cold of his lifeless body, the farewell he never got to give.

Often he would sit alone among crumbling walls under starlight, whispering Kael’s name. Wind whistling through broken stone sounded almost like a ghost’s reply — yet no voice ever came.

Five years of longing. Five years of solitary wandering. Five years of obsession taking root in his bones.

Everyone insisted Kael was gone, his essence scattered to the winds, vanished from this world.

But deep inside, Lucien clung to a stubborn, fragile hunch: Kael was not entirely lost.

Their bond, forged through life‑and‑death devotion, remained unbroken. Some faint, familiar thread tugged at his soul across death’s divide, refusing to let him stop searching.

The wilderness wind stirred once more. A faint, eerie taint of shadow magic brushed his ear, carrying a trace so familiar it made his heart lurch.

Lucien lifted his head. In his dark eyes, the stagnant quiet of five long years erupted into roiling storm.

His endless quest might at last bear fruit.