Now in the dead of night

The spectre steps through from one world to the next

In this borderland of ramparts and stone

The watchers quail as it turns their way

They see its face and know

The dead king walks

The king’s son, grief-laden

Summoned by the watchers

Waits in fearful anticipation

And then, with the coming of the apparition

He knows his beloved father

In a dream or trance he follows as summoned

Crossing the threshold into the spirit realm

Waiting to hear this message from beyond

The distant cries of his followers fade behind him

Pleas for his safety, fears for his soul

Heedless, he continues

The prince returns from the other plane

The spectral door seals shut behind him

Changed by the message, as is fitting for all such stories

But unlike the legends

This hero’s journey is doomed to bloody death.