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As Garrett approached the meeting with the princess, he had considered politely but firmly demanding answers as to exactly what the hell was going on. But the moment their eyes met, he instantly shrank back, all his questions flying out of his head in an instant. From the outside, one couldn't take their eyes off her, but under her direct gaze, looking back was unbearable. Something could be felt in her eyes... Otherworldly? Suddenly, the servant's tedious speech gained many times more meaning.
— Greetings... Your Highness.
The man bowed his head in an awkward bow, and, not knowing where to put his eyes, fixed his gaze on her delicate hands. Not a trace of wounds. Perhaps all that copious blood he had seen on them earlier had been a hallucination? Or perhaps... it was not her blood?
He couldn't pursue this thought further, as the princess began to speak. No matter how much Garrett wanted to lie, something compelled him to speak the truth.
— My world... It is a land of possibilities. A land of desires and ambitions, which often contradict one another. Everyone spins as best they can, through the most diverse methods, which are usually determined to a large extent by one's origins. And then it depends on how things go. Suppose you join up with a disreputable crowd in your youth - and off you go, suddenly you're a wanted criminal, the scum of society, someone with a bounty on their head and a line of enemies waiting to collect it. When you reach such a point, you realize that the degree of guilt no longer matters. You can't drink away your learned dirty tricks, and you haven't shown any aptitude for anything else. And now you have only one path left, one where there's no room for conscience... And regardless of your successes, you know exactly how it all ends. My homeland - Aster - is a place where death is not the end. But neither is it a full continuation, rather a milestone on a long road.
Rummaging through his supply sack, he pulled Harold's skull into the light.
— This is my brother. On the path of existence, he has gone further than I. Once I raised him from the dead using a special ritual, following the traditions of my ancestors. Now I realize that I should have put him to digging potatoes or some other endlessly tedious and exhausting physical labor, as is customary for us with the undead. Even in life, he wasn't known for his intellect or patience, and as soon as he died, he completely snapped. Yet he listened to me - the spiritual bond between the living and the dead can tame even an uncontrollable berserker, and I took advantage of that for personal gain. But even then, he managed to mess everything up. And what happened next - I'm as confused as you are. We were both killed - that's what I remember.
Garrett spread his arms wide, as if expressing profound bewilderment at the subsequent turn of events.
— And here we are - me, and, hmm... his skull.