The Sentinels Santianna

For once, the shade she had found did speak! It was with words she knew, though they sounded different from the heavily Greek-accented common that her sisters had tried to teach her during life. That was enough for Dianikos to feel at ease, though. She knew this realm of the dead had many spirits within it, more than just her own people, as those that died were ferried through the underworld to many different resting places. This one, like herself, must have been waiting for something or someone.

Her eyes lit upon a silhouette as it emerged from among the sentinel trees.

Enrobed in gilded silver. A plush coat, thinly laid across an athletic figure; no doubt, some hero recently lost. He did not look old enough to be a centurion but perhaps he had been felled during some unknown war far from Dianikos' people — perhaps a hero from another age?

You make music too, apóchrosi. I have not heard such music before. The woman was intrigued. The other shades she had seen, they had not spoken at all! Perhaps this one was stronger; perhaps he was newly-dead, like herself. Stuck in a transitional space as they awaited the judgement of ancient gods.