It’s dirty work that takes place amongst the shadows of Gotham’s Magic Tower. However, Arch Magus Drake, nor the rest of his family could deny its importance within the grand scheme of things. Reviving their enemies to glean information may be seen as a sin against the very Gods that they worshipped, but disposing of them after they’d no longer served their use was a necessary evil — That didn’t mean he could stomach the grotesquerie of going against the natural order, despite all the countless times he had witnessed someone’s reanimation before.

He turned before snapping his fingers with a practiced casualty, the spark of magic was enough tinder to ignite the unlucky revenant with an all-consuming fire. The stench of scorched flesh clung to the air, hot and heavy.

Not even ashes will be left behind.

“I tire of this,” Tim mumbled out, feeling like he was fraying at the seams, picked apart thread by accursed thread. Exhaustion had settled deep within his bones, the marrow hollowed from the inside out. “It’s true that dead men tell no tales. How many more must we revive, interrogate, and then burn until we find out the truth behind the latest assassination attempt on my father’s life?”

He’s aware that his complaints come across more as a petulant child whining than the latest top graduate of the Royal Academy of Magic. Someone who was thrust into a position that he did not ask nor felt ready for. The weight of expectation was heavy on his shoulders. But at least Tim had the excuse of other pressing responsibilities instead of spending all his time with the dead, unlike the Tower’s resident Necromancer.

“Nevermind. Don’t answer that.”

It’s unfair to be taking his frustrations out on a fellow mage. But between the stacking cases that needed to be investigated, as well as splitting his still-healing father’s responsibilities amongst his siblings — He could only be stretched so far until he would start to crack. And then, in that case, who would oversee the Tower’s affairs?