“Porthos, step back.” Athos still reels from the sight of Thomas - his brother’s skin is ashen and he still bleeds from the hole in his chest that killed him, but he is otherwise precisely as he had been on the fateful day of his death. What he is doing here Athos cannot understand, but he will not allow this specter to hurt his friends. He pushes past Aramis and Porthos, and stands before Thomas with his sword drawn. “I am here,” he says. “What do you want?”

Thomas smiles a ghostly smile. “You think you can protect them? You think he will protect you?” The specter looks past Athos now, to Aramis and Porthos behind. “Can you not see the result of Olivier de la Fere’s protection?”

Athos notices a knife in Thomas’ hand. It still drips blood - Thomas’ blood - and now the ghostly apparition raises it. Bile rises in Athos’ throat; he think he might be sick, or scream, or flee, but somehow he manages to keep his hand steady on his sword. “You will not hurt them.”

“And who will stop me?” Thomas laughs. “You?"