“He was dead,” I observe eventually. “Djedef here is dead.” He says it sincerely, no trace of humour this time. “They’re called iunctii. They don’t need to eat, or sleep, or breathe. They don’t age or bleed. They do still remember who they were, feel things the same as you and I—but they cannot do it without the Will of the person who brought them back.”
https://www.google.com/search?q=iunctii&rlz=1C1CHBF_enUS734US734&oq=iunctii&gs_lcrp=EgZjaHJvbWUyBggAEEUYOTILCAEQABgKGA0YgAQyCQgCEAAYDRiABDIJCAMQABgNGIAEMgsIBBAAGAoYDRiABDIICAUQABgNGB4yCAgGEAAYDRgeMggIBxAAGA0YHjIICAgQABgNGB4yCAgJEAAYDRge0gEINTE0MWowajSoAgCwAgE&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8
