The Soul Realm trembled. Black fog from the absorption ritual still lingered like smoke above charred soil. The battlefield had fallen into silence, unnatural and deep, after the Lich's defeat and taming. No more howls, no more screams. Only the chilling hum of death magic was still crackling in the distance.
Rolan stood in the middle of the scorched land, sweat dripping from his brow, his robes stained with sweat and cursed soot. Around him, his warriors began to regroup. Mimics carried the wounded, slimes dissolved the last remains of the undead army, and his elite clones stood at attention, watching their master carefully.
Before Rolan, the newly resurrected man, once the Undead Lich, knelt calmly. No longer a rotting corpse nor a spectral being of hate, but a man reborn. His hair was silver and wild, his eyes violet and filled with bitter wisdom. He wore a conjured mage coat of dark silk, now reinforced with runes gifted through the taming ritual.
