The first rays of dawn struggled to break through the thick veil of heavy clouds hanging low over the city. A chill wind swept through the streets, carrying with it whispers of unrest and the faint scent of burning incense from the temples.
Within the ornate library of the Aeron manor, Kaelen stood by a large window, his eyes narrowing as he observed the waking city below. The dim light reflected off the polished marble floors, but the coldness in the air seemed to seep into his bones.
His hands, still faintly tingling from the necrotic energy he'd drawn from the Shadow Bazaar's rare materials, clenched into fists.
They know.
He could feel it deep in his core — the tremors of his rising power had sent ripples far beyond the city walls. And those ripples were drawing attention… dangerous attention.
Far from the sheltered streets and lush gardens of the manor, a cluster of figures in blood-red robes huddled beneath a violent sky. The howling wind tugged at their cloaks, but none flinched. They were united in purpose, bound by ancient conviction.
Their leader, High Inquisitor Malrec, was a figure both feared and whispered about in hushed tones. Thin as a skeleton, with sunken cheeks and eyes burning like coals, he carried an aura of unyielding judgment.
He held a ceremonial dagger aloft — its blade dark, etched with runes that pulsed with an eerie crimson glow.
"The Necromancer stirs. His blood is the mark of doom, the harbinger of death's unholy march. The signs are clear — the dead will not rest, and shadows will creep across our lands. We must act, before the darkness claims all."
A low chant began, voices rising like a storm as the group prepared to enact a grim ritual.
"The False King shall fall. For the living, for the sanctity of the soul."
Kaelen turned from the window just as a soft knock echoed from the heavy oak door. Lira stepped inside, her face pale but her eyes shining with determination.
"Master Kaelen… the city guard intercepted a Crimson Herald at the gates. They demand your immediate presence before the Council of Elders."
Kaelen's jaw tightened.
"So soon after the Bazaar? They move faster than I anticipated."
He glanced toward the summoning circles etched into the floor. His trusted guardians — Nyxa, the shadowy skeletal mage, and Bahlor, the hulking skeletal golem — stood silently, their hollow eyes glowing faintly in the gloom.
"Prepare the manor's defenses," he ordered. "If the Church comes for me, they come for all I've built. Every stone, every soul bound to this place will stand with me."
Lira hesitated, biting her lip.
"They will not come quietly."
Kaelen nodded grimly.
"Neither will I."
The heavy iron gates clanged open as a tall man in resplendent crimson armor strode into the courtyard. His polished breastplate bore the bleeding sword piercing a skull — the dreaded symbol of the Crimson Church.
His voice, amplified by the still morning air, carried the weight of authority and doom.
"Kaelen Aeron, son of the Aeron lineage, you stand accused of heresy against the natural order. You will answer before the Elders for your unholy arts and dealings with the dead."
The guards behind him remained silent, their hands resting on the hilts of wicked blades.
The city's Elders awaited in the grand hall, their faces a blend of age-worn wisdom and rigid fear. The chamber's vaulted ceiling soared above like a cathedral, stained glass windows casting fractured light over carved stone thrones.
Kaelen stood in the center, calm yet radiating a quiet power that demanded attention.
"I seek only to protect this world from the threats others refuse to face," Kaelen began, voice steady and clear. "Necromancy is not a curse — it is a tool. The same as fire or steel. It is how you wield it that determines its nature."
A murmur spread through the room.
"And yet," spoke Elder Mavren, his eyes cold and sharp as winter ice, "the shadows you command bring death and despair in their wake. How can we trust one who raises the dead?"
Kaelen met Mavren's gaze with unflinching resolve.
"Because I stand between life and death, holding the line. Through my control over the undead, I prevent chaos from spilling over. The dead serve the living, not the other way around."
The Elders exchanged uneasy glances, some nodding slowly while others scowled.
Outside, dark clouds twisted unnaturally as thunder rolled across the city. A sudden chill gripped the air, and a whisper seemed to snake through the streets, carried on the wind like a curse.
"When the Necromancer rises, so too will the Abyssal Veil — the boundary between worlds weakens."
Lira's grip tightened on Kaelen's hand, her eyes wide with worry.
"Brother… this is only the beginning. The road ahead will be perilous. We must prepare, not just for the Church, but for forces beyond our understanding."
Kaelen nodded slowly.
"Then we sharpen our blades, strengthen our wards, and stand ready. The shadows may gather, but we will be their reckoning."
As the city held its breath, the unseen tides of fate began to churn. The war for the soul of the world had just begun, and Kaelen Aeron — the Necromancer caught between life, death, and everything in between — stood poised on the edge of a dark new era.