The dawn light spilled gently across the fields, painting the grass in strokes of gold. Kael sat at the old wooden table, the smell of bread and herbs filling the air. His mother moved about the kitchen, her hands worn yet steady, while Reina hummed softly to herself as she braided her hair.
For a moment, Kael let himself believe nothing had changed. That the Abyss had been just a dream, and this was his life: simple, warm, whole.
Reina caught him staring and grinned."What? Did the Abyss steal your smile too, brother?"
Kael chuckled softly, ruffling her hair. "No. Just memorizing the moment. I don't know how many more breakfasts I'll get with you."
His mother stilled at that, her back turned to him, shoulders trembling ever so slightly. She didn't ask where he would go. She had always known her son carried burdens too heavy for words.
Later, when Reina had run outside to chase the chickens, Kael slipped into the shadow of the barn. With a wave of his hand, runes shimmered faintly and the air rippled.
From the earth itself, a towering figure rose — the Earth Sovereign, a hulking form of stone and soil with veins of glowing amber light. Its presence hummed with quiet strength, steady and immovable.
"Reinforce the house," Kael ordered in a low voice. "Walls, foundation, everything. Make it look the same from the outside."
The Earth Sovereign rumbled, kneeling to the ground. Its hands sank into the soil, sending waves of mana through the land. The foundation thickened. Hidden veins of stone braided themselves through the walls. The old wooden beams grew harder than ironwood. To any passerby, the house looked the same rustic home it had always been. But now, it could withstand even the collapse of a hill.
That evening, his mother paused as she lit the lantern by the window. She placed her hand against the wall, frowning.
"…Kael."
He froze, then turned slowly. "Yes, Mother?"
"This house… it feels different. Stronger. Like it's holding its breath." Her eyes softened, searching his face. "You did this, didn't you?"
Kael said nothing at first. Then he stepped forward, resting his hand over hers against the wall. "I can't always be here to protect you. So I left something behind that can."
Her lips trembled, but she nodded. No more words passed between them. She didn't thank him. She didn't ask how. She simply accepted, as mothers often do.
That night, as the moon rose, Kael stood at the door with his cloak drawn over his shoulders. His satchel carried little — only rations, a few crafted tools, and the dragon's core still pulsing faintly with power.
Reina had fallen asleep by the hearth, her head resting against their mother's lap. Kael brushed a kiss against her forehead, whispering, "Grow strong. You'll surpass even me one day."
His mother caught his arm as he turned to leave. "Kael… don't let the Abyss take your heart. Not again."
He nodded once, firmly. Then, without another word, he stepped out into the night, the path to Greyspire lit only by silver starlight.
Behind him, the house glowed faintly where the Earth Sovereign's blessing had sunk deep into its frame. Silent, steadfast — a guardian in his absence.
The road that wound away from his village was quiet, swallowed by the night. Kael's boots crunched softly against the dirt path as he moved toward the forest that separated his hometown from Greyspire. The trees loomed tall, their branches knit tightly overhead, leaving only splinters of moonlight to pierce the canopy.
Ten years had passed. Yet, Kael could sense it immediately — the forest was no longer the same.
The air was heavier, saturated with mana, not the gentle hum of life-energy but a brittle tension, as though every root and leaf carried scars of conflict. Birds no longer sang here. Even the insects were subdued.
Kael's hand rested loosely on his weapon as he moved. His senses stretched wide, sharpened by years of battle in the Abyss. Shadows shifted at the edge of his vision — not abyssal creatures, but twisted remnants of the wildlife he once knew. A deer bolted across his path, its antlers blackened and eyes clouded with faint corruption before vanishing into the thicket.
"Even here…" Kael murmured, voice low. "The Abyss has left its mark."
As he pushed deeper into the forest, the terrain dipped. A narrow ravine split the ground ahead, its edges jagged with stone and overgrowth. He would have passed it without pause — but then it hit him.
A cold pull, sharp and invasive, brushed against his mind. Necromancy stirred.
Kael froze. His skill had awakened unbidden, reacting as though something below still lingered between life and death. He stepped carefully toward the edge, eyes narrowing.
There, half-buried beneath dirt and broken branches, lay a corpse. Slender, tall — with ears elongated and sharp. An elf.
The body was pale, almost drained, as though it had been discarded like refuse. But what caught Kael's attention was not the sight of death — he was long accustomed to that — but the faint flicker of energy clinging stubbornly to the remains.
His Necromancy pulsed, threads of spectral awareness weaving around the elf.
"…You're still resonating," Kael whispered, crouching low. "Not alive. Not fully gone."
He extended a hand. Black-silver light coiled faintly around his fingertips, the Necromancer's call eager to latch onto the fragment of lingering spirit. Yet Kael hesitated.
"Why here?" he murmured. "Why would an elf die in a forgotten ravine, so far from their kin? And why does your spirit resist passing on?"
The forest seemed to hold its breath. Leaves rustled faintly as though listening.
Kael rose, pulling his cloak tighter. He would not raise the elf here — not yet. But the body could not be left to rot. With a thought, he opened his summon space, the air rippling as invisible currents drew the corpse gently within, sealing it away for later.
The necromantic thread faded, but not entirely. A whisper of presence lingered in his mind, faint but insistent.
"…Very well," Kael said under his breath. "When the time comes, I'll hear your story."
The forest path stretched on, winding toward Greyspire. Kael moved silently, but his thoughts churned.
If elves were dying here, discarded like beasts, then something far greater was stirring near Greyspire than simple human politics. And his Necromancy skill reacting so sharply to the corpse was no accident.
He glanced at the stars overhead, their light faint through the canopy. His path was set — but now, it carried another thread he hadn't anticipated.
The Abyss may have released him. But the world above had grown darker in his absence.