The market district was unusually quiet when Khan returned, his frame cutting a sharp figure in the dim light of mana lamps. The weight of his Industrial Revenant and three new composite thralls behind him made him feel almost invincible, yet caution had become a habit. Rumors traveled faster than sound in Virellia, and his recent success in the Sunken Warrens had already attracted attention. Not all of it friendly. As he navigated the crowded alleyways, he sensed another presence: subtle, familiar in its arcane resonance, and unmistakably necromantic. The hairs on the back of his neck pricked. Someone else had recognized the threads he had left behind, tracked them, and followed.
The figure emerged from a shadowed corridor, a tall, wiry man with pale skin, angular features, and eyes that glimmered with faint violet fire. His robes were deep black, embroidered with a pattern of shifting bones that seemed to move as he walked. Around him hovered two skeletal constructs, sharp-limbed and agile, each pulsating with restrained mana. The rival necromancer stopped, regarding Khan with a faint smirk. "You're far from careful," the man said, voice smooth but carrying a quiet threat. "I can smell the residual threads from your little excursion. Sunken Warrens, wasn't it? Clever—but sloppy."
Khan straightened, muscles tensed beneath tan skin, standing at 6'1" with an imposing presence that required attention even without speaking. "I'm cautious enough to survive," he replied evenly. "And strong enough to leave a few opportunities for others." His words carried no boast, just the measured confidence of someone who had faced danger firsthand.
The rival raised an eyebrow. "Opportunities, huh? That's one way to put it. Another is weakness. I've been tracking necromancers in Virellia for years. Most die quickly. Some rise briefly, then fall. You... have potential, but you leave yourself exposed." He gestured to the streets, the faint hum of the marketplace continuing around them. "I'm Eryndric. And I like to know who might interfere with my plans."
Khan's system pulsed faintly in response, alerting him to a minor surge in Eryndric's mana threads. Eryndric had bound his constructs differently—less brute force, more precision and efficiency. There was experience in every movement. Khan studied him for a moment, noting the skeletal constructs' coordination and the restrained but deliberate flow of magic. Eryndric was skilled. Dangerous. And ambitious.
"I don't interfere with anyone," Khan said, letting his voice carry the easy confidence he had cultivated, "unless they make it worth my time." The subtle threat was intentional; he wanted Eryndric to calculate that attacking him would be unwise. Yet he did not underestimate the man—he had learned long ago that the city punished arrogance.
Eryndric's smirk widened. "We'll see, Khan. There's talent in you. Dangerous talent. But remember, in this city, strength and cunning are fleeting. You'll grow, I suppose—if you survive." With that, he turned, his skeletal constructs folding into the shadows, leaving Khan with the echo of his voice and the lingering sense of challenge.
The encounter left Khan restless. For the first time since arriving in Eryndor, he realized he was not alone in his ambitions. Others watched, others measured him, and some would try to surpass him—or destroy him. His tan skin glistened with sweat in the night air, muscles coiled, and his lean frame seemed to radiate the potential that had drawn Eryndric's attention. He flexed his fingers, feeling the threads of his thralls around him, each bound fragment of life now a tool, a shield, and a statement. The rivalry would be dangerous, costly, and instructive. But it was exactly the sort of challenge Khan needed to push beyond the slow growth of solo exploits.
He turned back toward his room, passing through quiet alleyways and dimly lit streets. The Industrial Revenant clanked softly behind him, skeletal thralls following in precise formation. The night carried the hum of the city, the scent of decay, and the faint pulse of arcane energy that whispered opportunity. Khan smiled faintly. Eryndor had more challenges ahead than he could have imagined, but he was ready. He would survive. He would grow. And when the time came, he would be more than just a necromancer who controlled the dead—he would be a force that no rival could ignore.