Kaelen stepped cautiously into the antechamber, his breath caught somewhere between awe and dread. The room was a sanctum of forbidden knowledge , stone walls slick with age, etched in pulsing violet glyphs that crawled like veins across the surface. Heavy tomes lay open on bone-crafted pedestals, their pages yellowed and curling, ink still glistening like freshly drawn blood. Strange herbs, long since dried, dangled from the ceiling in brittle bunches, their scent thick and heady—an alchemical blend of decay, desire, and death.
But all of it paled in comparison to her.
She stood by the stone desk, half-shrouded in flickering candlelight. The necromancer.
She was... otherworldly. A haunting silhouette draped in flowing black silk, slit high along her thighs and cinched at the waist with silver cords. Flowing shadow stitched with silver thread, yet cut to reveal. Her hourglass figure was on full display, the garment sliding off one shoulder to expose a curve of collarbone kissed by tattooed runes. Slits down the sides of her legs revealed shapely thighs, Intricate tattoos coiled along the exposed length of her thigh and over the swell of her bosom, vanishing beneath the sheer folds of her robe. The sheer fabric only hinting at what lay beneath. A delicate chain draped her hips, swaying softly as she turned to face the passage fully.
Her skin was pale as moonlight, yet flushed with the pulse of power. Her hair spilled over her shoulders in midnight waves, a cascade of raven-black waves, loose and unbothered, framing a face that looked carved from moonlight. And her eyes. Kaelen met them for the first time and felt the bottom fall out of his soul.
They were amethyst, yes he had seen them earlier when she looked his direction. They weren't focused on him, but now they looked back, focused fully on him. But beneath that glow… something darker stirred.
Shadows coiled, watching, whispering. Eyes within eyes. Endless, hungry, ancient eyes as dark as the abyss itself.
"You… how did you get in here?" she asked, voice low and melodic, with just a tremor of unease buried beneath its practiced control.
Kaelen couldn't speak. He swallowed hard, and only nodded. The pressure her eyes exerted on him made him feel inferior.
"And the others... I heard them. Are you all free?" Her gaze analyzing him and taken into account if he was a threat or not, her tone tightening. "Are you ready to say where you got the forsaken parchment?"
'i keep forgetting it's a game' Kaelen thought, 'since it's a game then there's a storyline, and seems like we came across this parchment'
"I....I....." he started, voice catching.
But then the passage behind him shifted. A whisper of fabric, the clink of silver buckles. The emigmatic cloaked figure who didn't introduce himself stepped out.
He pulled back his hooded cloak with a practiced sweep, revealing a sharply handsome face: angular jaw, high cheekbones, lips perpetually curled in a smirk. His skin was sun-kissed, a rarity among scholars, and his black hair had been styled meticulously, short at the sides, swept back at the crown, with a single silver bead woven into a lock near his temple. His robes were tattered from travel, but beneath them shimmered fine silk and arcane embroidery stitched in gold thread. Rings adorned three of his fingers, each humming faintly with enchantment.
"L..Lyra" Kaelen called
His eyes deep emerald flicked over Kaelen, dismissive, before locking onto the necromancer. And stayed there.
A spark lit behind his expression, admiration and calculation.
He moved like a cat in a noble court, eyes gleaming as they swept the room. He was visibly impressed, but it was the necromancer that truly arrested his attention. His smile sharpened as he took in her appearance the sway of her hips, the pale curve of her exposed side, the confidence in her stance.
Where Kaelen was quiet, cautious, Lyra was like a flame in a library unapologetically loud and crafted to draw the eye.
"My dear lady," he began, his voice suddenly smooth, seductive. "What an exquisite sanctuary you've built for yourself. It's rare to stumble upon such refinement in a place this... desolate." walking with theatrical grace, towards her "We thought ourselves lost… and instead, we find ourselves in the presence of mystery incarnate."
He ignored Kaelen entirely, stepping closer.
"I am Lyra," he said, bowing flamboyantly. "Advanced division. Scholar, charmer, connoisseur of rare beauty" pausing as though waiting for a response "especially the magical kind." He winked. "And you, my dear, are a masterpiece."
He stepped closer, boots clicking softly on stone. "May I say, your choice of décor, while grim is quite charming. Shadows that respond to presence, a warding glyph on the floor that's at least a thousand years old, and… that robe. Exquisite craftsmanship." His gaze lingered far too long. "Very form-fitting. No doubt designed to enhance ritual efficacy."
Kaelen winced.
Lyra didn't notice.
The necromancer didn't move. Didn't blink. Her expression was unreadable.
Lyra continued, undeterred.
"I must ask," Lyra continued, flashing a smile that didn't reach his eyes, "what's a woman of your beauty and intellect doing in a place like this? Alone? Unless… you're not alone." His smile widened. "Do the shadows keep you company?"
The necromancer's expression didn't shift. But her fingers curled ever so slightly near her hip, just above a pouch of bone-dust.
"If you are attempting to win my affections, young man," the necromancer stated, her voice surprisingly steady, "you are a hundred years too early." Her brow furrowed, and she turned back to Kaelen, completely ignoring Lyra, her gaze expectant.
Choosing to disregard Lyra's attempt to woo the necromancer, Kaelen slowly crouched, reaching for the parchment which fell from the book the necromancer was holding and landed close to his feet.The symbols on it seemed to writhe under his gaze, like they were alive, whispering things just beyond the edge of reason. As he touched it, the ink flared.
His tattoos ignited, five glowing brands flaring under his skin like fevered lightning.
MAJOR CLUE FOUND
A sudden golden glow lit the room as he touched the parchment. The interface shimmered into view. Words scrawled themselves in the upper corner of Kaelen's vision. He gasped, stumbling back.
Lyra turned, expression twisting from smug confidence to raw fury. "What.....what did you touch? You fucking dimwit!"
His voice cracked, no longer charming. Rushing to kaelens side.
The necromancer's eye lit up with hope as this was the first time since she got the parchment that something has happened.
"You're kidding me. Him? This stumble-footed scarecrow piques your interest?"
He spun toward the necromancer again, but she only had eyes for her confusing riddle, and for some reason, Kaelen's mere presence and accidental discovery of a clue. A dark cloud descended over Lyra's expression. The playful glint in his eyes was replaced by something cold, predatory. His gaze lingered on the necromancer's delicate features, a dangerous gleam entering his eyes. The fragile control he usually maintained, especially when dealing with those he deemed beneath him, completely shattered.
And then he snapped.
"You dare ignore me?" he growled, voice suddenly stripped of pretense. "I'm offering you something, and you choose him?" His lip curled, fury overtaking charm. "You scripted bitch. You were made to be wanted, a decoration and nothing more."
With a flick of his wrist, a dagger appeared. Thin, cruel, gleaming.
He lunged.
The necromancer turned too late to stop him,she gasped, for real this time, just a breath, just a slip.
Then came the crack.
A skeletal hand erupted from the floor beside her with a burst of bone-dust and power. Gnarled fingers locked around Lyra's wrist mid-swing.
He screamed.
Her eyes ignited deep violet, flaring with something beneath them. Shadows spiraled around her feet, rising in coils like smoke given hunger. She spoke a single word in a tongue Kaelen could not comprehend.
"Tharnakel"
Lyra flew.
His body slammed against the stone wall with a sound that made Kaelen flinch. A black mark burned onto his forehead, then vanished.
His third death.
Gone.
The necromancer stood perfectly still. Her chest rose and fell with practiced calm. But Kaelen saw the subtle twitch in her fingers, the slow blink that betrayed surprise.
She hadn't meant to kill him.
Not completely.
And she had.
The temperature in the room dropped like a guillotine. Shadows began pooling not just around her, but everywhere. From the corners, the cracks in the stone, even beneath Kaelen's boots.
Two pinpricks of red appeared in the gloom. no, these were not pinpricks, they were eyes.
Watching. Approaching. Judging.
They grew larger, brighter. A shape began to coalesce behind the necromancer—tall, towering, vaguely humanoid, but wrong. Its limbs were too long, its fingers tapering into claws of mist and hate.
A servant of death.
Sent to collect what should have stayed gone.
Lyra's muffled scream was barely heard before the shadows surged. One moment, he was there, gasping. The next, he was nothing.
Gone.
The silence afterward was absolute.
Kaelen's breath rattled in his lungs. He was shaking, frozen, every nerve alight with panic.
The necromancer turned to him, slowly, regally, her eyes dimming but still burning with power. Her voice, when she spoke, was soft, but sharp as a dagger's kiss.
"You still breathe. That's rare in this room."
Kaelen swallowed hard. His tongue felt thick, his mouth dry.
"I... I-I'm not… I didn't mean to—" He took a deep breath, his voice cracking. "I-I'm just… I'm only looking for… for a way out."
A pause.
Her lips curved into a smile, not kind, but amused.
"Are you?" she asked, stepping closer, the silver chain on her hips chiming faintly. "That would make 2 of us, but why does your soul glow like someone who's already stepped too far in?"