I never believed in fate.
At least, not until the day I found the tome.
The university's forbidden wing had long been sealed, its doors bound with arcane runes and warnings carved in bone. No one dared enter—not even the most daring of scholars or the most foolish of students. But curiosity is a fire that burns hotter than caution, and I had always been... different.
Books were my sanctuary. The ink on parchment, the quiet weight of knowledge—they gave me purpose. But even I wasn't prepared for what waited behind that ancient door.
The moment I crossed the threshold, the air grew heavy. Dust shimmered in the half-light like disturbed ash. My heart thudded like war drums as my eyes adjusted to the gloom. Shelves leaned at awkward angles, their contents long forgotten by time. But in the center of the room, resting atop a pedestal carved from blackened stone, was it.
The tome was bound in dark leather, its surface pulsing faintly with crimson veins that throbbed like a heartbeat. My hand hovered above it, trembling. Every instinct screamed at me to run. But I didn't. I couldn't.
The instant my fingers touched its surface, the room vanished.
Flames. Shadows. Whispers in a tongue I had never heard but somehow understood. My mind fractured, rebuilt, and burned again in a loop of infinite revelation. The tome spoke not in words, but in truths. Secrets buried beneath layers of mortal ignorance. I saw empires rise and crumble at the feet of men like me—men who once dared to wield death itself.
When I returned to myself, I was kneeling, gasping, the tome still beneath my hands.
And I was no longer the same.
I stretched my fingers, and the shadows bent toward me like loyal hounds. With a thought, I summoned a skeletal raven, its hollow eyes glimmering with green fire. No incantations. No struggle. Just pure, effortless command.
Necromancy.
The word echoed in my chest like thunder. I had heard of it only in hushed rumors, often followed by tales of madness and exile. But this… this felt right. Natural.
I wasn't frightened.
I was alive.
And for the first time in my life, I knew exactly who I was meant to be.
---
The raven circled overhead once, then perched on my shoulder, as if it had always belonged there. I could feel it—not just see it—the weave of bone and magic that held it together, the flicker of undeath that sustained it. It wasn't just a spell.
It was mine.
I stood, my legs shaky but my core thrumming with something ancient and immense. Power like this shouldn't have come easily. It shouldn't have come at all. And yet, the tome had opened its secrets to me like a long-lost lover.
I took it in my hands—lighter than it should have been—and turned to leave the chamber.
But the door that had once let me in had vanished.
In its place was only darkness. Moving, living darkness.
The raven cawed, its voice rasping through the dead air.
I raised a hand. The shadows froze, recoiled. A silent command passed between us, and the path cleared, unveiling a staircase I was certain hadn't existed before.
The tome had changed more than me—it was rewriting the world around me. I descended the steps, every footfall echoing like a drumbeat through time. My thoughts buzzed with fragments of incantations, glyphs forming behind my eyes without effort. Names of spirits long banished whispered themselves into my mind like old friends.
And then the voice came.
> "You are the one."
I stopped. My pulse skipped.
> "After so many centuries… you heard the call."
It wasn't a voice in the air—it was in me. The tome. It was… aware.
> "Do not fear what you are, Aric. You are not stealing power. You are reclaiming what was lost."
"How do you know my name?" I asked aloud, my voice dry and cracking.
> "Because I have always known it. You were born of the blood. This was always your path."
A chill ran down my spine—but not from fear. It was recognition. Something buried in my blood, in my soul, had been awakened.
The staircase opened into a chamber unlike the one above. At its center stood a massive obsidian mirror, and as I approached, I saw not my reflection—but a version of me cloaked in midnight robes, a crown of bone resting on my brow, legions of undead behind me. Cities bowed. The sky bled stars.
This was no prophecy.
It was a memory. A promise.
And I understood, then, what the tome had meant.
I was not meant to learn necromancy.
I was born to rule it.
--
I couldn't tear my eyes away from the image in the mirror. It pulsed with raw possibility—visions of a world I had yet to shape, but already belonged to me. The longer I stared, the more real it became. My reflection smirked, confident. Unyielding. Regal.
Was that truly me?
Yes.
The raven flapped its wings and let out a sharp screech that shattered the illusion. The mirror cracked down the middle. Light exploded from the fracture—blinding, brilliant, divine—and when it faded, I was alone in the chamber once more.
But the mirror had left something behind.
A ring. Black as midnight, etched with runes that glowed faintly in my presence.
I didn't hesitate. I slid it onto my finger.
The surge that followed nearly dropped me to my knees.
Thousands of whispers poured into my mind—spells, languages, the names of the dead and forgotten. My soul expanded to contain it all. My bones thrummed with the pulse of another realm.
I was still Aric. But more.
The torches lining the walls flared to life, flames turning an unnatural green. The chamber rumbled, and the floor beneath me shifted. The entire room was rising, like a platform being lifted by unseen hands.
When I emerged back into the main corridor of the university, dawn had broken.
But it wasn't the same dawn I had left behind.
Birdsong had vanished. The air smelled of ash and damp soil. Students passed me in the hall, their expressions glazed over, unaware of the subtle shift that had just occurred.
None of them noticed the tome clutched at my side, or the raven watching them with hollow eyes. None saw the shadows peel away from the corners of the corridor and coil lovingly at my feet.
But they would.
Soon.
I walked past the library gates and into the world beyond, each step echoing with purpose. I felt the eyes of fate watching. Judging.
I smiled.
Let them watch.
The age of the necromancer had begun.
And I would make sure it never ended.
---
Ready to dive into Chapter 2: The Weight of Power? It's going to get intense—Aric starts flexing his powers and realizes power isn't just about dominance… it's about consequence