The Hidden War in Veyleigh

The silence in the crypt felt heavier now, as if the air itself had thickened. Arlan could still feel the aftershocks of the battle—the dust settling, the lingering pulse of necrotic energy from the knight's corpse. Bones stood near the shattered remains of Sir Rockwall, his fur bristling slightly, his glowing green eyes scanning the dark corners of the chamber.

Something wasn't right.

This wasn't a normal undead awakening.

Arlan exhaled, trying to steady his pulse. Then, he turned to Shade. "What do you feel?"

Shade's hollow eyes flickered as he slowly scanned the chamber. "Wrong… altered. Not natural." His wispy form rippled. "Controlled."

That word sent a chill through Arlan's spine. Controlled undead meant someone had done this on purpose.

His grip tightened on his wand.

Then—he saw them.

The Vision: Three Cloaked Figures

As Arlan instinctively reached out with his magic, trying to understand the source of this corruption, a wave of necrotic energy surged through him. His surroundings blurred, twisting into something else entirely.

The chamber changed.

The dust and ruins faded, replaced by a scene from the past or maybe the recent present. He wasn't sure.

Dark figures stood in a circle, whispering in a language he couldn't fully understand.

Three cloaked necromancers.

Their faces were obscured by deep hoods, but their hands were stretched out, glowing with eerie, flickering light.

They weren't raising the dead randomly. They were commanding them.

One of them, taller than the others, stepped forward, holding a small, pulsing bone relic in his palm. The energy from it spread through the runes carved into the walls.

Arlan's stomach twisted as he recognized the pattern. This wasn't some simple necromantic spell. This was military-level necromancy. Large-scale resurrection magic.

This was how Duskhaven fell.

And they were preparing to do it again.

"Veyleigh will fall. Just like the rest."

The whisper slithered through his mind, deep and resonant, as if the figure was speaking directly to him.

His breath hitched.

One of the necromancers turned—toward him.

Their face was still hidden, but Arlan felt the weight of their gaze. He wasn't just seeing them.

They knew he was watching.

The necromancer's lips curled into the faintest of smirks.

Then—the vision shattered.

Back to Reality

Arlan staggered back, gasping as cold sweat ran down his back. His hands clenched into fists, his pulse hammering in his ears.

The crypt was silent again, but it felt wrong now. Tainted.

Bones tilted his head, watching him. "Master?"

Arlan swallowed, trying to steady himself. "That wasn't just a normal dungeon. This was a setup. Someone's controlling the undead here."

Shade hissed softly. "Master saw something?"

Arlan exhaled sharply, nodding. "Yeah. Three of them. Three necromancers. They're not done yet—this is just the beginning."

Bones' fur bristled. "Hunt?"

Arlan clenched his jaw. Every instinct screamed at him to leave, to run, to stay out of whatever this was.

He was alone. No backup. No guild. No allies.

If he stepped into this, he wouldn't just be an adventurer trying to survive anymore.

But—

He couldn't let another Duskhaven happen.

His hands flexed.

He turned toward the rest of the ruined chamber, eyes scanning for any clues.

The Search Begins – Finding the Next Crypt

Arlan moved deeper into the crypt, carefully searching through the remnants of old bookshelves, broken chests, and the scattered remains of adventurers long forgotten. He needed something—anything—to point him toward where the next attack might happen.

Then, tucked beneath the Deathknights throne he found it.

A parchment.

It was burned at the edges, but still mostly intact.

He pulled it free, dusting it off, his eyes scanning the text. It was a map, hastily scrawled, showing the surrounding region of Veyleigh.

Three locations were marked:

The Weeping Catacombs – A forgotten burial site near the coastline.

The Old Chapel Ruins – A temple that had been abandoned for years.

The Sunken Mausoleum – A crypt hidden beneath the city itself.

Arlan's fingers tightened around the parchment.

This was a plan. A coordinated effort.

And if the necromancers weren't stopped, Veyleigh wouldn't just fall.

It would burn.

Arlan stuffed the map into his satchel, mind racing. He needed a plan.

He turned to Bones and Shade.

"We're going hunting."

Bones cracked his knuckles, grinning. "Fun."

Shade flickered. "Dangerous."

Arlan's eyes burned with determination.

"Yeah. But we're not running this time."

This time, they were fighting back.