Awakening of Darkness

The village of Eldral stood at the edge of a vast forest, its wooden cottages basking in the soft, golden glow of the evening sun. The warm hues painted the cobblestone streets in shades of amber as children chased one another with wooden swords, pretending to be adventurers slaying imaginary beasts. Liora watched them from a distance, leaning against the weathered fence that bordered the village square.

She tugged the edge of her cloak tighter around her shoulders, hoping to ward off the chill that had nothing to do with the cool breeze.

Today was her eighteenth birthday. The day she had been dreading for years.

The village bell rang faintly, signaling the return of another hunting party. A group of young men and women strolled into the square, laughing as they displayed their spoils. Their faces beamed with pride as bright, glowing runes hovered over their shoulders, marking their recently acquired Classes.

—Level 15 Ranger—

—Level 18 Fire Mage—

—Level 20 Windblade—

The titles were symbols of power, status, and belonging. Proof that they were leveling up.

Liora clenched her fists. She had nothing. No title. No Class. She was Classless, a rarity so shameful that even children half her age had surpassed her. She felt their eyes on her, the unspoken pity mixed with disdain. "She's already eighteen and still doesn't have a Class." The whispers were nearly as loud as the ringing in her ears.

She turned away, swallowing the knot in her throat.

The sun was dipping below the horizon by the time Liora returned to the edge of the forest. She sat on her usual spot—a fallen oak log splintered from age. This place was her sanctuary, where she could escape the prying eyes of the villagers.

She stared at her reflection in the small pond nearby. Her long, dark hair fell in uneven waves over her shoulders, and her eyes—once bright and hopeful—were tired. Faint freckles still dotted her cheeks, remnants of a childhood she barely remembered.

She was supposed to feel something today. A surge of magic. A tingle of energy. Some sign of awakening. But there was only silence.

With a sigh, she grabbed a small, worn stone from her pocket—a keepsake from her father. She skimmed it across the pond's surface. One bounce. Two. Three. It sank with barely a ripple.

"Pathetic," she muttered.

A strange gust of wind stirred the air. The pond's surface rippled violently, distorting her reflection. The ground beneath her trembled faintly.

She blinked.

A voice—low and guttural—whispered through the trees.

"Liora…"

Her breath caught in her throat. She glanced around, but the forest was empty.

The wind howled louder. Her ears filled with a piercing ringing, and her surroundings twisted. The vibrant forest colors drained into shades of black and gray. The trees appeared withered, the sky fractured, and the grass beneath her feet turned to ash.

Liora stumbled backward. "What is happening—?"

Then, she saw it.

A crimson rune appeared on the back of her hand, burning like molten steel. She clutched her wrist, gasping as the mark flared with power, its edges jagged and pulsing.

"No, no, no!" she whimpered, trying to scrub it away, but it remained seared into her skin. The rune glowed brighter and the earth split open before her feet.

From the crack in the ground, a hand—skeletal and clawed—emerged, grasping the dirt with bony fingers. Its hollow sockets turned toward her. A corpse pulled itself free from the earth, its jaw slack with the remnants of a ghastly scream.

Liora's heart slammed against her ribs.

"Stay back!" she cried, but her voice was swallowed by the howling wind.

Another skeletal figure crawled out of the ground, then another. Rotten flesh clung to the bones, their limbs twisted at unnatural angles. They moved with eerie precision, responding to some invisible command.

Her command.

No… this isn't real… this can't be real!

Her pulse quickened, but with every beat of her heart, the rune on her hand pulsed, feeding the undead. Her breathing grew shallow as the skeletal figures formed a circle around her, their eyeless sockets unyielding.

A cold, inhuman voice slithered into her mind.

"Awaken."

The rune blazed, and Liora's vision blurred. Her hands lifted against her will, fingers outstretched. Without thinking, she spoke the words that materialized in her mind.

"Rise."

The ground shuddered violently, and dozens of corpses erupted from the soil. Spectral figures materialized, their bodies shrouded in ethereal blue flames. Skeletal warriors knelt before her, their empty sockets hollow and reverent. The dead bowed to her command.

Her knees buckled, and she collapsed, trembling.

The spectral warriors remained unmoving, their hollow eyes watching her. Loyal. Waiting.

Her breath came in shallow gasps, her hands still trembling from the raw surge of power. The rune on her hand slowly dimmed, but it left a permanent black mark, burned into her skin—a reminder that she was no longer the same.

The world shifted back to color. The wind stilled. The forest returned to normal.

But Liora was forever changed.

She slowly rose to her feet, her chest heaving. Her eyes lingered on the undead warriors before her. They did not vanish. They remained. Waiting for her command.

Terror churned in her gut. Yet, deep within her, curiosity flickered—dark and insidious.

For the first time in her life, she felt powerful.