The Dark Awakening

Liora stumbled back, the chill of terror still clinging to her skin. Her heart raced, thudding violently in her chest. The skeletal figures knelt before her, their silent eyes fixed on her every movement. She swallowed hard, her breath catching in her throat as she slowly, hesitantly, took a step back.

"What… what is this?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the distant howling of the wind. Her gaze flickered to the glowing crimson rune on her hand. It pulsed softly, like a heartbeat, as if alive in its own right.

The undead warriors didn't move. They remained kneeling, their skeletal bodies rigid, awaiting her command.

She raised her hand instinctively. "Rise," she muttered, still unsure if she was speaking aloud or merely thinking it.

The ground shuddered again. The air thickened. And with a sickening crack, another figure crawled out of the earth, its body stitched together with decaying flesh and bone. But this one was different—a larger skeleton, covered in remnants of rusted armor. Its eyes glowed with an eerie light, and it slowly rose to its feet, towering over the others.

Liora recoiled, her stomach churning at the grotesque sight. But even as she shrank back, she couldn't stop herself from issuing another command. The power was so strong, so overwhelming, that it felt as though it was not hers to control at all.

"Protect me."

The skeletal warriors rose in unison, their movements stiff and slow but undeniably precise. The air seemed to hum with the magic that surrounded her—necromantic energy radiating from her like a storm, pulling at the very fabric of the earth.

Her hands shook uncontrollably, and the rune on her palm burned hotter with every second. The undead soldiers stood tall, a silent army, awaiting her next move.

"No… I don't want this," Liora breathed, the words escaping in a mix of fear and awe. She wanted to break free from the pull of this power, but it was like a thread that tied her to the very core of this darkness. She felt… connected, more deeply than she'd ever felt before. As if the very essence of death itself was now embedded in her soul.

In the distance, the eerie glow of red eyes still watched from the shadows. The presence was unnerving—unfathomable. It was like a whisper in her mind, beckoning her toward something she couldn't understand. Something far darker than anything she had ever imagined.

Her heart hammered against her ribs. "Leave." She said the words softly, hoping that her command might dispel the horrors she had unknowingly unleashed.

But nothing happened.

The undead warriors remained where they stood, frozen in place, unyielding. Liora clenched her fists. Her breath caught. Why wouldn't they obey?

And then—the ground trembled again. This time, it wasn't just the earth. It was the very air around her, a heavy pressure that made the hair on the back of her neck rise. Her senses flared, and she turned sharply, the pulse of the rune in her hand quickening as she felt a presence behind her.

Slowly, she turned.

From the shadows of the trees, a figure emerged.

A man, tall and shrouded in a flowing black cloak, his face hidden beneath a hood. His presence was suffocating—powerful, ancient. His eyes gleamed a soft amber under the hood, burning with an unsettling intensity.

"You have awakened, Necromancer," his voice was deep and resonant, like the rumbling of distant thunder. "A power not meant for mortal hands. But one that calls to you, nonetheless."

Liora stepped back instinctively. "Who are you?" Her voice cracked. "What do you want from me?"

The figure's lips twisted into a faint, knowing smile, but his eyes remained cold and calculating. "I am merely an observer… for now. But your awakening changes everything."

"Awakening?" Liora repeated, still in disbelief. "I didn't ask for this. I didn't want any of this!"

The man's gaze softened, but only for a moment. "And yet, here you are." His hand reached out slowly, and a strange energy pulsed from his fingers, like a ripple through the air. A dark mist swirled around him, thick and suffocating.

Liora's knees buckled, but she remained standing, gritting her teeth. "What do you want from me?" she repeated, this time with more strength, though her heart was still in turmoil.

The cloaked figure stepped closer. "You, Liora, are a Necromancer. One who can command death itself. The dead will follow you, but they will also test you. If you are not careful, this power will consume you. It will consume everything."

Liora's eyes widened. "No. I don't believe you. I'm not like them…" She gestured to the skeletal army she had unknowingly created. "I don't want to be like this."

The figure tilted his head, studying her for a long moment before replying. "You do not get to choose your path, Liora. Not anymore."

Liora's breath quickened, the weight of his words settling over her. Her heart screamed in protest, but her hands—no longer under her full control—lifted of their own accord. The ground shook beneath her once more as the undead warriors began to move, their hollow eyes turning toward the figure.

The man stepped back, and for a brief moment, fear crossed his features. But only for a moment.

"You will see," he whispered. "You will see what lies ahead."

Before she could respond, the figure disappeared into the mist, leaving only a cold, empty space in his wake. The undead warriors stood motionless again, the silence deafening. The pulse of the rune on her hand faded, but the weight of what had just transpired lingered.

Liora stood in the clearing, staring at the skeletal army before her. She could feel the pull of the dark magic thrumming through her veins. It was hers.

She was no longer powerless.

And the power she had unlocked—Necromancy—was not a gift. It was a curse.

But a curse she could not escape.