The Hollow Throne

End of Arc 1: The Path of the Necromancer

The moonlight cut through the forest in thin, pale shafts, streaking the glade with broken silver. The mist clung heavily to the ground, twisting around the ashen remains of the revenant and the fractured stones that once marked a village long forgotten.

But the night was no longer still.

The forest burned with unnatural power.

Tendrils of violet flame flickered faintly along the broken edges of the ruins, staining the stones with a spectral hue. The power hummed faintly in the air—a distant, reverberating pulse of necromantic essence still lingering from Liora's magic.

And at the heart of it stood Alaric and Liora.

Her hand still clung faintly to his. Her fingers were unsteady, trembling faintly against his palm, but he didn't let go. His grip was firm. Grounding.

But her magic wasn't finished.

The forest trembled faintly beneath their feet. The faint hum of souls stirring pulsed softly through the air—just a whisper. A tremor.

But it was enough.

Alaric's eyes narrowed sharply, and his grip on Liora's hand tightened slightly. He pulled her back a step, his other hand drifting to the hilt of his sword, but before he could draw it—

The ground split open.

A jagged pillar of black stone burst from the earth, scattering the ash and broken soil. Cracks spiderwebbed across the ground, and violet fire licked hungrily at the edges of the fissures, spreading like veins through the stone.

Liora stumbled back, her breath catching sharply in her throat. The sudden surge of power coiled around her limbs, a heavy, magnetic pull, and she staggered slightly beneath the weight of it.

But before she could regain her footing, the pillar shifted.

Slowly, deliberately, the jagged stone split apart, its edges folding outward like petals of a withered flower. Chains slithered through the opening—long, jagged lengths of rusted iron, gleaming faintly with the residue of old magic. They slithered outward, coiling through the mist, dragging with them the remnants of shattered bone and soul-infused iron.

And in the center of the ruin, seated upon a cracked and broken throne, was the Bone Warden.

But he was no longer a mere revenant.

His form was twisted, hunched forward beneath the jagged mass of corrupted iron plating that clung to his skeletal frame. Bone and steel were fused together in jagged, grotesque layers—his ribcage melded with black iron, his limbs bound by layers of ancient chain.

The helm upon his head had split apart, jagged edges forming a crown-like shape of broken metal. His eyes gleamed with blazing violet fire, the same spectral flame that burned in Liora's veins.

But he was no longer bound by her will.

The iron chains that should have bound him to her command were instead wound around the throne, locking him in place. His hollow gaze lifted slowly, and he turned toward her, the metal links rattling faintly with his every motion.

His voice was no longer a whisper.

It was iron scraping over stone, a raw, guttural rasp reverberating with soul-deep malice.

"You… called me," he snarled.

Liora's breath caught sharply in her throat.

Her legs refused to move. She could feel the sharp sting of her pulse in her veins, the heavy thrum of necromantic magic pulsing faintly beneath her skin. The power she had claimed—the soul fragments she had taken—they were still connected to him.

Her throat tightened sharply.

"You should be gone," she whispered hoarsely, her voice barely above a breath. Her hands were trembling faintly.

But the Bone Warden only smiled.

His skeletal jaw creaked faintly as it parted, and he let out a low, guttural snarl of mock laughter.

"Foolish child," he rasped. His voice was hollow—raw with venom. Ancient. Broken.

"You did not let me go."

He slowly lifted one chained hand, the iron links straining violently as he moved. The jagged plating creaked faintly against the broken stone as he stretched the chains taut, pulling them violently against the ruined throne.

The iron groaned. Splintered. Cracked.

"You chained me to your soul," he spat, his eyes gleaming with cruel mirth. His voice was thick with contempt. "And so long as you draw breath…"

The violet flame in his eyes blazed violently, and his voice dropped to a guttural hiss.

"…I shall never fade."

Alaric's sword flashed.

Without hesitation, he closed the distance, his blade singing through the air as he lunged. His movements were quick, fluid—a blur of steel and speed.

But the chains surged forward, lashing through the mist like whips.

Alaric barely twisted aside in time, the jagged iron links slicing through the air with a sickening shriek. Splinters of stone erupted from the earth where they struck.

"Move!" he barked sharply. His eyes flicked toward Liora, but she didn't move.

She couldn't.

The Bone Warden's voice echoed through her mind, reverberating through her veins, his presence still bound to her soul. The weight of his corrupted essence clung to her limbs, holding her frozen in place.

And she knew, in that moment, that she couldn't sever him.

He was part of her now.

"Get back!" Alaric shouted.

He leapt forward, his blade flashing in the moonlight, and slashed through the chains. The links shattered violently, splinters of iron spraying through the mist. The Warden reeled back, the broken links snapping taut, but his chains reformed almost instantly—coiling back together with jagged, necromantic fire.

Alaric's eyes widened slightly.

It's reforming.

His boots slid sharply against the stone, but he didn't hesitate. He shifted his stance, reversing his grip on the sword. He moved quickly—mercilessly, his blade flashing with fluid precision as he drove the point into the Warden's chest.

The bone and iron splintered violently, the jagged plating cracking apart, and for a brief moment, the chains shuddered and stilled.

But then the Bone Warden smiled.

And his skeletal hand clamped down over Alaric's wrist.

"Alaric!"

Liora's voice tore from her throat, raw with fear, but her feet were still frozen. Her vision blurred slightly, but she forced herself to move, forcing her trembling limbs to take a step forward.

The Warden's iron grip tightened, and Alaric's face twisted faintly in pain. The chains lashed upward, coiling around his chest and arm.

But before they could tighten—before the iron links could crush him—

The ground erupted.

Violet flame exploded upward from the broken earth, surging violently from the cracks. The jagged chains shattered under the sudden surge of magic. The Warden snarled violently, his grip splintering.

And Alaric ripped free, his blade glinting in the firelight as he drove it deep into the Warden's chest.

The Bone Warden reeled, his voice a guttural snarl of pain. His chains slithered violently, reforming in mid-air, but before they could strike again—

Liora's hand snapped outward.

The spectral fire ignited violently, her voice reverberating with raw, commanding power.

"Exuro."

The flame devoured him.

The chains snapped violently as the Warden was engulfed, his skeletal form crumbling into ashes, the remnants of his broken crown falling into the dirt.

And this time—he did not return.

Resolution:

As the flames faded, Liora staggered backward, her breathing ragged and unsteady.

Her eyes flicked to Alaric, who pressed a hand faintly to his ribs, his face pale but steady.

And in the distance, as the ashes of the Bone Warden scattered, the faint whisper of chains was finally silenced.

But far beyond the glade, in the depths of the ruins, a faint violet spark still lingered—smoldering softly in the dark.

And somewhere far away, another soul stirred.

The Necromancer's path had only just begun.