The Forsaken Path

The Forsaken Catacombs lay beyond the Blightwood, a cursed forest where the trees twisted like grasping hands and the air was thick with the stench of decay.

The closer they got, the more unnatural the silence became. No birds. No insects. Only the sound of their footsteps crunching over brittle, dead leaves.

Liora gripped her staff tightly, her magic thrumming beneath her skin.

"This place is wrong."

Alaric nodded beside her, sword drawn. "Feels like we're walking into a grave."

Liora almost laughed. "We are."

The entrance to the catacombs was hidden beneath the roots of an enormous, dead oak. Time had swallowed the stone archway, moss and vines clinging to its surface like veins. The runes etched into the entrance pulsed faintly, remnants of ancient necromantic energy.

Liora reached out a hand. The moment her fingers brushed the cold stone, a whisper rushed through her mind.

"You return to the depths, child of death."

Her breath hitched.

Alaric must have seen the change in her expression. "Liora? What is it?"

She hesitated. "Something… is waiting inside."

Alaric frowned but said nothing.

They descended.

The catacombs smelled of dust, rot, and old power. Their torches flickered as they stepped into the dark corridors, the stone walls lined with carved sarcophagi. Bones littered the ground, remnants of those who had been laid to rest centuries ago.

But something was wrong.

Liora could feel it. The air was heavy, charged with the same energy she had felt when she first awakened her necromancy.

The whispers grew louder.

"You seek power… but power has a price."

Her pulse quickened.

Then—

A shuffling sound echoed from the darkness ahead.

Alaric's sword flashed as he stepped in front of her. "We're not alone."

From the shadows, they rose.

At first, they looked like corpses, long-decayed and broken. But as they stepped forward, something moved beneath their flesh—dark tendrils, writhing and pulsing like veins filled with shadow instead of blood.

Necrotic thralls.

Liora's breath caught. These weren't normal undead. Something—or someone—had corrupted them.

Alaric cursed. "I don't suppose you can talk your way out of this?"

Liora raised her staff.

"No. But I can fight."

The thralls charged.

Liora unleashed her magic.

A wave of dark energy surged from her fingertips, rattling the bones beneath their feet. She summoned a wall of skeletal arms, their bony fingers clawing at the thralls as they lunged.

Alaric moved like a storm, his blade flashing as he cut through one of the creatures. But the moment his sword connected, the shadowy veins inside the thrall pulsed—and the flesh reformed.

Alaric cursed. "They're regenerating!"

Liora's mind raced. Regular attacks wouldn't work.

Which meant she needed to try something else.

She focused, reaching deep into her power—into the new skill she had been too afraid to use.

Flesh Binding.

She extended her hand, and the dark energy twisted.

The thrall in front of her froze—its body jerked as if strings had been attached to its limbs. Liora could feel it. The decayed flesh. The cursed veins. The thing that controlled it.

With a snarl, she ripped her fingers apart.

The thrall collapsed, its body severed from the magic keeping it alive.

The other thralls hesitated.

Alaric didn't waste the opening. His sword flashed, cutting down two more while Liora reached for another, her magic binding and severing its cursed flesh.

Within moments, the chamber was silent again.

Liora's chest rose and fell rapidly.

Alaric exhaled. "That was… different."

Liora flexed her fingers. "It worked."

But the power felt too easy. Like a door had been opened inside her. And something on the other side was watching.

Alaric nudged one of the fallen thralls with his boot. "If those things were guarding this place… what exactly are we walking into?"

Liora turned toward the darkness ahead.

"We're about to find out."