Whispers of the Forgotten

The catacombs stretched endlessly before them, an intricate labyrinth of corridors and burial chambers, carved deep beneath the Blightwood. The air was thick with dust and decay, each breath tasting of the past.

Liora wiped a gloved hand across her brow. Though the underground was cold, her skin burned from the exertion of the battle. The weight of her necromantic power still lingered in her veins—an unsettling reminder of how effortlessly she had bent the undead to her will.

Alaric ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, his sword still held firm. "We need to keep moving. If those things were just sentries, then whatever's ahead is worse."

Liora nodded, but her attention was drawn elsewhere—to the walls. Etchings covered every surface, carved so deeply into the stone that time had failed to erode them. The symbols were ancient, curling like vines, each one pulsating with a faint blue glow.

She reached out, tracing a finger over the markings. The moment she touched them, a voice shuddered through her mind.

"You seek the truth… but truth is burden."

Liora recoiled.

Alaric stepped forward. "What is it?"

She shook her head, steadying herself. "The walls—they're enchanted. Someone left a message here, but… it's old. Very old."

She turned back to the script, focusing her necromantic energy. The runes flickered, and the whispers grew clearer.

"Beware the Forgotten One."

A chill ran down her spine.

Alaric must have sensed the shift in her expression. "That doesn't sound good."

Liora exhaled, lowering her hand. "No. No, it doesn't."

As they ventured deeper, the passage widened into a grand chamber. Unlike the rest of the catacombs, this room had not fallen to ruin. It stood intact, its vaulted ceiling supported by towering obsidian pillars. The floor was inlaid with black marble, smooth and polished, reflecting the dim glow of the torches.

But at the heart of the chamber stood something far more ominous—

A throne of bones.

It was massive, rising at least ten feet high, crafted from the remains of warriors long forgotten. Skulls adorned the armrests, their empty sockets staring into the void. Dark veins of corrupted magic pulsed through the skeletal structure, humming with a power that felt alive.

And seated upon it…

A corpse.

At least, that's what Liora thought at first. But as they stepped closer, the figure twitched.

Alaric tensed. "Liora."

She lifted a hand, cautioning him to stay still.

The figure's sunken eyes snapped open.

A voice, rasping and ancient, filled the chamber.

"Who disturbs my slumber?"

Liora steadied herself. She had felt this power before—not in form, but in presence. It was the same force that had whispered to her in the darkness.

This wasn't just any undead. This was something older. Something wiser.

She tightened her grip on her staff. "I am Liora. Who are you?"

The figure shifted, bones creaking as it moved. Despite the decay, the remnants of royalty still clung to its form. Tattered robes, once opulent, draped over its skeletal frame. A rusted crown, half-broken, rested upon its brow.

It was no ordinary undead.

It was a king.

"Names are dust. Titles fade. But once, I was Velkar—the First Necromancer, and the last of the Hollow Kings."

Alaric muttered a curse under his breath. "Great. A dead king. This just keeps getting better."

Liora ignored him. Her heart was pounding, her mind racing. Velkar. She had read the name in old texts, whispered in fear by scholars who had studied the forbidden arts.

Velkar had ruled over an empire of necromancers centuries ago—an empire that had vanished overnight. No one knew what had happened. Some said the gods had wiped them out. Others claimed the necromancers had turned on each other, consuming their own souls for power.

And now, their king sat before her.

"You wield the power of death," Velkar rasped, his gaze piercing through her. "But you do not yet understand it."

Liora straightened. "I understand more than most."

Velkar chuckled, a hollow sound that echoed through the chamber. "Do you? Tell me, child—what is death?"

Liora hesitated. "An end. A transition. A force as natural as life itself."

"Wrong."

The air crackled. The torches flickered.

Velkar leaned forward, his skeletal fingers curling over the armrests. "Death is not an end. It is a hunger. An unrelenting force that does not yield, does not bargain, does not stop. And those who wield it… are devoured by it."

A chill slithered down Liora's spine.

She thought back to the battle before. The way the power had consumed her. The way it had felt too easy.

Velkar's voice softened. "You feel it already, don't you? The pull. The hunger. The power that whispers to you in the quiet moments, urging you to take more."

Liora swallowed hard.

"You seek strength, but you walk a path of ruin. You will become what you fear."

The words struck deeper than she wanted to admit.

Alaric glanced at her, concern in his gaze. "Liora…?"

She took a slow breath, forcing herself to meet Velkar's hollow gaze. "Then tell me how to control it. How to master it."

Velkar studied her for a long moment. Then, to her surprise, he laughed.

"Foolish girl. There is no control. Only survival."

He extended a bony hand. Dark magic swirled in his palm.

"But perhaps… you will prove me wrong."

The magic lunged for her.

Liora barely had time to react before the world shattered into darkness.