Bones and Beginnings

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and wildflowers as Liora and Kael pushed deeper into the hillside forests. A faint mist clung to the underbrush, coiling around their boots as they walked in near silence. The quiet between them wasn't strained—it was comfortable now, filled with the kind of calm that only came after shedding layers of armor, both literal and emotional.

Still, Liora couldn't shake the feeling that something was changing inside her.

Her necromancy—the tether between her soul and the dead—was growing stronger. It pulsed faintly in her chest, like a second heartbeat, whispering to her in a language no one else could hear. Bones buried beneath the soil seemed to call her name. Spirits flickered in the corners of her vision, watching her like forgotten gods.

But it wasn't frightening anymore. Not like it used to be.

She was beginning to understand it. Not control it—not yet—but understand it, and that scared her in a different way.

"Another clearing up ahead," Kael said, brushing aside a curtain of vines. His voice grounded her.

She nodded. "Let's rest there."

They stepped into the open and were met by the remnants of a shrine—half-swallowed by moss and time. Cracked stone steps led to a broken archway, and behind it, a weathered statue of a woman stood watch, her eyes blindfolded, hands cupped as if waiting for an offering.

Liora stepped closer, brushing dust from the figure's face. "She's old. Older than the Empire."

"Think she was a goddess?" Kael asked, resting a hand on his sword.

"She is one," Liora whispered. "Or was."

Kael raised an eyebrow. "You know her?"

Liora's fingers hovered just above the statue's hands. "My mother used to pray to her. Said she was the Lady of Rest. Keeper of souls."

Kael tilted his head. "That's ironic."

"I know."

Something stirred beneath the shrine. Not physically—nothing moved—but Liora felt it in her marrow. The dead here were awake.

She dropped to her knees and pressed her palm to the earth. Her eyes dimmed, turning that eerie, familiar shade of storm-cloud gray. The world slowed. The forest sounds softened. And in that liminal space between life and death, she reached out.

A presence answered.

It wasn't malicious. Just tired. Bound by duty, waiting to be remembered.

"Come," she whispered. "I'll hear your story."

The earth trembled. A faint greenish-blue light glowed from beneath the shrine. And then, slowly, a skeletal figure rose—cloaked in fragments of priestly robes, its bones etched with ancient runes. Its empty eye sockets held no hatred, only reverence.

Kael stepped forward, hand half-drawn to his sword, but Liora lifted a hand to stop him.

"He's not hostile," she said. "He's one of the Shrine Keepers."

The skeletal figure knelt before Liora, pressing a hand to his chest in solemn greeting.

"I thought they were myths," Kael murmured.

"They were," Liora replied. "Until I made them real again."

The Keeper, who had no name Liora could pronounce, led them into a hidden passage behind the statue. Downward they went, through narrow stone tunnels lined with faded murals—stories carved into rock of wars long passed and spirits who walked beside mortals, not against them.

At the end of the tunnel lay a burial chamber, untouched by time. Bones rested neatly in alcoves, some surrounded by rusted weapons, others by trinkets and charms meant to carry into the afterlife.

Liora stepped inside and felt her magic thrum to life.

"These are warriors," she said softly. "Volunteers. They gave themselves to the old gods, to protect the balance between life and death."

Kael ran a hand along one of the carvings. "And now you've awakened them."

"Not yet. But I could."

She closed her eyes and let the power rise—slowly, gently. This wasn't about dominance. It was about permission. Respect.

When she opened her eyes again, one of the skeletal warriors had begun to move. It rose from its resting place with a grace that defied its form, and knelt before her, its head bowed.

Kael stared. "You're not just raising corpses anymore."

"No," Liora said quietly. "I'm restoring memories. Identities. Will."

It was necromancy—but evolved. Not just puppetry, but partnership.

It came with a price. Her energy felt thinner now, like she'd poured out a piece of herself to make the connection. But the more she did it, the more natural it felt. The more she believed that maybe her power could be more than destruction.

Maybe it could be healing too.

That night, back at camp, Liora sat beside the fire with a journal in her lap. She hadn't written in weeks, but the words came easy now. She sketched the shrine, wrote down the Keeper's runes, described the feeling of connecting with the burial chamber.

Kael approached with a flask of water and sat beside her.

"You okay?"

"I think so."

"You looked… different. Down there."

"I am different," she admitted. "Something changed. I don't just feel the dead anymore—I see them. Who they were. What they loved. What they feared."

Kael leaned in, watching her carefully. "Is it overwhelming?"

"It would be, if I didn't have you."

He smiled. "Then I guess I'll have to stick around."

Her fingers brushed his. "I want you to."

For a long moment, they said nothing. Just leaned against each other, wrapped in warmth and shared silence.

And when they lay down together that night beneath the stars, their fingers laced, Liora dreamed not of blood or bone—but of a future. One where power didn't consume her. One where she could walk in both worlds without losing herself.

One where love didn't have to be a casualty of magic.

She wasn't sure if it was real.

But she wanted to believe it could be.