10

A strange chill hung over the island. The trees, twisted and blackened, groaned softly as if whispering secrets to the wind. This place—so far from their original continent—seemed cut off from the world. Fog rolled in from the darkened shores, and the skies never showed a clear blue. This land, eerie and foreboding, had become their sanctuary.

Suddenly, the earth trembled.

From within the twisted mansion-now-turned-necropolis, a green glow still lingered from the summoning. Its transformation had been witnessed by every child—young eyes full of wonder and fear. The moment the mansion's limbs unfolded like the legs of a spider, shrouded in claw-like stone and eerie black steel, they had come running.

Children poured out into the clearing, barefoot, in ragged clothes, and some still rubbing sleep from their eyes. A few carried the infants, whose wails now echoed across the haunted glade.

"What happened?!" a child cried.

"I saw it move—like it was alive!" shouted another.

"I told you this place was cursed!" a voice murmured with both awe and dread.

Ishlar, standing on a raised stone step, activated a small amplification spell. His voice rang out firm and clear across the courtyard.

"Quiet! Everyone, come forth! The young lord has something important to say!"

The children hesitated. Some clutched each other. Others simply stared wide-eyed at the towering structure that was once their shelter and was now something entirely different. Dorothy and Haben stood closest to Ishlar. Dorothy held a baby close, rocking it to calm its cries, while Haben scanned the structure with cautious interest.

"Dorothy, what's happening?" one of the younger children asked, trembling.

"I don't know," she replied softly. "But I think... this is the power of Lord Vanthelis."

"That glow... it felt wrong, but also safe," Haben added, eyes narrowing. "It's not like the magic they use in the Empire."

Vanthelis stepped forward. The haggard look from his mourning days had softened, but his eyes still burned with grief and rage. The wind caught his cloak as he faced the gathered remnants of their clan.

His voice rang out across the clearing, raw and determined.

"You have all lost something. Our homes. Our families. Our dreams."

The younger ones listened in silence. Some sniffled. A baby cried again.

"We came from a great line. A clan once respected. Now, hunted."

He paused, looking at the gathered children—some dirty, some shaking. All of them scarred in their own way.

"I am the last son of Valiz Blackthorn. And I swear on the graves of my mother and father… I will not let their deaths be in vain."

The crowd murmured. A few children clung to each other more tightly.

"I cannot do it alone," he continued. "But I have been gifted a path. A new way. I can now summon things—structures, forces—that our enemies cannot understand. But I cannot summon more without help. I need those who will become more than they are. Those who are willing to walk this path with me."

He turned his gaze to Dorothy and Haben.

"You two," he said, voice steady. "Step forward."

They hesitated.

"Milord?" Dorothy whispered.

"I did not ask," Vanthelis said. "You will join me. Saying no… is not an option."

As if on cue, dark light shimmered before them. An ethereal window materialized, visible only to them. It bore no words—only a strange, compelling feeling in their hearts. A question… yet a command:

Will you accept the bond of Acolyte?

Haben clenched his fists. "Yes."

Dorothy looked toward the other children, then toward Vanthelis. "Yes, my lord."

At once, black fog swirled around them. Gasps rang out as the children watched their skin shift to a pale gray. Intricate black robes wrapped around their bodies, seeming to form from the shadows themselves. Power danced at their fingertips.

They knelt, robes rippling.

"Thy will, Lord Blackthorn," they intoned together.

Vanthelis nodded slowly, the corners of his mouth curling into a grim but satisfied smile. "Then rise. You will guide the others. Teach them. Prepare them."

"I will gladly obey," said Haben.

"Let the will of the Blackthorn burn in us," said Dorothy.

The children, though still confused and afraid, seemed strangely comforted by the sight. For the first time in days, there was structure—direction.

Vanthelis turned to Ishlar, who watched in silence. Their eyes met, and without a word, Vanthelis nodded. Ishlar nodded back.

Together, they followed the two new acolytes into the Necropolis.

And from within the earth beneath the mansion, something stirred.

The path of vengeance had only just begun.