Revenants and Remnants

The wind carried with it the stench of rot and regret.

Andrew awoke to the dull rumble of distant thunder, though the sky was clear—too clear. The two moons still loomed above like silent watchers, indifferent to the pain of the world below. He had rested only a few hours, his body half-buried in the hollow of a broken tree. Sleep brought no comfort, only fragmented memories of the summoning, the betrayal, and the crimson eyes of the priestess who cast him away.

He rose and checked his surroundings. The trees here were thinner, exposing scattered ruins. A shattered obelisk stood in the distance, its cracked surface covered in a language Andrew couldn't decipher. But magic pulsed in its core. He approached carefully, his hand instinctively brushing the edge of his cloak.

As he neared the structure, a name whispered itself into his mind: "Revenant Stone."

A memory stone, perhaps?

Before he could reach it, movement flickered behind the obelisk. He spun around, already activating **Shadow Step**—a brief blur of motion carried him ten feet to the side, just in time to dodge a thrown blade.

From the shadows emerged a figure cloaked in blood-stained armor, helmetless, with pale, cracked skin and glowing silver eyes.

Another soul cast aside.

**[Nameless Revenant – Class: Executioner – Deceased]**

Andrew narrowed his eyes. "You were discarded too?"

The figure didn't answer. Instead, it roared—a hollow, guttural sound—and charged.

Andrew raised his hand, activating **Arcane Flame**, but the revenant slammed a blade into the ground. The earth beneath Andrew fractured, throwing him off balance.

He rolled and used **Shadow Step** again, flanking the revenant. He had no time to plan a counter—just react.

Steel clashed with flame. Obsidian cracked. Dust rose like a curtain of death.

But Andrew wasn't alone anymore.

As the dust settled, another figure stepped into view—a woman, ethereal in form but radiating power. She wore robes that shimmered with starlight, and a bow made of moonlight was drawn in her hand.

**[Spirit of Lyari – Ranger of the Starborn – Deceased]**

Andrew blinked. "You're not attacking me?"

Her voice echoed in his mind. *"No. I protect those who still carry hope."*

The revenant screamed and lunged again.

Lyari fired.

A silver arrow pierced the revenant's skull. It stumbled, then collapsed.

Andrew stood panting. "Thanks."

She nodded, and as her form began to fade, she reached toward him. Her spirit merged with his chest—warmth flowed through him.

**[Skill Acquired: Starborn Vision – Grants temporary precision and foresight in battle (30 sec cooldown)]**

A strategic skill. One built for someone like him.

He turned to the Revenant Stone and placed his hand on it.

A flood of memories surged through him. Images of a hundred others—warriors, mages, healers—discarded. Their pain etched into the obelisk, their last thoughts a chorus of vengeance.

*We are not forgotten.*

Suddenly, he understood.

These spirits weren't just remnants.

They were waiting.

Waiting for someone to give them purpose again.

Andrew took a deep breath and opened his skill interface. He saw their names—those he had met, and those whose echoes still lingered. Each one a puzzle piece to a larger strategy.

"I'll be your vessel," he whispered. "We'll write a new plan together."

His thoughts were interrupted by a rustle in the trees.

A caravan. Actual living humans.

They wore makeshift armor and bore scars from too many battles. Survivors, but barely.

He stepped into their path, hands raised.

The leader—a grizzled man with a broken spear—pointed at him. "You're not from here."

"I was thrown away like you," Andrew said. "But I'm not dying here."

They hesitated. Their eyes told stories of betrayal. Trust was not easily given.

"I can protect you," Andrew said. "I have skills that can turn the tide."

"How do we know you're not just another parasite?" one woman spat.

Andrew stepped forward. "Because I can use magic without chant. Because I know how to fight monsters. Because I know you're out of food in two days and you're being hunted."

The silence was thick.

Then the leader said, "Fine. You lead. But if you betray us—"

"I won't," Andrew replied. "You'll see."

That night, they moved camp under Andrew's direction. He laid traps, concealed their trail, and shared rations he had stored magically. Spirits whispered to him—warnings of beasts, hints of power.

He was building something.

Not just strength.

But trust.

Legacy.

And the beginning of an army.

As the stars wheeled overhead, Andrew stared up and whispered, "Priestess, I hope you're watching."

He was no longer just a strategist.

He was a collector of the forgotten.

A harbinger of what comes next.