Chapter 4: The Mage Who Couldn’t Die

The village was already dead.

It wasn't the stillness that gave it away—not the quiet wind slipping through broken shutters or the scorched wood curling in on itself. It was the smell—a metallic rot that clung to Astra's skin, weaving through the thick air like it belonged there.

She stood at the edge of a crumbling well, boots sinking slightly into wet mud. Her violet eyes swept the empty street. Every house had been cracked open—some by magic, others by force. Not a single door remained on its hinges. There were no birds. No bugs. Just the low hum of cursed mana lingering like smoke.

Noelle Silva stood beside her, a veil of water hovering at her fingertips. It flickered, then snapped into place like armor over her skin.

"Yami said there were survivors," she muttered, gaze fixed on a half-toppled barn. Her voice was calm, but her mana wasn't. It rippled with unease.

"There were," Astra replied, softly. "Not anymore."

Noelle turned, frowning. "You're certain?"

Astra stepped forward and knelt beside a trail of black ash barely visible in the dirt. She extended her hand. A single mote of starlight flared in her palm, then slowly expanded into a spectral bloom—shimmering violet petals rotating slowly, orbiting her fingertips.

"Memory Echo."

The petals shivered as a scene played out in translucent shimmer: villagers running. Screams. A dark figure—hooded, faceless—raising a crooked staff.

And then... silence. Bodies collapsing mid-step, eyes wide and glowing red as their corpses rose again.

The spell faded.

Noelle's brows furrowed. "Necromancy."

"Not just that," Astra murmured. "They weren't reanimated with simple death magic. Their souls were anchored. Their pain... preserved."

As if on cue, something stirred in the shadows of a collapsed stable ahead.

Noelle spun, mana flaring into a blade. "Incoming."

The creature that stepped out barely resembled the human it once was. Its flesh sagged in gray folds, veins glowing with violet corruption. Its eyes were hollow, and yet... full of something Astra knew too well.

Suffering.

It shrieked as it lunged—its limbs snapping unnaturally with every stride.

Astra's grimoire spun open beside her, pages fluttering, stopping on a page bathed in soft celestial glow.

"Stellamortis: Petal Shield."

A barrier of black roses bloomed around her in an instant, petals swirling in a dome of pure gravitational energy. The undead collided with it—and was flung backward like it had hit a mountain.

"Disgusting," Noelle hissed. She stepped forward, her Sea Dragon's Claw coiling around her wrist.

With practiced ease, she launched a water spear straight into the creature's chest. It struck true, pinning the abomination to the ground.

But the thing didn't die.

It screeched again, body spasming. A grotesque rune burned into its neck—dark magic pulsing in sync with its twisted heart.

Astra narrowed her eyes. "It's bound."

"To what?"

"Pain. Memory. Something refuses to let it go."

She extended her hand again. A soft ring of violet stars formed beneath the monster.

"Stellamortis: Celestial Severance."

The stars pulsed, then imploded inward. In a single breathless moment, gravity turned against the creature—crushing the corrupted tether in a silent implosion of light.

The body collapsed, limp. A faint shimmer left its hollow chest... and faded peacefully into the air.

Noelle exhaled. "What was that?"

"A soul... finally released."

They moved cautiously through the ruin after that.

Dozens more reanimated corpses awaited them—some half-buried in collapsed buildings, others hanging like puppets from broken rafters. Astra's magic worked like a scalpel, cutting cleanly through the necrotic threads that held them. Noelle's spells were sharper now, more controlled—each hit guided by purpose, not fear.

By the time they reached the main square, the bodies were still.

Noelle looked over the devastation, chest rising and falling. "They suffered for days, didn't they?"

Astra nodded. "Long enough for the corruption to feed on memory."

She bent down near one of the last victims—a young boy, eyes wide even in death. Her fingers hovered over his brow.

"Rest."

Noelle turned to her, eyes softer now. "You've done this before."

"Too many times."

They stood there in silence, the only sound a breeze rustling through charred prayer flags strung between houses.

"Let's head back," Noelle said quietly.

Back at the Black Bulls' base, Yami lit his cigarette and glanced over their report.

"Living corpses, soul-binding magic, ruins full of cursed sigils. Sounds like a party."

Astra stood at attention beside Noelle. "The runes used in the tethering… weren't from the Clover Kingdom. They were witch marks."

"Witch marks?"

"From the Eclipse."

Yami's eyes narrowed. "You're sure?"

Astra said nothing, but her gaze said everything.

Yami tapped his cigarette against the table. "We've been hearing rumors—cult activity near Spade ruins, old names resurfacing. If this is connected to the Eclipse Coven... things are about to get loud."

"I'll go again," Astra said.

"You're not a lone wolf anymore," Yami replied. "You go where the Bulls go. That includes her," he nodded at Noelle.

Noelle blinked. "Me?"

Astra said nothing.

But her eyes softened.

Later that night, back in her room, Astra opened her grimoire without touching it.

The pages turned themselves, stopping on a blank sheet.

Then, words appeared—written in elegant, silver fire.

"You've seen the echoes. You've touched their pain. But do you remember your own?"

"Come home, sister. Before you forget who you are."

— S.

Astra stared at the message for a long time.

Then closed the grimoire with a quiet snap.

And for the first time in nine years... her hands trembled.