Smoke curled like serpents above the battlefield, coiling between broken spears and charred corpses. The howling winds of necrotic magic hissed through ruptured earth, and in their wake came the stink of death, thick and foul.
Aden knelt on one knee, eyes wide, gasping through clenched teeth as blood streamed down his left side.
His arm—his sword arm—was gone.
From the shattered ridge above, the High Lich loomed, eyes glowing with an unearthly green flame. Its robes fluttered like torn parchment, and skeletal fingers crackled with cursed magic.
Below, chaos.
The last lines of the Twelfth Pillar were collapsing. Corpses—those of comrades—staggered upright, now puppets for the Lich's twisted sorcery. The ritual site beneath Aden shimmered with old runes, pulsing as if laughing at the carnage it fed.
Aden tried to rise. His vision doubled, then blurred. Shouts echoed from the field, muffled under the ringing in his ears.
"Fall back! We need a caster to—GRAAH!"
That was Commander Balen, voice cut off mid-order.
Another scream. Another soldier gutted.
Aden's remaining hand dug into the dirt. "Egmund," he muttered, teeth grinding. "You there?"
No response.
He grit his teeth harder, breath shallow. "You said you'd help when it mattered. This—" he coughed blood, "—this is it. They're dying. They trusted me."
Still silence.
Aden's heart pounded. Around him, the ritual runes glowed brighter with every fallen life.
"I'll do anything," he whispered. "Anything to keep them alive."
The moment stretched. Then—like a thread snapping in the back of his mind—a voice purred, smooth and casual.
"Well. That took you long enough."
Egmund's presence unfurled like smoke in Aden's skull, lazy and amused.
"Man, you are bad at asking for favors. 'Help me, please,' 'save my army,' blah blah blah. No flowers? No dramatic plea? I'm disappointed."
Aden squeezed his eyes shut. "Enough. You said you'd act if I gave you permission."
"And you're bleeding out on a lich's ritual stone. Real poetic."
A beat.
"I can take over. Not all of me—just enough. But once the cork pops, I don't go back in easy. You sure?"
Another scream tore through the air.
Aden's breath shuddered.
Before he could answer, the sky flared.
A blast of black fire—pure, corrosive magic—rained down from the High Lich above.
Aden turned just in time to see it land.
The impact shattered the earth beneath him. Pain burst through his spine. Something cracked.
And then—nothing.
Darkness.
From the top of the hill, Rhea, one of the mage-captains, screamed.
"He's down! The commander's down!"
The camp descended into chaos again. Vance, the beast-handler, launched his spear at an approaching revenant, eyes wide in disbelief.
"Aden!" he yelled, voice cracking. "Hold on—just—"
But Aden Vasco didn't rise.
His body lay crumpled among fractured stone, half of it soaked in red. His armor shattered, steam rising from his ruined side.
Silence began to creep over the field again.
Then—
A heartbeat.
A flicker.
And from Aden's body, something else… stirred.
The ancestral grounds of House Vasco were quiet, blanketed in a stillness older than the pines that bent to the cold wind. Snow drifted slowly over the old stone courtyards, catching the last pale light of a dying sun. Inside a circular chamber carved from obsidian and white quartz, Zwalter Vasco stood by the hearth, a glass of dark rootwine untouched in his hand.
His eyes, dim but calculating, narrowed suddenly.
The glass in his hand cracked. A low thrum echoed through the chamber — a sound only he could hear, like an ancient war drum buried beneath the world.
From the shadowed corner behind him, Rudeus Vasco stepped in, his brows furrowed, a war manual still tucked under his arm. "You felt that too?"
Zwalter didn't turn. His voice was a low, iron rasp. "The pact's seal just screamed."
Rudeus went pale. He dropped the book. "I just sensed Egmund's presence… What the hell is happening in Dahaka?!"
A gust of wind slammed against the windows, though the mountain had been still moments before.
Zwalter turned then, his gaze colder than winter.
"The fire's waking up, boy. And if it's Egmund... then the reaping has begun."
He didn't wait for Rudeus's reply.
Instead, he looked to the distant mountains—toward Dahaka—where night was no longer night, but something darker.
A hand twitched—no, clawed. His fingers, blackened at the tips, curled against the earth.
Then came the voice—not Aden's, but something deeper. Darker.
"Tch. Guess I'm driving."
Aden's eyes snapped open.
Except they weren't his anymore.
They blazed—violet and red, dancing like twin eclipses. The ground around him cracked, runes igniting one by one in a circular blaze.
Egmund stretched within the frame of a human vessel, grinning.
"Now… let's have some real fun."