The journey was long, but Eamon barely remembered it. His thoughts were clouded with fear, sorrow, and a lingering cold that pierced through his very bones. When he finally reached the small wooden house nestled at the edge of the forest, his legs trembled as he stepped onto the porch.
The door opened before he could knock. Arvin stood there, silver-haired and solemn. His eyes narrowed instantly.
"Are you okay my child ," Arvin whispered. "You've brought something dark with you…Something unnatural."
Without a word, Eamon rushed forward and embraced him tightly. His body shook, and tears streamed down his face as sobs escaped him.
"I—I'm sorry," Eamon cried. "I didn't mean—"
"Come inside," Arvin said softly, leading him in. "You're cold, my child. Sit down."
The moment Eamon sat, he collapsed onto the floor, shaking violently.
Arvin crouched beside him, gripping his shoulders. "What happened, my child? Why are you crying?"
Eamon lifted his red eyes, lips trembling. "He's gone, Grandpa Arvin. He's really gone. I tried to save him. I tried to bring him back. I thought I could fix it…"
Arvin's heart sank. "No…"
"I used a spell," Eamon continued, voice barely above a whisper. "A resurrection spell. It worked… but then he—he woke up...but he was not himself. He told me to give you this—" He reached into his coat and handed Arvin a folded letter with shaking hands. "Then… he died again."
Arvin looked at the boy, filled with both sorrow and dread. He stood quickly, fetched a blanket, and wrapped it around Eamon.
"You're freezing. Wait here." Said Arvin.
Moments later, he returned with a steaming cup of tea. Eamon took it with numb fingers and sipped.
Arvin studied him closely. "Your body's burning cold… even in this heat."
"I can't feel my hands," Eamon whispered. "It's like the cold's inside me."
Arvin brought some tea. "Drink all of it. Then rest", he said.
As soon as he drank it, Eamon slumped against the couch and lost consciousness. Arvin caught him before he hit the floor and carried him gently to the guest room, laying him on the bed. He covered him with layers of blankets, tucking them in tightly.
Then, Arvin turned toward the back of the house.
There, beneath a sheet, lay the still body of Aegon. Arvin dropped to his knees beside him, tears brimming in his eyes. He clutched his old friend's hand and wept.
He sat there for a long while, in silence.
Finally, he wiped his tears and got up. Carefully, he unwrapped the sheet, washed Aegon's body, and dressed him in a fresh white cloth. With quiet reverence, he prepared everything needed for the funeral, gathering the ceremonial herbs, oil, and wood for the burial.
Only then did he remember the letter.
He returned to the living room, sat heavily in his chair, and unfolded the note with trembling hands.
As his eyes moved across the page, his breath caught.
"No… No, no…" he muttered. His hands shook. Sweat began to bead on his brow. His face turned pale.
He dropped the letter to the floor.
"This can't be…"
His mind reeled with fear. The implications were worse than anything he had imagined.
Hours passed before Eamon finally stirred. His eyelids fluttered open, and he sat up slowly.
"Grandpa Arvin?" he called.
Arvin appeared at the door. "You're awake. Good. Come. It's time to do your grandfather's final rites."
Outside the house, the sun hung low in the sky. Arvin had prepared a small clearing near the edge of the woods. The soil had already been dug. Flowers and incense had been laid around.
Eamon, still wrapped in a blanket, knelt beside the body of Aegon. Tears poured down his face as he performed the rites with trembling hands, whispering every word Arvin told him to say.
When it was over, the two stood in silence as Arvin lowered the body into the ground. They covered him with earth. Eamon fell to his knees again, crying into the dirt.
After a long silence, they returned inside.
Eamon's lips were blue. His body shook as though caught in winter's grasp.
Arvin fetched more blankets. "Wrap this around yourself. You need warmth."
Eamon obeyed, still sniffling. His eyes, hollow with grief, looked up at the old man.
"Grandpa Arvin… what was in the letter?"
Arvin sat down across from him, silent for a moment.
"Listen carefully, Eamon," he said at last, voice low and grave. "What I am going to tell you might scare you. Because it scared me."
Eamon nodded slowly. "What is it?"
Arvin took a breath. "There is an ancient belief—older than the scriptures—that when a mortal dares to challenge the heavens, when he performs something unnatural… something that breaks the divine order… he brings upon himself the wrath of the gods."
Eamon frowned. "So I was… punished?"
"You tried to resurrect your grandfather. That alone is a serious act. But… it's not that simple."
"Then what did I do wrong?"
"The spell you used—do you know where it came from?"
Eamon hesitated. "I found it in one of the forbidden books in the downstarirs library of my house. It was written in a language I barely understood, but I—"
Arvin's eyes widened. "You don't understand. That spell… that exact resurrection spell… it's not meant to bring back mortals. It does not draw a soul from the realm of the dead—it pulls them from the heavens."
Eamon stared, confused. "What does that mean?"
Arvin's face darkened. "By using that spell, you tore a hole in the heavens themselves. You created chaos in the divine realm. The gods felt that rupture—like a spear driven into their hearts. The spell crushed the balance that keeps the heavens whole. It caused them pain."
Eamon swallowed hard. "But… why would that happen? I just wanted to bring grandpa back…"
Arvin stood up and turned away, his fists clenched. "Because the spell you used was not made for mortals to use. It was not meant to resurrect the dead. That spell is known in the dark realm as Revenant's Embrace."
Eamon's mouth went dry. "Revenant's Embrace…?"
"It is the most powerful resurrection spell ever created. But it was designed for one purpose only—to bring back him."
Eamon's voice shook. "Who?"
Arvin turned slowly. "The Demon Lord. The Destroyer. The one who waged war against the gods since the beginning of time. That spell was forged by the First Cult of the Abyss, hidden from the world for centuries."
Eamon's heart began to race.
"Even mentioning the spell enrages the gods. Its very existence is forbidden. And you… you used it. With your own hands. You called upon a power that no human should ever touch."
The color drained from Eamon's face. "I—I didn't know…"
"No, you didn't. But intent does not undo consequence," Arvin said, his voice softer now. "The moment you chanted that incantation, the heavens screamed. And they punished you. That is why you feel this cold. The divine has marked you, Eamon."
Eamon's hands trembled. "Does that mean… I brought back the demon lord?"