Elias tightened his grip on the hilt of his dagger, the weight of it grounding him against the fear coursing through his veins. He had never imagined he'd actually use it. It was supposed to be just a precaution, sothing to make him feel safe in a world that often felt too dangerous. But now, as he stood face-to-face with the undead soldier, all those layers of hesitation stripped away.
The skeletal figure lood in front of him, its tattered fedora tilted at an unsettling angle. The staff in its bony hand glead with a blade that shimred faintly under the pale moonlight. Its hollow eyes seed to burn with sothing far deeper than malice—a recognition.
Elias felt it too, though he couldn't place it. The way the skeleton cocked its head, almost as if it were studying him, unsettled him to his core. He froze for a heartbeat as the feeling sank in. Did it know him? Did it see sothing in him that he didn't see in himself?
His paranoia scread at him to run, but so deeper instinct roared to life instead. His feet moved forward, quick and purposeful, his blue eyes narrowing as he clutched the dagger tighter. The skeleton's gaze never wavered, as if it were challenging him—or perhaps warning him.
Elias didn't care.
With a burst of speed that surprised even himself, Elias closed the distance and drove the dagger straight into the skeleton's chest. The blade pierced its brittle ribcage with a sickening crack, and for a brief mont, Elias could feel resistance—like pushing against years of sorrow, hate, and sothing else entirely.
As the skeleton's hollow chest shuddered under the force of the blow, Elias's vision shifted. His blue eyes widened as he saw thin, glowing strings stretching from the undead soldier's chest to the princess. The strings pulsed faintly, as if alive, shimring with an eerie light that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
"Control…" Elias muttered to himself, his voice shaky.
The strings began to fray and dissolve as the undead soldier crumbled. The skeleton staggered, its staff falling to the ground with a hollow clang. Its bony fingers trembled as it reached for its chest, as if trying to hold itself together.
Elias stepped back, watching as the figure began to wither, the once ominous presence collapsing into fragility. The fedora tumbled off its head, revealing the full extent of its decay. But just as it seed ready to fade completely, the skeleton raised its head one last ti.
Its voice ca out as a rasp, brittle but resonant. The words it spoke were fragnted, poetic, and heavy with aning that Elias couldn't grasp.
"Blue-haired one… bearer of storms unseen,
Through blood and thread, your path is keen.
A thousand truths, a thousand lies,
The moon will fall where the phoenix dies.
Your heart may falter, your blade may still,
But fate's cruel hand bends to your will.
Beware the light that casts no shade,
For in its glow, the world will fade…"
Elias stood frozen, the cryptic prophecy sinking into his mind like stones into water. The skeleton's jaw hung slack as its words faded into silence, its body collapsing into dust.
"What… was that?" Elias whispered, his voice barely audible. His dagger hung loosely in his hand, the blade now cold and lifeless.
He wanted to dismiss the words as nonsense, but they clung to him like cobwebs, each line laced with a aning he couldn't unravel. His breath hitched as he stared at the pile of ash before him, unsure of what to think, unsure of who he was in this mont.
But he kept quiet.
On the other side of the battlefield, Draven was locked in combat with the princess. Her chains writhed and lashed through the air like living serpents, countering his every swing with brutal precision. His sword clashed against the tallic tendrils, sparks flying as the force of each strike reverberated through his arms.
Blood dripped from a wound on his shoulder, staining his shirt and pooling at his feet. His breathing was heavy, his body screaming for rest, but he refused to back down.
With a growl, Draven pushed forward, his blade moving faster, slashing at the chains with relentless fury. The princess's eyes narrowed as she pulled back, her chains twisting to block his strikes.
But Draven wouldn't stop. Each slash grew sharper, stronger, his determination fueling his movents.
"I'll shatter them all!" he roared, raising his sword high.
With one powerful swing, his blade cut through the chains in a blinding arc of light. The tallic tendrils broke apart, shattering into fragnts that scattered across the battlefield.
The princess staggered, her balance faltering as she was propelled upward into the sky by the force of the chain's recoil. Her crimson eyes widened in surprise as she tumbled through the air, her form illuminated by the faint glow of the moon.
As the chaos settled, a hush fell over the battlefield.
Soft, white flakes began to drift from the sky.
Roselyn, standing at the edge of the field, tilted her head back, her golden hair catching the moonlight. "Is it… snowing?" she murmured, her voice tinged with wonder.
The others paused, their eyes lifting to the heavens. The snow fell slowly, each flake glinting faintly like starlight. It was peaceful, serene—a stark contrast to the violence that had just unfolded.
But Draven didn't stop to admire the sight. He moved with purpose, his eyes locking onto the princess as she fell from the sky.
He sprinted forward, his boots crunching against the frost-tipped ground. His arms stretched out as the princess descended, her crimson cloak billowing around her like spilled ink.
Draven caught her just before she hit the ground, the force of her fall nearly knocking him off balance. He cradled her limp form in his arms, his chest heaving as the snow continued to fall around them.
The princess's eyes fluttered open for a mont, dazed and unfocused. Her lips moved, but no sound escaped. Draven tightened his grip, shielding her from the falling snow as if the cold might hurt her.
The battlefield was silent now, the once violent clash replaced by the gentle hush of snowfall.
Elias stood at a distance, his eyes still lingering on the ashes of the skeleton. He glanced at Draven and the princess, his expression unreadable.
The snow fell heavier, blanketing the ground and softening the edges of the world. Yet, beneath the peaceful facade, an unease lingered—a weight that none of them could shake.
Elias stared at his dagger, the cryptic prophecy repeating in his mind. And though he said nothing, the words echoed louder than the silence around him.
***
The morning sunlight poured through the tall, arched windows of the Academy's administrative office, bathing the room in a warm glow that felt at odds with the tension simring inside. Elias, Draven, Ariana, and Roselyn stood in front of a polished mahogany desk, their faces a mix of exhaustion and determination. Across from them sat several professors and higher-ups, their expressions ranging from skepticism to outright disbelief.
Professor Leontius, the head of history and lore studies, leaned back in his chair with a bemused smile. His graying beard twitched as he folded his arms, a faint glint of condescension in his eyes. "Commander Eldran Vale?" he repeated, his voice laced with disbelief. "You're telling us that the spirit of a centuries-old military commander—one long believed to be nothing more than a ghost story—possessed the princess and orchestrated the events in the cetery last night?"
Elias, his blue eyes sharp despite the shadows beneath them, stepped forward. "That's exactly what we're saying," he replied, his voice firm. "We saw it with our own eyes. The undead soldier in the cetery wasn't just so apparition."
Draven nodded, his hand resting protectively on the hilt of his sword, even in this formal setting. A bandage wrapped tightly around his injured shoulder hinted at the previous night's intensity. "It wasn't just so story to scare first-years," he added. "This thing was real. The princess was controlled, her actions weren't her own. Those chains, the way she fought… it wasn't her."
Ariana crossed her arms, her crimson hair catching the sunlight as she glared at the skeptical professors. "Do you think we'd make sothing like this up? We were there."
Despite their words, the professors exchanged skeptical glances. Professor Aldwin, a stern-looking man with sharp features, adjusted his glasses and leaned forward. "Do you hear yourselves? The legend of Commander Eldran Vale has been passed down for centuries, yes, but it's exactly that—a legend. A cautionary tale ant to keep students from wandering into the cetery at night. To suggest it's real... it's absurd."
Professor Maren, the head of magical studies, tapped her fingers against the desk. "And yet, here you all are, presenting this tale as if it's fact. It's a little too convenient, don't you think? Especially when the princess is involved. A diplomatic incident like this could have severe consequences if mishandled."
Elias clenched his fists, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "We're not making this up! If you don't believe us, send soone to the cetery."
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