Dehya Valley, at the peak of the Spiral Shadow Mountains.
On the small altar, the Black Star hummed ceaselessly. The death energy that had gathered in the Spiral Shadow Mountains over millennia was now slowly being awakened, like an ancient demon god exhaling its first breath after an eternity of slumber. A torrent of dark energy surged from the slender blade, flooding the surrounding space—not merely an aura but the raw, living essence of death itself.
In such overwhelming death, even the mightiest dragons could not survive. Yet, a few human figures remained—standing or sitting, motionless as if sculpted from the obsidian mountain itself. They were the masters of Dehya Valley, the necromancers.
The brand etched into their bodies granted them a privilege no other creature possessed: the ability to exist within the aura of the Black Star, to live within the Spiral Shadow Mountains. But with this privilege came an inescapable fate. Now, each of them could feel that fate approaching, step by step.
Perhaps no word is as elusive as "destiny," as if the intelligent and strong-willed could simply disregard it. Yet, only when confronted with an undeniable, crushing reality does one truly understand—before the vast heavens and earth, they are but insignificant ants.
Each individual present was a supreme intellect, a formidable force, a mage capable of stirring chaos across the continent. Yet now, all they could do was wait in silence.
There was no escape. No matter where they were or when the moment arrived, the instant this world-ending artifact was fully drawn, the brands imprinted upon their bodies, minds, and souls would transform them into undead servants of the Ghost King. Whether they would become mindless lich thralls or retain a sliver of thought as true liches—no one knew, nor did they wish to. But they all understood one thing: that moment was fast approaching. The increasingly active, pulsing aura was proof that the Ghost King was drawing closer with each step.
More than anyone else, they comprehended the true nature of the Black Star and the inevitability of this fate. Just as even the strongest being cannot defy the laws of nature, this was not merely a difference in strength but a fundamental disparity in essence. Even as some of the most powerful individuals on the continent, the moment they came near the Ghost King, their self-awareness would be erased, leaving them as mere undead minions.
Among them stood Vadenina, her mummified face devoid of joy or sorrow, only the green flames in her eye sockets flickering ceaselessly.
None of the necromancers held past grudges against her anymore. In the ever-intensifying aura of the Black Star, all past conflicts had lost their meaning.
Suddenly, the lich turned her gaze toward the base of the mountain. In the distant valley below, a lone figure was moving. The flames in her eyes flickered as she leaped from the mountain's summit.
A pair of wings, formed purely from dark magical energy and eerie green fire, materialized behind her, lifting her withered, frail body as she descended toward the valley below.
Atop the mountain, some of the necromancers cast a fleeting glance at her, while others did not even bother to look.
In the valley below, Sandru, striding swiftly, was startled for a moment. He looked up to see Vadenina descending from the sky, enveloped in a swirling mass of black-green mist, landing directly in his path.
"Master, where are you going?" The lich gazed at Sandru and asked.
"It's none of your concern. Step aside."
"At this moment, when all the necromancers are solemnly awaiting the great event, you seem to be in quite a hurry. I'm rather curious."
"This is my own business. I told you to step aside." Sandru said in a low, commanding tone.
"That is where the gargoyles are kept. Are you going to retrieve them?" Vadenina glanced toward the direction Sandru was headed. "With your level of necromantic control, do you still need gargoyles? Are you planning to go somewhere far? Judging by your demeanor and spirit, it seems something exciting has happened to you."
"It's none of your concern. Did you not hear me tell you to move?"
Vadenina seemed not to have heard at all. After a brief pause, she said, "I've heard that some rather unexpected things have happened recently. You are aware of them, of course."
Sandru replied coldly, "Lately, almost everything has been unexpected."
"I was referring to what happened after you and Inham left here. It seems you both uncovered quite a few surprising things."
"I'm a little surprised he even bothered to come back and tell you."
"No, I was watching you through my puppet hawk's eyes. Don't look at me like that, Master Sandru. As a lich guarding the Black Star, my power has long since surpassed that of both you and Inham. Hiding my puppets from you was hardly a challenge. The only place I couldn't follow you was the Whispering Forest. It seems the Sunwell still retains some residual effects. Even if it couldn't affect you, it was more than enough to interfere with my puppets. Something significant must have happened there. Otherwise, you wouldn't be in such high spirits. So, would you mind telling me what it was?"
Sandru replied flatly, "There was no turning point. I simply played the fool alongside Magnus and the others. What is destined to happen will still happen. I can't change anything."
"Can't do anything? Then what exactly are you doing now?"
"I'm doing what I need to do. And that has nothing to do with you." Sandru paused, casting a peculiar glance at his lich student. "But you—coming all this way just to ask me these things—does that mean even you find this unexpected?"
"Hmm. That thing turned out this way… To be honest, I am a little surprised." The lich's voice was hoarse. It had always been rasping, more like a whisper from the grave than a sound made by any living being. But now, it wasn't just her voice that was hoarse; even her words carried an eerie roughness.
"Oh? Even you can be surprised? I thought everything was always within your expectations, under your control." Sandru's eyes were full of mockery.
"I'm not a god, after all. While I can grasp the threads of fate, I can't fully control every cog in its grand mechanism." The flames in the lich's eye sockets dimmed for a moment, then flared back to life as if reignited by a new energy. "But in the end, the process is irrelevant. What matters is the result. Look, just as I predicted—the great moment has finally arrived. A new world will soon begin, set in motion by my hand..."
"Yes, you've won. Before long, everything you despise, everything you look down upon, will be ground to dust under your 'great' momentum... including yourself. Is that the result you wanted?"
"I'm merely following the trajectory of fate, pushing history forward. Why can't you understand the grandeur of it, Master? Why are you still trapped in the petty values of humanity?" The lich's voice and the flames in her eyes had become utterly still, making her look like a lifeless statue of death itself.
Sandru ignored her, stepping past Vadenina and continuing in his original direction. "Yes, I am human. And so, I will do what a human must do."
"I won't let you." Vadenina raised her hand. The black mist and green flames around her surged skyward. "I don't know exactly what you're trying to do, but it's clear you're planning to interfere with this great moment. As a necromancer, such defiance is utterly unacceptable."
Sandru suddenly turned, his bloodshot eyes locking onto her. He spoke slowly, each word heavy with fury: "You dare to attack me?"
"I'm stopping you from making a grave mistake," Vadenina said flatly. Her withered body seemed barely able to stand, as if the slightest impact could topple her skeletal frame. Yet even Sandru, in the face of the immense surge of magical energy rising around her, appeared powerless—like nothing more than a goblin before an overwhelming force. This was no longer the magic of a single being, nor even that of an undead creature altered by sorcery.
Sandru burst into laughter—wild, manic laughter. "Good, good, good! You actually dare to stand against me? Wonderful! Incredible! I never expected this... never!"
"I know—this power, this identity as a necromancer, this body, and this great ideal... all of it was given to me by you, Master. But right now, my will is not my own. This is the will of the Black Star. Can't you feel it?"
The sky-piercing aura and flames had reached their peak. This was no longer her power alone—it was the power of the Black Star. The other necromancers paid Vadenina no heed, but more importantly, none of them had the strength to interfere. In the suffocating concentration of death energy, only a lich's body could serve as the true vessel to fully manifest the Black Star's imprint.
"Master, I do respect you. But that is only from a personal standpoint. Before fate, before the wheel of history, personal emotions are meaningless. Don't worry—even if you die, it will only be temporary. In the presence of the great Black Star, even death has no meaning. The moment the Ghost King arrives and draws the Black Star, you will be revived, just like the rest of us necromancers, as his servant. This is our destiny—the fate that the great Akibard has decreed for us."
Within the colossal, mountain-like surge of black magic, specks of deathly green flames flickered and danced. The lich stood at its center, her voice still hoarse and grating, yet her tone carried the solemnity of a grand epic, the weight of a divine prophecy. She looked like a true emissary of death.
"Oh, great fate... great fate... what are you, truly? Are you a law, looming above us insignificant ants, beyond our understanding? Or are you merely an excuse for the weak and weary, a means to numb themselves and shirk responsibility?"
A voice rang out, growing closer.
Only necromancers could step into the depths of Dehya Valley at this moment. But the man speaking bore none of the solemn demeanor typical of their kind. He staggered as he walked, barely able to keep his balance, like a drunken farmer stumbling out of a low-class tavern.
At the same time, in a blind spot unseen by both Sandru and Vadenina, a shadow in the darkness quietly twisted and shifted.