"No, Eamon," Arvin said, his voice low but firm. "You did not resurrect the demon lord."
Eamon stared at him, stunned. His lips parted, trying to form a response, but the words felt stuck in his throat.
"Then what… what did I do?" he finally asked. "I saw Grandpa come back. I saw him breathe. I felt his heartbeat. What did I bring back if not him?"
Arvin sighed and leaned back in his chair. He rubbed his hands together, trying to gather the right words.
"You brought him back, yes," Arvin said gently, "but not all of him. Because the spell you used… it was incomplete. And more importantly, you aren't powerful enough yet to handle such a spell. Not even close."
"Incomplete?" Eamon whispered. "But… I followed the script. I recited every line, I placed the offerings, the markings—"
"And still, it wasn't enough," Arvin interrupted. "That particular resurrection spell… it's not meant for ordinary mortals. It was never designed to bring back just anyone. It's the most forbidden spell in the entire dark realm. That incantation… it was created solely for the purpose of reviving a Demon Lord. To make that spell work in full, you'd need over a million dead bodies as offerings—souls to exchange. Without that, the spell doesn't bring someone back whole. It rips something from beyond and leaves behind something else."
Eamon's eyes widened in disbelief.
"A million… dead bodies?" he asked slowly. "That's… monstrous."
"Exactly," Arvin said grimly. "And you didn't have that, thank the gods. As it was just one dead body, the spell failed to reach its full potential. You didn't bring back demon lord, but you still cast it. Even incomplete, it was powerful enough to break the balance, to disturb the heavens—and to curse you. Though how did that work even with just one body is something even I'm unsure about."
Eamon's hands were shaking now. He looked down at them as if seeing someone else's body. The cold he felt, the shaking, the shivers—everything made sense now.
"But Grandpa… Aegon… he was alive."
Arvin gave a painful nod.
"He came back… but without a soul. That was just a shell, Eamon. A moving body. Not the man who raised you. Not the grandfather who loved you. The spell returned his body from the heavens, but his soul was lost between worlds, torn apart in the chaos."
The boy's face crumbled. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.
"This is all my fault," he whispered. "I should have never done it. I thought… I thought I was doing something good. I just wanted him back."
"It's not your fault my child," Arvin said gently, pulling Eamon into a brief embrace. "Your heart was in the right place, but maybe your actions… they touched forces that even most sorcerers fear to speak of."
Eamon pulled away slowly, wiping his eyes.
"So… how do I reverse it?" he asked, his voice quiet. "How do I lift this curse?"
Arvin's face darkened. He turned toward the small wooden desk and picked up the old scroll Aegon had written before his death.
"The script that your grandfather left for me," Arvin said, unrolling the parchment with trembling fingers, "includes a way… but it is not a simple or safe one. It is dangerous. Perhaps deadly."
Eamon leaned forward, his expression desperate.
"I don't care," he said. "Whatever it is, I'll do it. Just tell me, Grandpa Arvin. Please."
Arvin studied him for a moment. He could see the fire in Eamon's eyes, the regret, the pain. He closed his own eyes and took a deep breath before speaking again.
"You've angered the gods," Arvin said. "And gods, once angered, do not forgive easily. To lift this curse, you must offer them something powerful… something they desire."
"What should I offer them?" Eamon asked quickly. "My life? My soul?"
Arvin shook his head.
"No. They don't want your life. They want justice. They want retribution."
Eamon furrowed his brow.
"I don't understand. Retribution from whom?"
Arvin turned his gaze toward the window, his voice quieter now, almost reverent.
"The only way to lift the curse… is to consume the blood of thirteen Obsidian Seraphs."
Eamon blinked. "Drink the blood of what?"
"Obsidian Seraphs," Arvin repeated. "They were once celestial beings, divine and pure, created in the celestial plains alongside angels & infernals. But after the Great Divide, when the world split into the light realm and dark realm, many of them fell. Some fell into the light realm and were worshipped for their powers. These were called 'Empyrean Seraphs'. But some celestial beings were banished to the dark realm for their arrogance and pride. These dark ones were later called as 'Obsidian Seraphs'. And over time, they changed. Became more twisted, grew evil. They began to defy the gods, commit atrocities. They even fought alongside Malachor during the Seventeenth Holy War."
"And what happened to them after Malachor fell?" Eamon asked, trying to piece it all together.
"They were stranded," Arvin replied. "With their leader defeated and the dark realm sealed, they had nowhere to go. They were neither accepted in the heavens nor welcomed back into the dark realm. So, they scattered across the light realm, hiding, waiting, hunting, surviving."
"And I have to… find them?" Eamon asked hesitantly.
"Not just find them," Arvin said grimly. "You have to defeat them. And then… drink their blood. Each drop of their blood is soaked in divine rebellion. Their defiance is what the gods want purged from this world. If you can defeat them, consume their essence, the gods may see it as justice. Thirteen fallen Seraphs. Thirteen sins washed clean."
Eamon's heart pounded in his chest. His mouth had gone dry.
"How am I supposed to do that?" he asked. "These are celestial beings. They were powerful enough to wage war against heaven itself. And I… I'm just a boy who unknowingly made a mistake."
"You're more than that now," Arvin said. "The curse has already started changing you. Haven't you noticed the cold? The way your skin feels, the way your breath frosts even in summer? It's because your blood has turned cold."
Eamon gave a slow nod.
"It's not just discomfort," Arvin continued. "It's transformation. The curse is fusing with your body, warping your soul. But if you can harness it… you might gain strength. Enough to stand against those beings."
Eamon stood up and began pacing the room. The wooden floor creaked under his feet.
"This… this is insane," he muttered. "Thirteen dark celestial beings… each more powerful than the last. And I have to fight them? Alone? Just to get this curse lifted?"
"I didn't say you had to be alone," Arvin said quietly. "But you must be willing to bear this burden. To accept the path that you've set in motion."
"And where do I even begin?" Eamon asked. "How do I find them?"
"I have no map," Arvin said. "But there are rumors. Whispers of unnatural beings roaming the northern ruins. One was seen in the shattered temples of Zehrin. You'll need to travel, learn, and grow stronger with every step."
"And they won't just… let me take their blood, will they?" Eamon asked bitterly.
"No," Arvin said. "They will resist. They are ancient and prideful. They will try to kill you. You will have to defeat them in combat, outwit them, or find another way to extract what you need. But each victory will bring you closer to redemption."
Eamon slumped back into his chair, burying his face in his hands.
"I don't understand any of this," he said, his voice muffled. "I just wanted Grandpa back. I didn't ask for any of this. I didn't mean to curse myself, or tear open the heavens, or become some… monster."
"You're not a monster," Arvin said. "But if you do nothing… the curse will consume you. And soon, kill those around you. You won't be able to stay in this realm for long."
Eamon's breathing grew heavy. He looked up, eyes filled with a storm of fear, sorrow, and helplessness.
"I need some fresh air," he muttered.
Without waiting for a response, he walked out of the cottage. The door creaked open and shut behind him. The summer wind rustled the grass, but Eamon still felt cold. The sky above was a soft orange, the sun setting behind the hills. But his thoughts were a whirlwind.
Thirteen dark celestial beings. Drinking their blood. Fighting gods' enemies. Redemption.
He couldn't think straight.
He walked, letting the wind hit his face, trying to escape the nightmare he had brought upon himself.