Lucien placed the catalyst onto the rune-carved altar, the Forgotten King's Remorse pulsing like it wanted to bite. The silver sword lay beside it, gleaming faintly under the crypt's ghostlight. Part of him didn't expect anything to happen—maybe the forge wouldn't even register them.
But it did.
As the objects settled, the Necroforge's presence awakened within his vision. Subtle, invasive. Recognizing both components. The forge had accepted them.
Lucien began to sweat.
The altar thrummed beneath him. The green necrotic flames that usually danced in gentle patterns surged violently, trying to consume everything around them. But then the catalyst pushed back. Forgotten King's Remorse roared to life. The balance cracked.
The sword screamed. Not literally—but the very material of it bent and warped, giving off a sound that clawed at the edges of sanity. The King's Remorse spilled out like a living tide, swallowing the steel and twisting it into something grotesque. The blade darkened—deep, unnatural, a black so complete it seemed to drink the light around it.
Alazaar stood still, one bony hand behind his back, the other resting on his chin, silent.
Lucien's vision filled with alerts:
Warning: Failure Chance Increased +5%
Warning: Failure Chance Increased +25%
Warning:!!
Warning:!!
And then it exploded.
A shockwave of pure darkness erupted from the forge. Shards of warped steel and torn matter screamed outward. Lucien flinched. He'd been standing dangerously close. Alazaar threw up a shield with a flick of his wrist, encasing them both in a glowing ward—even that cracked under the force.
The lich let out a thoughtful hum. "Curious."
Smoke choked the air. The forge burned lower now. On its platform lay a single item.
[Success! New Construct Created!]
Item: Shattered Blade
Type: Weapon
Tier: 1
Durability: 9/10
Infusion: Disabled
Equippable: Undead only
Stats: Atrocious
Lucien stared. "That... was it?"
He had spent all those soul points for this?
"Looks can deceive," Alazaar said. He gestured. "Summon an undead."
Lucien obeyed. A skeleton rose from nearby bones, jerking to life.
Alazaar held out the sword. "Now have it wield the blade."
Lucien nodded. He passed the weapon into the skeleton's hand.
Instantly, something changed.
The darkness embedded in the blade writhed. Like a coiled predator, it stirred. As the skeleton's bony fingers wrapped around the hilt, the dark matter began to shift—crawling down the blade toward the handle like a hungry serpent, coiling and wrapping the undead's arm in its grasp.
It struck the skeleton like lightning, devouring it in one swallow. The bones were gone, hidden inside the growing pillar of black flame.
Then came the fire.
The matter roared to life, reshaping. A silhouette formed in the heart of the blaze. Larger. Broader. Its stance noble. A flowing mane of spectral hair. A crown. Armor unlike anything Lucien had ever forged—this was a knight.
A king.
Lucien stared in awe.
Then—ash.
The silhouette vanished in an instant. The skeleton construct turned to dust, scattered by its own failure to contain what it had become.
Alazaar didn't move.
Lucien said nothing. There were no words.
Finally, the lich spoke. "The power is great. But the vessel is not. You have forged something that should not exist in this world."
He turned his burning eyes toward Lucien.
"This power... it may attract the attention of the Three. Perhaps, for the first time in history, we shall see the gods ally against an anomaly."
There was no fear in his voice.
Only excitement.
---
Lucien could barely hear him.
His mind was still echoing with the image—the flames, the silhouette, that crown. The pressure had been unbearable. His skin still tingled. His arms felt leaden. Muscles he hadn't used still felt numb. If he weren't bound to a chair, he might've collapsed under the weight of it all.
The lingering aura of that construct… It hadn't just appeared. It had dominated the room.
What was that?
Lucien's heart raced. The shock burned away, slowly replaced by something else.
A slow grin crept across Lucien's face. The kind not born of joy—but revelation. He had seen a glimpse of something impossible. And now, he wanted to chase it.
Thirteen years beside Alazaar. Thirteen years surrounded by the cryptic, the arcane, the forbidden. It had done something to him. And now, standing there amid ash and silence, Lucien didn't feel defeated.
He felt alive.
That thing—whatever it had been—was no mere undead. It was purpose forged from wrath and memory. And Lucien wanted it.
No... he needed it.
A new goal took root in his mind: to forge a vessel worthy of such power. A body strong enough to house that crown. A construct not of bone and chance, but of legacy.
He looked at the altar, the faintly pulsing Remorse, and the pile of ash that had once been a skeleton.
Then he whispered to himself:
"I will build you a vessel that can hold you. I will obtain that power and raise the name Vaelthorn to new heights!"
He looked toward Alazaar, who still hadn't moved, still watching the space where the knight had appeared.
Lucien studied him carefully. If he truly wanted to forge a vessel strong enough to hold that power… he couldn't do it alone. He would need guidance. Knowledge. Alazaar had both.
Thirteen years in the crypt had taught Lucien many things—but the most important was this: Alazaar could be trusted. Not because he was kind—far from it—but because he was consumed by curiosity. He didn't crave control, only knowledge.
He wouldn't act without reason.
Lucien drew a slow breath. If anyone would understand the truth, it was this lich.
Lucien broke the silence. "Alazaar… what do you know about reincarnation?"
The lich's head tilted, slow and deliberate. "A curious question. One I've pondered in various forms. I know souls move. Recycle. Fracture. Sometimes, they remember."
Lucien's tone turned low. "I remember everything."
That got Alazaar's attention.
Lucien continued, his voice even, cold with certainty. "I come from another world. One without magic. No undead. No dragons. No soul-forges. Just people. Machines. Science. Buildings taller than mountains. Carriages that move without horses. Metal birds that carry hundreds through the sky."
Alazaar was silent.
Lucien's eyes didn't waver. "And when I died… I saw something. A system. Something... watching. Waiting. It offered me this power."
The silence that followed was thick enough to weigh the air.
Alazaar's eyes slowly flared brighter.
And just as his mouth opened—