crown of self-interest

The silence of the Ghostwood enveloped Zaros as he stood at its edge, a silence thick with ancient dread. Towering, gnarled trees reached out with clawed branches, their trunks twisted into unnatural shapes, as if warped by centuries of dark magic. The forest was still, yet it pulsed with a strange energy beneath the surface, a silent promise of death to anyone foolish enough to trespass within its bounds.

Zaros felt none of the fear that others might experience here. The legends surrounding the Ghostwood were powerful, but to him, they were merely pieces of a puzzle—a puzzle that he was already beginning to solve. His thoughts lingered on the masked figure’s words, about gods and their looming interest in the world. There were more than just mortal powers at play now. And if gods did truly exist, they could either be conquered or harnessed.

His eyes swept over the blackened woods. "You will not hide from me," he whispered, his voice cutting through the oppressive air like a dagger. With a flick of his wrist, a shimmer of energy manifested around him—a protective ward that would shield him from the malicious spirits that were rumored to haunt the forest. Then, without hesitation, Zaros stepped into the Ghostwood.

Immediately, the air grew colder. Shadows twisted and stretched unnaturally as he walked deeper, and the forest seemed to close in around him, as if it were alive, aware of his presence. But Zaros remained unshaken. His power was greater than the forces that lingered here. Even the darkness, with all its malevolent intent, recoiled from him.

He had come seeking something specific. In the ancient myths, the Ghostwood was said to house the entrance to the Realm Beyond Death, the domain of the Phantom Court—the same force he had recently subdued, but now, he sought to control its very source. The Phantom Court was bound to death itself, and by seizing the heart of the Ghostwood, Zaros could claim mastery over death in ways far deeper than necromancy.

As he moved through the twisted forest, he began to sense the faintest whisper of energy—like a current in the air, guiding him further into the depths. His eyes narrowed in concentration, and he extended his awareness, attuning himself to the arcane threads that held this place together. The trees began to part, revealing an ancient, stone path hidden beneath a carpet of dead leaves. Zaros followed the path, knowing it would lead him to what he sought.

Hours passed as he ventured deeper into the heart of the Ghostwood, the air growing heavier with each step. Finally, he arrived at a clearing. At its center stood a massive stone archway, weathered by time and covered in strange glyphs that glowed faintly with an eerie blue light. The portal to the Realm Beyond Death.

Zaros approached the archway, studying its intricate carvings. He could feel the immense power radiating from it, a connection between the living world and the realm of the dead. He had traveled far and faced many challenges to reach this point, but this was only the beginning. His hand hovered over the glyphs, his mind already calculating how best to breach this barrier.

Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a voice—deep, cold, and resonant with ancient authority.

"Who dares to approach the Gates of Death?"

Zaros’s eyes flicked upward. A figure materialized before the portal, draped in flowing, spectral robes. Its face was obscured beneath a hood, but the air around it crackled with raw power. This was no ordinary guardian. It was one of the Spectral Monarchs, rulers of the Phantom Court.

"I am Zaros Valen," he said, his voice unwavering, "and I seek dominion over this realm. Stand aside, or I will destroy you."

The Spectral Monarch let out a hollow laugh, the sound echoing through the clearing like a death knell. "You cannot destroy what is already dead, mortal. Your arrogance will be your downfall."

Zaros smiled faintly. "I have conquered death before. What makes you believe I cannot do it again?"

The Monarch’s form shifted, growing larger, more imposing. "This place is not for the living. You are bound by the same laws as all mortals. Leave now, while you still can."

Zaros's eyes glinted with cold amusement. "Laws? I do not recognize the laws of the dead. I make my own."

Without warning, Zaros raised his hand, and a surge of dark energy erupted from his fingertips, blasting toward the Spectral Monarch. The force of the attack shattered the ground beneath them, sending waves of energy rippling through the air. But the Monarch did not flinch. It raised a hand in response, and a shield of spectral light absorbed the blow effortlessly.

Zaros frowned. This was no ordinary opponent. The Spectral Monarch wielded power that rivaled his own. But that only made the challenge more enticing.

With a swift motion, Zaros summoned his own power, drawing on the necromantic forces he had mastered. Shadows coalesced around him, forming a swirling vortex of death magic. The very air crackled with energy as the two powers clashed, and the forest itself seemed to tremble under the weight of their battle.

The Spectral Monarch struck first, unleashing a barrage of spectral tendrils that shot toward Zaros, seeking to ensnare him. But Zaros was faster. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned a wall of arcane fire that incinerated the tendrils before they could reach him. He retaliated with a burst of dark magic, aiming directly for the Monarch's core. The attack struck true, sending the spectral figure reeling.

But the Monarch was not so easily defeated. With a roar, it gathered its strength, summoning the full power of the Phantom Court. Ghostly figures rose from the ground around them, an army of the dead ready to obey their ruler's command. The clearing was filled with the howls of tortured souls, their eyes glowing with unholy fire.

Zaros stood firm, his expression cold and calculating. "If it's an army you want," he said, "then let me show you the true meaning of necromancy."

With a wave of his hand, Zaros called upon the spirits he had bound in previous battles, summoning his own legion of undead warriors. Skeletal figures, wraiths, and liches rose from the ground around him, their eyes burning with dark energy. The two armies faced each other, a scene of pure chaos and death.

The battle that followed was a clash of titanic forces. The dead fought the dead, and the air was thick with the stench of decay and the cries of the damned. Zaros moved through the chaos like a shadow, his power cutting down any who dared to stand in his way. The Spectral Monarch fought valiantly, but even its immense power could not match Zaros's ruthless cunning.

In the end, it was not strength that decided the battle, but strategy. Zaros had studied the ancient texts, had learned the weaknesses of the Phantom Court. He had come prepared, and now, as the Spectral Monarch faltered, Zaros seized his opportunity. With a final, devastating surge of magic, he struck the Monarch down, its form dissolving into mist.

The clearing fell silent once more. The portal to the Realm Beyond Death stood unguarded.

Zaros approached it, his heart pounding with anticipation. He had won, but this victory was only the beginning. Beyond that portal lay the secrets of death itself, the key to ultimate control over life and the afterlife. He reached out, placing his hand on the glyphs once more, and the archway began to pulse with energy.

As the portal opened, a cold wind swept through the clearing, carrying with it the whispers of the dead. Zaros stepped forward, ready to claim the power that awaited him.

But even as he crossed the threshold, he knew that this journey was far from over. The forces he had encountered so far were mere pawns in a larger game, and the gods that the masked figure had spoken of were still out there, watching.

And soon, Zaros Valen would confront them all.

*Far Beyond the Ghostwood*

As Zaros descended into the Realm Beyond Death, the world of the living continued to shift. The continents, already teetering on the edge of conflict, were beginning to feel the ripple effects of Zaros's actions. In the cities and kingdoms of Iltheria, Khorvas, Aeloria, and beyond, rumors of his power were spreading like wildfire.

In the Skyward Cities, the Aetherborn lords debated the implications of Zaros’s growing influence. In the Verdant Communion, the Elder Trees whispered of his trespasses into realms best left undisturbed. And in the Abyssal Collective, the Void Lords watched with growing interest, wondering how long it would be before Zaros’s ambitions brought him into their domain.

But it was in the Iron Dominion where the first true stirrings of rebellion began. Lord Voss, the ruler of the Dominion, had long been wary of Zaros, but now, as the Technomancers whispered of his conquests, Voss began to make plans. For too long, Zaros had operated unchecked, and if the rumors were true—if Zaros truly sought dominion over life and death itself—then no one, not even the Iron Dominion, would be safe.

The stage was set for a new conflict, one that would shake the very foundations of Eryndor.

And at the center of it all, Zaros Valen, conqueror of the dead, stood poised to claim his next victory.