Rebirth: Necromancer's Ascenscion

Lyra leaned against a shattered cart, binding her ribs with a length of scavenged cloth. She didn't look at her brother. Just stared toward the forest's edge, where the beasts had vanished.

"They'll be back," she muttered.

Caelen said nothing. He just nodded once.

From the highest wall, Ian turned his gaze toward the Blackblood horizon.

Even in retreat, the forest pulsed.

Like a heartbeat. Like breathing.

Evil still stirred behind those trees.

Something that hadn't yet shown its face.

And Ian knew—

Today was not their true test.

That was still to come.

—–—

The echo of steel and bone had barely settled when dawn slipped across Esgard, staining the city in muted gold.

From atop the broken east gate, Ian watched the new day begin—blood and dust shimmering in the low light, crucible fires still burning below, wardstones flickering with tired mana.

Silence reigned, but it felt wrong. The wall had held, but it now carried the weight of what had just passed—and of what was coming.

The army moved slower than the day before, hands on weapons, eyes on the horizon.

The crucible pit behind them was a quiet testament: armor racks toppled, bodies stacked in mortuary pyres, the wounded shifting on stretchers. Yet they stood. They were the wall.

Ian climbed down, the clatter of loose stone beneath his boots the only sound. Soldiers parted for him, faces drawn yet brightened by his presence. He didn't lift his gaze to them. Not yet.

Below, Caelen and Lyra patrolled the front lines—Caelen checking defenses, Lyra coordinating healers and runners. Their footsteps paused when Ian came down.

Their eyes met his—expression unspoken but unmistakable: he was alive.

Ian nodded and pressed onward toward the council tent erected near the trenches. There, Velrosa, full regalia replaced by a simpler black coat, awaited him. She didn't move to greet him. She simply stood.

It was the first time she had been out in over a year, she insisted she won't stay hidden for this, not when her city fought for it's survival.

He reached her side, speaking quietly.

"How long to full repair?"

She glanced out over the breach.

"A few hours," she said. "But we'll still need a six-hour window before dusk to reinforce that section again. It's unstable."

"I want it done before nightfall," Ian said.

Her gaze flicked to his. "Good."

Silence fell. The moment of reprieve was already passing.

Inside the tent, the council gathered. General Drael and Thalia stood near the map-laden table. Eli and Blackrat—Rat—stood at the rear.

Caelen and Lyra flanked the council along with Ellea Tharn, Master Engineer of the wall project. Pyre candles stained the air with faint orange haze.

Ian entered calmly.

Thalia broke the silence. "Sovereign, thankfully you're unharmed."

Ian barely nodded. "The breach held. The army is ready. But we can't keep fighting every sunrise. We need information."

She hesitated, then looked at Rat. "Any signs of deeper intent?"

Rat shook his head. "The regular beasts—they flee, injured or panicked. But the Oathbreakers… they studied us. They didn't flee. They analyzed. They waited."

General Drael slammed a fist. "So what? They return larger? They adapt? They'll break through eventually."

Ian leaned on the table. "Then we need to blind them. Set bait. Use their own tactics."

Caelen interjected: "Trap them. Make their information false."

Ian nodded. "Exactly."

They debated tactics: deploying shadow traps, decoy patrols, illusion wards, necro-rigged bait-wagons.

The argument ebbed into night. They planned fire arcs, dead corpses wired with glyphs. Engineers discussed catapult reconfiguration.

Hours passed. Beyond the tent, a breeze roamed free. Within, energies built.

Morning broke again—lighter, but no less burdened. The wall rose higher, crows and banners perched once more. The trench had been refilled. Runes reactivated.

It was semaphore: the city said yes.

Ian departed for the battlements again. Council followed behind him. He brushed through the lines of soldiers, paused to clasp forearms with Caelen, then Lyra. For her, only a nod, but it was enough.

On the rise, he signaled Eaglehorn—an elite sentinel archer already linked via arcane comm.

"Ready that trap… Only when they reach the false trenches."

Eaglehorn bowed.

Ian turned and descended back towards the interior, Rat by his side.

Over the next hours, Esgard braced again. Soldiers marched in well-oiled drills: shift rotations, supply runs, healing cycles, intelligence runs to test poison runs by Lyra's teams.

Word slipped to Velrosa's ear as she reviewed scrolls in the council hall:

"A week later, no casualties from patrols… but increased sightings… an ill wind."

Ian received it on his wristborne rune-band.

"I knew it would take time," he sighed. "We can't just react."

Rat grinned, though grimly. "They teach us through every assault. Each movement a data point."

Eli rested near Velrosa. "What happens when they stop teaching?"

Velrosa caught Ian's eye. "Then either we break them—or break."

He examined a rune map on the wall—the black-lace diagram of their decoys and wards and traps. Many colored dots marked failpoints.

Ian placed his hand over it. "We choose how hard we strike back."

As dusk approached again, Ian gathered elite captains. Caelen, Lyra, Thalia, Ellea, Rat, Drael, and several ward-mages clustered in a control tower overlooking the breach.

Behind them, torches extinguished, creating channels of darkness.

From the forest line, Oathbreakers appeared again. More. Twenty of them—some with antlers now, peculiarly draped in charred mail.

Their count came in waves, each slower, more thoughtful. They probed. They measured torso heights, shield angles, recited spells under their breath.

Ian watched calmly.

Rat murmured: "Our bait is up."

Ian nodded.

They saw small cart-wheels among the trench—supply wagons with whispers of decay-spells and dead-beast knowhow. Each bait station rigged with sleeper necrotic traps and runes bound to expire when triggered.

Ian signaled.

The archers loosed volleys at the pack of beasts. Goblin-bred crossbows launched bolts dipped in numbing paste. Flames erupted. The beasts fled downward into the trench.

Before ten seconds, deep in the trench, ten large net-traps snapped up. Hidden glyphs flared. Rotten chains entangled limbs. Groans rose.

An Oathbreaker stepped forward to survey.

That's when—bite flash.

Flash-slash from above: two large wagons tipped their cargo—corpses of beasts and runes floating over them: decoy dread.

The bait-illusion achieved.

And then—

The strike came.

Lyra and Caelen charged inside the trench, flamebows and moon-steel blades gleaming. Necrowards triggered, holding captured beasts aloft.

The Oathbreakers hesitated.

Ian stepped through the soot, judgment blade in one hand, ritual dagger in the other. His gait was regal, relentless.

He spun a glyph beneath his feet and vanished.

One Oathbreaker died mid-flash—body erupted from brittle-blade strike, bones flaking.

Another's oath-cattle tried to resist—but he had forgotten how to stand alone. Ian's voice whispered in its ears through shadowed void: die.

The Oathbreaker froze and fell.

Another two attacked Lyra; she parried both.

Caelen's armor rang like victory as he beheaded the third.

Within moments, it was over.

No contest.

Oathbreaker corpses lay mauled. Wound cheese at the bottom of the trench. Vines of decay-sigil glowed.

Silence settled again.

That night, the council reconvened.

Ian returned, boots smeared, coat shredded. Velrosa welcomed him into the study—this time candle-bright and rosy.

She said nothing.

He handed her a black satchel.

Inside—fragments of Oathbreaker curse-scrolls, broken runes, faltered spells gently clipped.

He said, "We learn more every time. We're not replacing names or telescoping shields. We're rewriting their purpose."

Velrosa nodded. More than that. She trusted. Because beneath his words lay strategy, hope.

Rat reported bankers had cashed major bonds based on Ian's outcome and decree. Debt nodes bled Queen's province dry. Enough walls remained as profit.

Drael delivered numbers: trench integrity ten percent down. Breach reinforcements at full capacity.

Caelen and Lyra spoke briefly of field tactics then followed with Damien's letter—scouts reported something deeper, beyond fence-line.

Velrosa asked what they knew.

Ian paused.

"Nothing yet. But we only took this step… we can still choose the next ones."

---

Under a sliver of moon, he walked to the balcony behind the tower alone. City lights below flickered on. Flames drifted.

Something moved behind him.

Lyra appeared, bow strung across her back.

She stood side-by-side as he gazed outward.

"You're going again tomorrow?" She spoke quietly.

He didn't answer.

She turned and waited.

After a long moment, he said, "If I stop… we die without purpose."

She looked at him.

"I know."

They stood shoulder to shoulder. No words left unsaid.

Another dawn.

A week later.

The wall rose stronger still.

The city leaned forward in their hearths, in their beds, and even within their nightmares.

The Oathbreakers came again—fewer this time. More deliberate. Fanged beasts sniffing hole-lines. Pale stalkers that paused an instant to see if they were seen.

The soldiers awaited.

Ian stood with Eli, Rat, Caelen, Lyra scattered above him—an iron constellation.

The day began in thunder. Shields crashed.

Steel clashed.

Ritual flames licked through the trench.

And among the chaos—

Ian held his sword aloft.

Like a banner.

A claim.

A warning.

If the Breach had come.

The wall would hold.

It had to.