The night hung heavy, the earth stripped of its final thread of warmth, as if Death had laid its hand across the land. Black fog coiled between craggy peaks, rotting vines twisted around broken ancient pillars, and the air reeked of blood and ash. This was the realm of the Forgotten—where even time had slowed, thick and unmoving.
At the heart of a silent graveyard, a pale figure stood before a shattered altar. She wore a long mourning robe, obsidian-black, its hem like mist trailing behind her. Under the glow of ethereal blue flames, she appeared like a phantom risen from the abyss. Her midnight hair flowed to her waist, skin so pale it seemed untouched by sunlight. In her slender hands, she held a crystal orb that shimmered faintly with inner light.
Her name was Elaris, a high necromancer—mistress of the dead and souls, a weaver on the edge of fate.
She stood within a summoning circle traced in ash and bone. Around her rose bone-crafted candelabras, each bearing a quiet, flickering flame of ghostly blue, illuminating the sorrow and devotion that flickered in her gaze.
"By thorns of death and promise unbroken... return to me."
Her voice, a whisper like wind over a barren field, soft yet edged with power no mortal could defy.
The crystal orb trembled violently, casting out a radiant white light. The earth shuddered. From the altar's center, a stone coffin cracked open, and a man's body began to rise. His form was intact—strong, clean, and prepared. Perfect, save for one thing: a soul.
At the spell's final word, the orb erupted in a beam of blue fire. A soul, torn from the void, was hurled into the vessel. At that moment, the crystal pendant on the man's chest began to hum and glow, resonating with the soul as if welcoming an old friend.
Then—silence.
His finger twitched.
Suddenly, his eyes snapped open.
He gasped, dragging in the icy air like it might slice through his lungs. His arms clutched his head as pain lanced through him, cold sweat dripping from his brow. His mind was a storm of confusion.
"You're finally back," Elaris whispered, her voice like a dream half-remembered.
He stared up at her—at that hauntingly beautiful face, both unfamiliar and deeply, eerily familiar.
"Who… am I?" His voice was raw, scraped from rusted iron.
Elaris knelt before him, eyes like the sea at midnight. She reached out and cupped his face gently, her tone wrapped in quiet reverence.
"You are my beloved. My most precious soul. You died for me… and I could not let you go."
"I… died?" he murmured, stunned.
"Yes," she nodded. "But I brought you back. This is your new body, your new life. From now on, you are mine. Forever."
He tried to rise, only to collapse to the ground again, his limbs trembling. His soul had not yet settled into its shell.
Elaris leaned forward, her fingers brushing his shoulders, spine, and arms. Where she touched, the pain faded, replaced by a curious coldness—both comforting and unnerving.
"Are you cold, Aedan?" she asked softly, pulling him into her embrace, her forehead pressed to his. Her voice was a balm, a spell of calm. "There's no need to fear. I'm here with you."
He looked at her, heart beating wildly. He couldn't tell whether it was fear—or something deeper.
"Aedan... That's my name?" he asked uncertainly.
She nodded, smiling, and gently helped him to his feet, guiding him through the forest's darkness to a wooden cottage cloaked in ivy and silence. Inside, the space was warm and sparse, scented faintly with soul incense and wild herbs.
In the days that followed, he slowly regained his strength. Elaris clothed him, fed him, brewed protective charms for him. She was light in darkness—tender, unwavering, ever close.
And Aedan… Aedan fell into the rhythm of her care, lulled by the illusion of peace.
But the forest was too quiet, too still. Day after day passed, and Elaris grew more consumed by her spells and vials. She left him to himself more and more. Restless, Aedan wandered the edges of the clearing, longing for something beyond.
One afternoon, after a heavy rain had washed the world clean, the scent of wet earth and blooming flowers filled the air. Feeling unusually light-hearted, Aedan approached Elaris.
"I think I'll head down to the village—just for a walk," he said casually.
Elaris turned to him, smiling softly. "Aedan, don't go. Don't leave me. It would make me… sad."
She stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him. Her fingers, cool and pale, touched his cheek. Then, gently, she kissed him.
Her lips were soft. Sweet.
And just like that, he forgot what he had meant to do.