Gabriel stood before the group of intruders, his skeletal sentinels waiting in the shadows, their empty eyes glowing faintly with the magic that animated them. The leader of the group, a tall man with rough features and the build of a warrior, still had his sword drawn, but his hand wavered as he looked into Gabriel's crimson eyes. The others huddled behind him, their faces pale with fear and confusion.

The leader's voice was steady, though Gabriel could hear the uncertainty beneath the bravado. "Are you… the Lord of the Undead?"

For a moment, Gabriel said nothing. The title felt strange, but not entirely wrong. He looked at the group, ragged and desperate, and saw in their eyes the reflection of his own journey. Once, he had been like them—lost, afraid, searching for purpose in a world that had shown him only cruelty. Now, he was something else entirely.

"I am," Gabriel replied, his voice cold and distant. "I am the ruler of this place, and those who dwell here answer to me."

The group exchanged uneasy glances, unsure of what to do next. The warrior lowered his sword slightly, his brow furrowed in thought. Finally, he sheathed his blade, taking a step forward.

"If you are truly the Lord of the Undead, then we have nowhere else to go. The lands beyond this city are crawling with orcs, and we've lost too many already. We were searching for Veloren, hoping to find shelter… a place to rebuild. But if this is your domain… then we will swear loyalty to you."

The others murmured in agreement, their expressions shifting from fear to reluctant acceptance. They had come to the city of the dead with hopes of survival, and now, faced with a figure like Gabriel, they saw no other choice. Gabriel could feel their desperation, their desire to escape the horrors of the world beyond. They weren't warriors. They were refugees—farmers, merchants, and a few trained fighters who had banded together in the face of overwhelming odds.

"You would swear loyalty to a creature like me?" Gabriel asked, his voice dark and tinged with skepticism.

The leader nodded, his gaze unwavering. "We don't care what you are. All we care about is survival. If you can give us that… we'll follow you."

Gabriel's gaze swept over the group, studying each of them in turn. The leader was hardened, likely a former soldier. His companions were varied—a woman in her late thirties, clutching the hand of a young boy, a few younger men, and an older man who carried himself like someone accustomed to hardship. They weren't much, but they were human. And, in a strange way, they represented the first living souls who had willingly come to Veloren since its fall.

A flicker of something stirred within Gabriel. It wasn't pity or compassion—those emotions had long been dulled by the curse that now governed his existence. It was more of a recognition of potential. These people were weak, broken, and desperate. But they could serve him. Just as the undead served him.

"Very well," Gabriel said, his voice low and commanding. "Swear your loyalty to me, and I will offer you protection. But understand this: Veloren is no longer a city of the living. It is a place where death holds sway. If you stay here, you will live under my rule, and you will obey my commands without question. Do you accept this?"

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The group hesitated for only a moment. The alternative—facing the orcs in the wilderness with no protection—was far worse. One by one, they stepped forward and knelt before Gabriel, their heads bowed in submission.

"We swear our loyalty to you, Lord of the Undead," the leader said, his voice steady but filled with the weight of the choice he had made. "We will serve you, so long as you protect us."

Gabriel watched them, his face impassive. He could feel the pulse of magic in the air, the connection that had formed between him and these living souls. It wasn't like the bond he shared with the undead. This was different—deeper, more complex. They weren't his slaves, but they were bound to him by necessity, by fear, and perhaps by something even greater.

"Rise," Gabriel commanded.

They stood, still wary but now bound to him by their oath. Gabriel turned his back on them and began walking deeper into the city, motioning for them to follow.

"This city is old, but it can still be rebuilt," Gabriel said as they walked through the ruined streets. "My servants," he gestured to the skeletons patrolling the perimeter, "are already working on fortifying the walls. You will assist them. If you wish to live here, you will contribute to the rebuilding. Veloren will not be your refuge—it will be your home. But know this: should you betray me, there will be no escape from the consequences."

The group nodded, silent but determined. They had thrown their lot in with Gabriel, and there was no turning back.

Gabriel led them to one of the more stable sections of the city, an old market square where several buildings still stood, albeit in disrepair. He instructed them to begin clearing the debris and establishing shelters. His skeletal workers would assist where needed, but the humans would have to learn to fend for themselves in this new world.

As the group set to work, Gabriel withdrew to the shadows, watching them from a distance. He could feel the city beginning to stir, its long-dead heart beating faintly once more. Veloren had been abandoned for centuries, forgotten by the world. But now, with the arrival of these people, the first steps toward its rebirth had begun.

Yet Gabriel knew that their presence was only the beginning. The world beyond the wild lands was still in chaos. Orcs roamed freely, and the kingdoms of men were weak and fractured. Veloren would need more than just a handful of survivors to rise again. It would need an army. It would need followers. And Gabriel would need to grow stronger if he was to face the challenges that lay ahead.

As the moon rose higher in the sky, Gabriel retreated to the catacombs beneath the city, where he continued his studies in necromancy. He had raised the dead before, but now he sought to master the craft fully. The tomes he had discovered spoke of greater spells—rituals that could raise not just skeletons, but entire legions of the dead. He would need such power if Veloren were to become the fortress he envisioned.

Days passed, and slowly, the refugees began to adapt to their new life. Gabriel watched as they worked tirelessly to restore what they could of the city, always under the watchful eyes of his skeletal sentinels. The leader, who had introduced himself as Thomar, proved to be a capable organizer, directing the group with quiet efficiency. Though they still feared Gabriel, they began to accept their place under his rule.

Veloren was no longer a city of the dead alone. It was becoming something more—a city of survivors, of those who had been cast aside by the world and found refuge in the shadows. Gabriel, once a hero of the light, now ruled over this strange, dark place, and with each passing day, his power grew.

But even as the city slowly rebuilt itself, Gabriel could feel the winds of change stirring. The world outside would soon take notice of Veloren once more. And when they did, Gabriel would be ready.