With the haunting sound of creaking bones, a horde of undead shuffled into the dark and musty cave. Every inch of the cavernous walls, ceiling, and floor was adorned with intricate scripts and diagrams of powerful magic, etched deep into the stone. At the center of the pack, a young man was being dragged by one of the skeletons. Despite the clear signs of a life spent outdoors etched on his face, there was something almost charming about his appearance. The rough journey of being dragged had left him covered in dirt and grime, but even so, his lean and muscular physique was a sight to behold.

The cave was in actuality a place to keep a laboratory for a necromancer.

The skeletons marched up to their master standing in the middle of the laboratory —the necromancer, a hooded man whose head fixated upward as if he could see something in the empty air no one else could. The necromancer, known as Zini, ignored the skeletons behind him. Something demanded his attention, something he couldn't avert his senses from.

Mana whirled around him and communicated with his aura, depicting a slew of skeletons being decimated somewhere in the forest. He bit the back of his hand in frustration. Why must they all be here now of all times, he shrieked inwardly. I'm so very close to accomplishing my goals!

Zini let out a harsh cough, wincing at the sharp pain that shot through his lungs. Being a necromancer who wasn't undead came with many downsides, and constant illness was just one of them. But it wasn't always like this. Years ago, he was a different person, someone with a promising future and a bright path ahead. Despite needing the entirety of his focus to fight off the intruders, his mind couldn't help but wander back to those days.

He had once attended a prestigious magic school, the envy of his peers and the pride of his family. They had cried tears of joy when he enrolled, and their neighbors had beaten their own children who didn't measure up to him. A wistful sigh escaped his lips as he remembered the girl he had loved in secret, someone he was unable to confess his feelings to. But when she learned of his promising future, she started to become embarrassed and shy in front of him, and he finally saw a way to win her over.

Back then, destiny had promised only glory and riches for Zini. He spent days in those times envisioning mansions and adoring crowds. There even came a letter from a representative of the imperial family, stating that he was one of the promising people they would keep an eye on.

As Zini's focus waned, the mana flowing around him rippled and vibrated, as though struck by a sudden surge of energy. With a jolt, his mind snapped back to reality and the task of controlling his undead with mana. In frustration, his hand rose involuntarily as he sank his teeth into the back of it. It was only after refocusing that he realized almost all of the skeletons he had sent out to deal with the intruders had been destroyed.

The trespassers had cunningly led Zini's army of undead through a constricted valley flanked by towering bluffs, thereby nullifying the advantage of numbers. They picked off the skeletal warriors in twos and threes as they squeezed into the bottleneck.

Zini's became overwhelmed with anxiety as a sudden wave of dread washed over him. He cradled his head in his hands and remained motionless, knowing that his mission was on the brink of failing. His curse was to always be close to achieving greatness, only to be quickly denied. The intruders were sure to find and kill him, considering him a mere nuisance. They would then move on with their lives, completely unbothered by the life they had taken.

No one would remember the necromancer who only ever had potential.

As Zini's mind flashed with the sudden memory of his acceptance into the Magitarius, he couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia. He remembered the grueling hours he had spent in the library, poring over dusty tomes and drawing arcane formulas until his fingers felt too stiff to unbend from the shape of how he held an ink brush. He recalled the countless interviews and tests he had endured, each one testing his knowledge, his creativity, and his endurance.

Zini knew that the Magitarius was no ordinary place of learning, and getting accepted was no small feat. It was a place where legends of magic had learned their arcane craft, and where only the most talented and dedicated students were accepted. The memory of the congratulations and well-wishes he had received from his peers and teachers filled him with pride, but he also remembered the struggles he had faced to get there.

Despite the challenges, Zini had persevered, driven by his passion for magic and his burning desire to succeed. He could still hear the words of one of his teachers, “You will be a pivotal figure in the coming age, Zini. We all expect you to do great things.”

Zini’s dark green eyes suddenly glowed as he gritted his teeth. Stooping low, he spread his hands wide. Mana began to swirl around him like a twister, the air distorting like water running down over a painting. Outside, above the cave, mana began to funnel down through into the earth and began to siphon into the necromancer.

I’ll show these intruders why people called me great!

Within the cave, the scripts and diagrams that flooded its interior exploded with light. Dirt fell from the ceiling as the cave began to shake while the ground shook with slight tremors. The air distorted into patterns only a keen eye familiar enough with magic could derive any meaning from. The tomb connected to the cave began to glow with an eerie violet light.

The skeletons covering the tomb's floors began to stir and suddenly their eye sockets burst with topaz-colored flames. Their heads lifted and their teeth clattered together, making a sound like that of hundreds of locusts. As if being pulled by invisible strings, they twisted their bodies upright and began to move at their master's command, like many puppets.

The cave's entrance exploded as if hit by a powerful geyser, and out of it emerged a horde of skeletons. The sound of marching could be heard throughout the forest as an army of undead arrived, their fiery eyes casting an eerie glow upon the woods, visible from afar.

On the other side of the forest, standing in a valley between two bluffs, five people dressed for war turned their heads simultaneously. They could see shimmering curtains of topaz light shining from among the trees, moving toward them. They picked up their weapons and prepared themselves.

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Zini's nose bled profusely, his eyes glazed over as his consciousness waned. He had pushed himself to the limit, channeling all the power from the intricate diagrams and scripts that filled his laboratory. The necromancer was now hovering between life and death, his body wracked with strain from the excessive mana usage.

Kill the intruders, he managed to squeeze out a command before he fell to the floor. I am the great Zini…

The necromancer fell unconscious.

A balding figure with thinning white hair and a full beard that looked quite like a gnome peered into the entrance of the laboratory. After observing for a moment, he descended the intricately carved stone stairs with a tall bundle of packs and other items tied to his back, which dwarfed his small frame.

Polopp muttered to himself, "Looks like they're all gone," as his sharp eyes scanned the dark corners of the room. The gnome alchemist had been keeping a close watch on the laboratory and had noticed an army of skeletons marching out of the place, providing him with an opportunity to infiltrate. With the undead guards gone, he could slip in unnoticed.

As he made his way through the dimly lit cave, Polopp stumbled upon a stone table where he saw a young man sleeping soundly. "There you are, champ," he thought to himself with a grin. He had found Red, and all he needed to do was diagnose his symptoms and concoct a cure to rouse him from the paralysis poison—a task not too difficult for an adept alchemist like himself.

He was in fact the only gnome in history who had won human prizes for his work in alchemy, which said quite a lot given the ego of humans and their distrust of outsiders.

Before the gnome could even take a step toward Red, a woman's cry echoed from the other end of the cave, causing Polopp to freeze in his tracks. With haste, he imbued mana to help him speedily move behind other stone tables and hide himself from view.

"Zini has died!" the woman wailed, her voice filled with anguish.

A rough voice interrupted her screams, "Stop that, would you? Mister Zini is fine. He looks like he's sleeping..."

"But there's blood!" the woman protested.

After a brief pause, the rough voice added, "He's still breathing. Let's take him to the back and see if anyone knows medicine. Hey, you."

A new voice, low and rumbling, replied, "How dare you speak to me like that?" Polopp heard a door creak open as heavy footsteps approached.

"Mister Zini ordered you to heed our commands! With all of his creatures gone, you must stand guard," the man said.

"I refuse," the rumbling voice answered. The heavy footsteps resumed and then ceased. Polopp noticed a broad shadow cast by the glowing scripts and diagrams as someone stepped into the center of the room. "Damned necromancer," the rumbling voice muttered.

"See? You must obey because of the spell on you. You're lucky to be alive," the man said, turning to the woman. "All right. Let's take Mister Zini to the back. Be careful now."

As the door shut, the laboratory fell into silence, except for the sound of heavy breathing coming from someone standing in the middle of the room. Polopp cursed inwardly, sensing that the person left behind had vast amounts of mana. Though he could not see the person from his hiding spot, he could see the air distortions warping the air of the cave.

Only someone powerful could warp their surroundings by simply standing in place, he thought to himself worriedly.

Before him lay a world without color filled by wandering figures, each with a forlorn and hopeless expression etched on their indiscernible features. The shapes of their bodies mirror images of the others around them, indistinguishable from the person next to them. The sky held no sun or moon, only stars in constant motion as if the world were spinning rapidly. But what truly caused the wanderers of this land to feel such sorrow was that the world was turning, turning without them.

Lost and forgotten, they remained trapped in this place without purpose or escape.

The figures moved aimlessly from one place to the next, wandering in a perpetual state of confusion. Among them was Zini, another featureless figure with nowhere to go. That was until a hand, like that of a god, reached down with glorious light, stretching out toward him.

Zini awoke gasping.

His hands felt around his body. He was still alive. Heavily sighing with deep relief, the necromancer laid back down. It had been only a dream, or perhaps a memory. He didn’t know.

“Mister Zini!” voices cheered.

Zini’s dark green eyes steadied on figures dressed in a drab gray color, staring at him with relief and respect.

“I thought you had died,” a young woman among them cried.

“Why would I, the great Zini, ever perish,” Zini laughed tiredly. He felt exhausted.

“Well, when we heard the rumbling outside and all your creatures left, only you remained. But you were unconscious! We were so very worried for you.”

Zini tried to dismiss the woman's concerns, but then his body went rigid with realization. It all came flooding back to him why he had lost consciousness. As he reached out to the scripts and diagrams in his laboratory, the air around him began to distort in thin streams.

He could feel nothing. There were no undead soldiers left, none had responded to his magic. That could only mean they had perished.

No, there were too many of them, Zini thought with frustration. How could this be possible?!

He changed the way his mana reacted with the scripts in the cave and he sent his sense to the spell he had placed to observe the forest with. Though he could not pinpoint them exactly, he could still sense them.

The intruders from before had triumphed. After all he did. After all he sacrificed to conjure so many skeletons, he was still defeated.

It’s not over yet, he thought and forced himself to stand, almost falling over, feeling a fatigue burdening his body. I overused my mana by quite a bit. I might not be the same after this ordeal.

He began to cough violently.

“Mister Zini,” those in gray shouted, rushing forward to try and help him.

Zini distorted the air in front of him with mana, causing them to back off.

“I’m fine,” he said, wiping spittle from his mouth. He saw some of the spit had blood mixed. Nevertheless, he stood tall. “You all stay in here. I promise everything will be fine.” They nodded, though some faces still wanted to argue for the sake of Zini’s health.

“Good.”

Zini limped out of the room and locked eyes with his only remaining servant who was standing guard in the center of the laboratory. This servant was his trump card and last defense. He had no choice but to put him in play.

"Go and find the intruders in my forest," Zini commanded the servant. "There are five of them: one woman and four men. Capture them alive."

The servant tried to argue with Zini, but his body quickly obeyed the order, cutting him off.

The world blurred in front Zini as his legs came up from under him. He had overstrained himself and needed rest, but he couldn’t when there were people after his life. Regardless of his thoughts, he began to drift off into sleep.

Before he went down, he plucked out a potion from a pocket and drank it.

He dozed off, but after a brief slumber, Zini snapped awake. The potion had worked. He had consumed a concoction known to promote wakefulness, something he had learned during his studies at the Magitarius. The potion was the only bit of alchemy he knew.

Blearily, he rubbed his eyes and tried to shake off the grogginess. Such effects were the only downsides to the potion.

As he gained full visibility, he saw a gnome on one of his stone tables crushing herbs with a mortar and pestle, while a vial of liquid boiled over a fire. The gnome was whistling a happy tune, seemingly in a good mood. After a moment, the gnome walked toward a young man lying on another table and used some peculiar instruments to check on him. With a nod, the gnome went back to his work, still whistling.

Am I still dreaming?