Zavet gathered all his belongings, fastening his cloak around his shoulders as he set off for Nuri'fon. His heart was heavy with the knowledge of what lay ahead, but the beauty of the land around him offered a brief respite. The crisp air of the wilderness filled his lungs, and he took his time, not rushing the journey. He fished along the rivers, catching enough to fill his belly, and hunted the giant beasts that roamed the forests. When he encountered thieves trying to rob travelers, he stopped the robberies. These small acts of kindness gave him fleeting moments of peace, though the weight of what was to come loomed large in the back of his mind. Fear settled in his chest.

As Zavet approached the towering gates of Nuri'fon, he paused just outside the city walls. The city rose before him, grand and imposing. He stood there for a moment, soaking in the sight. The pull of the Call was undeniable now, more vital than ever. It was as if a force beyond his control gripped his soul, pulling him forward. His feet moved independently, drawn toward whatever the future had for him.

Entering the city, Zavet made his way directly to the Krimlond embassy. The keep guards recognized him and waved him through without hesitation. Zavet moved purposefully through the long corridors until he reached the common room. As he neared, the sound of raised voices grew louder. He quickened his pace, fearing the worst. A fight, perhaps. But when he burst into the room, he found Krimlond in an argument.

Flynn, Lina, Runner, and Hoat stood in the center of the room, locked in a heated argument. They were yelling at each other, their voices overlapping in a chaotic storm of accusations and insults. Zavet stood at the doorway, momentarily stunned by the absurdity of it all. None of them seemed to notice him entering.

“You are to blame, Flynn!” Hoat bellowed, pointing an accusatory finger at the druid. “You are the enemy. Why shouldn’t we kill you right here and now until your soul is too weak to resurrect?”

Flynn, red-faced and fuming, shot back. “I’m a druid first, a citizen of the kingdom second! I told the High Druid what was happening because it was my duty. It was he who caused the earthquake, not me! All I did was inform him that the kingdom was using undead to fight undead, which is against the laws of the land.”

Lina, her eyes flashing with fury, yelled over Flynn’s words. “This isn’t the druids’ land! This kingdom belongs to us! The High Druid’s laws don’t apply here, and just so you know, Adair stripped him of his power. He’s no longer in charge, and the Guardian of the Moons has permanently weakened his soul. So, what do you have to say about that, Flynn?”

Hoat sneered at Flynn, “You’re lucky we only removed your tabard and made you restart as a recruit. Merlot released you because we need every able-body right now. But honestly, I don’t think your brain is very able.”

Flynn opened his mouth to respond, but his gaze suddenly shifted to Zavet, standing quietly at the back of the room. “Still allowing undead inside the keep, I see?” Flynn sneered, bitterness dripping from his voice.

Zavet didn’t hesitate. He was standing directly in front of Flynn in a flash, his speed catching everyone off guard. “I’m not undead,” Zavet said coldly, his eyes locking onto Flynn’s. “The magic of the Forgotten created me. I was just a little lizard once. Your precious druids made me. I lived in a grove, surrounded by druids, until your actions got them all killed.”

With that, Zavet pushed Flynn aside, tilting his head slightly as if daring the druid to challenge him again.

Flynn, taken aback, instinctively cast a healing spell at Zavet, expecting to cause him pain. But to his surprise, the spell had no negative effect. It would have healed Zavet if he had been injured.

Zavet smirked. He had long prepared for such things. Around his neck was a unique necklace he had crafted that turned up to three healing spells per day into necrotic magic when they hit him.

Flynn, confused, tried again, but the result was the same. Zavet simply smiled at him, unfazed. “But you’re undead… how can life’s magic heal you?” Flynn asked, his voice wavering.

Lina, still fuming from the earlier argument, stepped forward. “Flynn, you’re so miserable that you want everyone else to suffer. You can’t stand being wrong, can you? I wouldn’t be surprised if you became a necromancer yourself to turn Zavet undead. To prove you were right.”

Flynn's expression changed, his voice lowered, filled with defeat. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I never intended to... please..."

His words trailed off as he hung his head in shame, the weight of his mistakes pressing down on him.

Hoat, seeing his friend crumble, put a hand on Flynn’s shoulder. “Flynn, you don’t have to keep proving yourself. You’ve put everything into being a druid, but that’s not all you are. Be a father. Protect the kingdom because your family is here, not because you want people to respect you. Give your loyalty to them, not to a title.”

Tears welled up in Flynn’s eyes and began rolling down his face. “I love them so much… I just wanted them to see me as a hero, someone they could look up to.”

Lina, her anger softening, looked at him with frustration and sympathy. “Flynn, they already look up to you. Your tracking skills are unmatched, even by the Guardians of the Moons. You’re a legend. You don’t need to keep proving yourself to anyone. Now, get out of my keep before I change my mind.”

Flynn, still wiping away tears, nodded weakly. “Yes, ma’am,” he said quietly. Then, without another word, he turned and left the room, leaving Zavet, Lina, Hoat, and Runner standing in the aftermath of the argument.

Zavet watched him go, feeling a strange sense of relief. There were battles ahead, far greater than this petty argument.

“Hey, guys,” he said, breaking the silence. “Sorry I’ve been gone for so long. I’ve been training... I was chosen to be the Champion of Necromancy.”

All three turned to look at him, the weight of his words sinking in.

Lina, casually perched on a table, raised an eyebrow. “Champion of Necromancy, huh?” she said with a smirk. “I’m glad Flynn just left; that would’ve made things... awkward.”

Runner laughed and crossed the room to give Zavet a fist bump. “That’s awesome! We knew you were training; Talich said you’d be gone for a month.”

Zavet nodded, but inside, he knew the truth was much more complicated. “Yeah...,” he said, hesitating for a moment.

Mah’nethotep had made it clear time magic was forbidden. The ritual was a secret Zavet was sworn to keep. He couldn’t tell them how time had bent and stretched in the Pyramid and couldn’t explain how he’d gained years of experience in just weeks. So he smiled, playing it off.

“Let’s just say it felt longer,” Zavet grinned.

Runner raised an eyebrow. “Longer, huh? How much longer?”

Zavet shrugged. “I've learned a lot. Tear taught me the basics, Talich helped me improve my fighting skills and magic, Ta'Ffair instructed me in diplomacy, and Mah’nethotep gave me his grimoire and taught me how to use necromancy properly.”

Lina whistled, impressed. “Sounds like you’ve been through hell and back.”

Zavet chuckled, the sound low and laced with a hint of amusement. "Pretty much. They turned me undead so I wouldn’t need to sleep and could keep working for days without rest. Anytime my attention started to slip, they’d issue a command to reel me back in. It was like my mind wasn’t my own."

Lina’s brow arched, her expression caught between intrigue and mild disbelief. "That’s... intense. I’d say brutal, even. I hope it was worth it, no rest, no freedom. Did it at least pay off in the end?”

“I hope to find out. Hoat, can I get a rematch?” Zavet asked.

Hoat’s eyes raked over Zavet, appraising him with a scrutinizing look from head to toe. "You’ve filled out more since we last sparred," he remarked, nodding slightly. "All right, let’s have that rematch. Show me what you’ve learned this time."

A grin broke across Zavet’s face, a spark of excitement lighting his eyes. "Yeah, hit a bit of a growth spurt," he admitted, stretching his arms as if to shake off any last bit of stiffness. "I’ve been itching to test my skills against someone with your strength. It’s not every day I get to face off against a real challenge."

Hoat gave a slight, approving smirk before glancing over at Lina. "Think we’ve got the time to spare for a quick match?"

Lina crossed her arms, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she watched them. "If you boys can keep it quick, I don’t see why not," she replied. "Just try not to bring the place down while at it.”

The tension in the air was electric as Zavet and Hoat faced each other on the training ground outside the Krimlond Keep. A small crowd had gathered. Lina, Runner, and the rest of the Krimlond barony watched from the sidelines, excitement in their eyes. Gauge, Krimlond’s healer, stood by with his arms crossed, ready to step in if things got out of hand.

Hoat, ever the playful warrior, shadowboxed a few moves before summoning his spear. He spun the spear around a few times, showboating.

Zavet’s excitement was palpable. His body tensed with anticipation, and his eyes sparkled with determination. "I’ve been dying for a rematch since the tournament.”

Hoat chuckled. "You’re gonna regret that," he said, though his tone had no malice. He was eager to see just how far Zavet had come.

They squared off, standing ten feet apart. Zavet unclasped his cloak and pulled out his dagger and signature tail, Rumpwhip.

“You ready?” Hoat asked.

Zavet nodded. “Yup.”

Hoat waited, calculating his first move. Then, with a sudden shout, “FIGHT!” he charged forward, his spear flashing in the late afternoon sun. He didn’t give Zavet a moment to breathe, unleashing a flurry of attacks with the practiced skill of a seasoned warrior.

Zavet moved with an agility that surprised even Hoat. He dodged the spear strikes with graceful precision, his footwork light and fast. He parried a thrust aimed at his chest and sidestepped another that would’ve caught his leg. Hoat pressed harder, aiming for weak points, but Zavet didn’t falter. His training had paid off.

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“You’re going defensive, huh? Come on, Zavet. Show me something!” Hoat taunted, grinning through the sweat beginning to form on his brow.

Zavet, always composed, shrugged. “Alright.”

In a blur of motion, Zavet found an opening and slashed Hoat across the thigh with his dagger. Hoat grunted in pain but didn’t let up. Zavet quickly created distance between them, conjuring necromantic magic with a flick of his wrist. Two humanoid figures emerged from the swirling green energy, each wielding spectral blades.

Hoat stared in disbelief as the ethereal soldiers formed. “What the hell is this?”

Without giving him a chance to recover, Zavet sent the two creations charging toward Hoat. The creatures moved with supernatural speed, their blades cutting through the air as they closed the distance.

Hoat cursed under his breath, quickly healing the wound on his leg with a surge of magic. He leaped into the air, using fire magic to propel himself higher, just as the green figures reached him. They followed without hesitation, soaring upward in pursuit.

Zavet stayed on the ground, calmly casting a spell over himself as Hoat fought his summoned creatures in the sky. Dark magic wrapped itself around Rumpwhip, transforming it from a flexible lash into a rigid blade of necrotic energy. The weapon hummed with deadly intent.

Hoat managed to slice through one of the magical figures with his spear, only for the other to land a glancing blow on his shoulder. Wincing, Hoat turned his attention to Zavet, still standing on the ground below.

“Let’s see how you handle this!” Hoat growled, hurling his spear down toward Zavet like a lightning bolt.

Zavet’s eyes widened—he hadn’t expected the attack to come so fast. Before he could react, the spear struck him in the lower abdomen, driving through him with a sickening thud. Zavet’s body crumpled, and the two magical creatures he’d summoned vanished into thin air.

But Hoat wasn’t done. As the spear returned to his hand, he dove toward Zavet, ready to finish the fight. Zavet, however, wasn’t out of tricks yet. Despite the wound in his gut, he quickly summoned a magical shield, a glowing barrier that shimmered between him and Hoat’s next strike.

Hoat’s eyes widened in surprise as he collided with the shield, and in that split second, Zavet struck. With a flick of his wrist, Rumpwhip pierced the shield, the tip of the necrotic blade stabbing into Hoat’s side.

Zavet grinned. “Gotcha.”

With a pulse of dark energy, Zavet unleashed the full force of his necromantic magic. The power coursed through Rumpwhip and into Hoat’s body, tearing through him like a thousand knives. Hoat screamed in pain as the magic ravaged him from the inside, green ooze seeping from his mouth, nose, and ears, along with every other orifice.

Zavet calmly tilted the shield, letting Hoat slide off it onto the ground, convulsing. Hoat’s body twitched uncontrollably as the magic continued to eat away at him.

The crowd watched in stunned silence.

Zavet wiped his dagger on his cloak and placed the blade tip at Hoat’s throat, giggling. “I win,” he said softly, pulling the necrotic magic from Hoat’s body through the dagger.

“Gauge, come heal him,” Zavet called casually, stepping away.

Gauge rushed over, hands glowing with healing magic. He placed his hands on Hoat, channeling life force back into him and sealing the damage from the necromantic magic. Slowly, Hoat’s convulsions stopped, and the green ooze disappeared.

Hoat stood shakily, wiping the remnants of the ooze from his face. “Yeah... you’ve gotten stronger,” he said with a grunt, hinting at pride. Then he groaned, feeling something unpleasant. “Ah, damn it, Zavet... It’s in my shirt. And my trousers. There’s ooze everywhere. Ugh, What the hell, man?”

Zavet chuckled, looking over at Hoat as he pulled the last bits of green ooze from his clothes. "I turned that necromantic energy into a poison," he said, grinning. "Another five minutes and your insides would’ve melted. I call it Necrotic rot. It’s a spell I developed with Mah’nethotep. He’s been teaching me how to create new spells."

The laughter that had filled the air moments ago began to fade as everyone exchanged confused glances. Lina was the first to break the silence, her voice cautious. "Wait... Zavet, did you create a spell? There were no components and no incantation. You just... molded raw magic into a spell?" Her tone was a mix of disbelief and curiosity.

Zavet nodded confidently. "Yeah, that’s how I cast spells now."

Lina furrowed her brow. "No, no. That’s not how most people cast spells. The incantation and the components hold the power. They act as a trigger for the magic to follow, channeling and directing it."

Zavet smiled as if he had expected this reaction. "The way I do it is different. Mah’nethotep taught me that raw magic can be conditioned to respond autonomously. The magic itself is intelligent. All spells were once created from nothing. The more I use this spell, the more anyone else uses it, the more the magic will adapt. Eventually, it will recognize what I want it to do with an incantation. It's like training it, making it second nature."

Lina's expression shifted from confusion to a grudging admiration. "What did you do to our sweet, goofy lizard?" she teased, shaking her head. But there was a hint of awe in her voice now.

Zavet's new understanding of magic had exceeded what any of them had expected.

Ever the optimist, Runner slapped Zavet on the back with a wide grin. "Oh, we’re about to do big things, Zavet. Iscariot won’t know what hit him!"

Zavet smiled at Runner’s enthusiasm, though a secret thought tugged at his mind. He knew he was planning to meet with Iscariot later that night, but he intended to keep that to himself. There were things his friends weren’t ready to understand just yet.

"Come on, let’s head inside," Runner said, motioning for Zavet to follow him. "I’ve got something to show you."

The group slowly returned toward the keep, but Runner led Zavet down a different path, away from the rest of the Krimlond barony. They walked through the courtyard, past a row of trees, until they reached a newly constructed house on the outskirts of the grounds.

Runner gestured proudly to the building. "Alley and I have been working on this for a while now. We built ourselves a house. It's modest, but it's home."

Zavet blinked, surprised. "You built this? With your own hands?"

Runner nodded and smiled. "Yeah, we wanted a place that was ours, where we could enjoy some peace and quiet. And well, we even made a room for you."

Zavet's heart swelled at the thought. "A room for me? But I—"

Runner cut him off with a grin. "We knew you’d come back eventually. We didn’t want you sleeping in the barracks every time you returned. You're part of our family, Zavet."

Zavet felt a rare surge of emotion. Although his lizard-like features often concealed his feelings, he could sense the warmth of belonging. He stepped forward, gazing at the house in awe. The craftsmanship was solid, and the structure was strong and inviting, like a place made with love. Runner opened the door and ushered him inside.

"Come on, I’ll show you around," Runner said, leading him through the main living area. It was cozy, with wooden beams running along the ceiling and a hearth crackling with a warm fire. The furniture was simple but well-made, clearly the handiwork of someone who valued comfort and practicality.

Runner stopped in front of a door at the end of the hallway. "This is your room," he said, opening it slowly.

Zavet stepped inside, and his eyes widened. The room was small but ideally suited for him. The bed was tailored to his frame, with soft furs and blankets piled on top. A desk sat by the window, overlooking the fields beyond the keep, and shelves lined the walls, ready to be filled with whatever he needed during his stays.

"I... I don’t know what to say," Zavet muttered, overwhelmed.

Runner clapped him on the shoulder. "You don’t have to say anything. You’re family. That’s all there is to it."

Zavet nodded, still taking it all in. He’d been focused on training, becoming stronger, and preparing for future battles for so long. But here, in this house, he was reminded that he wasn’t fighting alone. He had people who cared about him, who wanted him to succeed, not just as a warrior, but as a person.

"Thank you, Runner," Zavet finally said, his voice quiet but filled with sincerity. "I’ll always have your back."

Runner grinned. "I know you will, Zavet. Now, come on. Let’s get some food. I’m starving, and I’m sure Lina’s got something cooking back in the keep."

They returned to the keep and sat down to enjoy a meal together. The air was filled with the rich aroma of boiled shrimp seasoned with spices and fresh lemon. Zavet, who had been unfamiliar with shrimp, eagerly tried it. As he popped one into his mouth, his eyes lit up excitedly.

"This is amazing!" Zavet exclaimed between bites. "It's like my two favorite foods combined—fish and bugs."

Runner laughed heartily, patting Zavet on the back. "Glad you like it, Zavet. It's a favorite around here."

The evening passed with laughter and conversation, but the group's energy faded as the night continued. One by one, they retired to their chambers, gradually growing quiet under the blanket of night. Zavet, however, had something more pressing on his mind. As the others drifted off to sleep, he quietly slipped away, retreating to a private room where he pulled out his grimoire. The old tome seemed to hum with an ancient, quiet power. Flipping through the worn pages, Zavet found the ritual he had been searching for, a communication spell designed to send a message across great distances.

He gathered the necessary components and cast the ritual under the pale moonlight streaming through the window. His voice was a low murmur as he chanted the words. The magic took hold, reaching out through the ether to find his brother, Iscariot.

"Iscariot, meet me outside the city. By Krimlond keep, We need to talk," Zavet's voice echoed through the magical link, delivered directly into his brother's mind.

Satisfied, Zavet closed the grimoire and quietly left the keep. The night was cool, the breeze carrying the faint sounds of the city in the distance. Zavet walked to the secluded spot where he had asked Iscariot to meet him, his heart steady but his mind racing with the weight of their conversation to come.

Soon enough, Iscariot appeared. He approached slowly, his figure barely visible in the dim light, but there was no mistaking him. The two brothers stood face to face under the dark sky, their expressions unreadable.

"Hello, Zavet," Iscariot greeted him, his voice calm though a touch of tension hung in the air.

Zavet regarded him with an impassive expression, masking the complex emotions beneath. "So," he began, his voice cold and measured, "are you planning to sit this out? Will you let us deal with the Lords of Necromancy on our own?"

Iscariot's gaze dropped to the ground momentarily as if the question's weight pressed heavily on him. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft but persistent. "I can't sit it out completely. She is still able to control me, but I'll help you. I’ll inform you when they plan to attack and where. You can ambush them. It's getting harder for me to push her away."

Zavet’s eyes narrowed as he listened, evaluating his brother's words. "So what do we need to do to stop her from taking you over," he asked, his voice cutting through the stillness of the night.

“She will pull her away if she thinks I am dying. So you will need to fight her while she is controlling me.” Iscariot told zavet

Iscariot lifted his head, his gaze drifting toward the sky as if searching for answers among the stars. "I know what I need to do to recreate the Moon of the Forgotten," he said. "I'll perform the ritual. But for it to work, I’ll need you, myself, a dragon descendant, and an ancient bloodline linked to necromancy. Once we do this, we won’t have access to the Well of Power. But the four of us will become part of the moon itself."

Zavet nodded thoughtfully, absorbing the gravity of his brother’s words. “That’s fine,” he said, though his focus remained elsewhere. “But what about Wispein? She’s the real threat here.”

Iscariot sighed, the weight of the situation evident in his tired voice. "By the time she finds her way back here, the Lords of Necromancy will already be dealt with. The Guardians of the Moons and their champions will have to deal with her. I have not completely severed the connection between us."

He paused, his expression troubled. "I’ve found a way to bind her soul to an item. But I need the sword forged from a part of her essence. It’s the key. Without it, we can’t bind her. I’ve been searching the palace archives for information, but all I’ve found are references to two other swords."

Zavet tilted his head, curious. "What swords?"

"The Red Dragon Sword," Iscariot explained, "the one Merlot uses. It was forged from Nuri’s essence. There’s also a silver one, created from Taigha, but I have no idea where that sword is. Finding them would help us destroy Wispein, but so far, I haven’t been able to track down any leads."

Zavet nodded slowly, considering the implications. "So we need these swords to stop her. And once we do the ritual to restore the Moon of the Forgotten, we lose the Well of Power. But the trade-off is that the moon returns. We can work on binding Wispein once she is unbound from the moons."

"Exactly," Iscariot confirmed. "But without those swords, our chances of success are slim."

The two brothers stood silently for a moment, the enormity of what lay ahead settling between them like a heavy fog. Zavet’s mind raced with thoughts of the coming battles, the looming threat of Wispein, and the complex web of power and betrayal that had entangled them both.

"We have a lot of work to do," Zavet finally said, his voice steady.

Iscariot nodded in agreement. "Yes, we do. But we’ll make it through this. Together, we can change everything."

With that, the two parted ways.