“Finished?” she asked.
“Yes,” Lukandor answered, closing the grimoire.
“So?” she said, pretending to be focused on drawing symbols at her desk. Forty three years old and she still acted like a child sometimes.
Cute, he thought.
“It was good,” he said.
“Good?!” she turned, papers falling with unfinished sketches. “So the accumulation of my life’s work was ‘good’, uh?”
He couldn’t help but let out a slight smile. She was so obvious.
“It was really good, then.”
“Oh, really good?” she said, anger slightly winning over irony in her voice. “Now I feel like it was all worth it.”
She started gathering the fallen papers as if they had offended her, then sat at her desk holding the crumpled stack.
Did he push too far? Perhaps she was just too tired for this kind of play, which was understandable.
He got up and walked towards her, putting the book on her desk and enveloping his arms around her chest. He leaned over her shoulder and whispered, “It’s brilliant, I loved it.”
“You know your opinion is important to me, right?” she said, being surprisingly honest.
“Well, I am your only critic. You can’t exactly publish it in the news.”
“It’s not just that,” she mumbled.
He smiled again, wider, now that she couldn’t see it. How could someone be that adorable?
“I know. I was just playing with you before, sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry too, it’s fine, it’s just… even I crave for recognition sometimes.”
“And you should, you worked really hard on it.”
He slowly pulled her head back on the chair and started to gently stroke her wavy, silky white hair, his fingers moving effortlessly between the strands.
She sighed, “Did you mean it?”
“About?”
“Do you really think it’s brilliant?”
He stopped stroking her hair, walked over to her side and sat on her lap, facing her green eyes, holding her attention with his hands on her face.
“What?” she asked, confused.
“Aena Vimsor, you are the most brilliant and beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and your research will be remembered as the most important work in the history of necromancy, opening new horizons for humanity.”
Finally presenting him with her warm smile, she said, “Thank you,” and Lukandor simply could not resist.
He leaned closer, still holding her head, and lightly caressed her lips with his own. She slightly protested at first, weakly grabbing his hands, but immediately gave in, allowing him to fully enjoy her softness and sweetness, which he gladly indulged in, taking more and more, for as long as he could.
When he reluctantly gave her room to breathe, she looked at him with hazy eyes and said, “It still feels a bit weird.”
“Why?” he asked, knowing all the arguments and having all the answers.
Lukandor had proclaimed his love for Aena a long time ago, but when he came into existence as the unexpected result of one of her experiments, his body was that of a ten or so year old boy, despite his fully developed mind, so Aena always rejected him with the argument that she couldn’t be with a child. So he waited, and now that excuse was gone, his body had fully matured and she accepted him… after some convincing.
“I’ve known you since you were a boy,” she said.
“Correction, my body was that of a boy, I was never a child in mind.”
Probably even older than you, he added in his mind.
“I named you and raised you, Lukan. I’m practically your mother!” she protested.
He didn’t know where he came from, but he knew it wasn’t reality like the one he experienced now, and that he had spent an eternity there. Besides some mostly incoherent and seemingly unrelated fragments, his memory was mainly of how dark it was, and how he was in an ever growing state of absolute agony and rage.
“Again, I was never a child, you only taught me about the basics of this world and about necromancy, Aena, which only qualifies you as a teacher at most,” he said. “And according to your story, I named myself.”
“I’m-”
“And you are not an old lady, be more confident in the results of your research, you don’t even look thirty. People see a young married couple when they pass by us down the street, not mother and son.”
She sighed, “It seems I can’t win against you.”
“You can’t,” he said, starting to stroke her hair once again. “I’ve waited for far too long.”
“Mmm.”
Lukandor had waited for far too long, but not as much as if he hadn’t developed the aging technique based on Aena’s work. Luckly, he had timed it well enough that she hadn’t noticed how fast his body had grown, or maybe she had just forgotten at what rate people were supposed to grow.
“You’re the best experimental result I’ve ever had,” she said.
Aena’s experiment was based on Lotian’s theory of afterlife, which stated that after death, weak souls would simply burn themselves out of existence, their informational potential energy, potentia, spreading in the environment and allowing new life to be born; and powerful souls would either have some sort of worldly attachment and manage to find a way to stay in our world, or would instinctively find and travel to a world where their incorporeal self could survive for longer.
Aena’s hypothesis was that it was possible to use someone’s remains or possessions to track and summon their soul from this theoretical otherworld. She said the first experiments, when she tried to bring her sister back, resulted in nothing happening, but on her last attempt, when she didn’t use anything to track the soul, Lukandor was the result.
She tried a few times again later, but as before, nothing happened, so she stopped the experiments and shelved it as inconclusive.
“Do you remember anything else?” he asked.
“About what you said when you appeared?”
He nodded.
“No… sorry.”
“It’s fine, it doesn’t bother me or anything, just curious.”
Apparently he had said something right after his body materialized from light, but he didn’t remember any of it.
“Well, it does bother me a bit, you spoke in such a beautiful way, like the most pleasant song,” she said. “I wish I could remember more than ‘Lukandor’, or at least know what it means, it could be a clue as to where you came from.”
“I’m fine not knowing,” he said, caressing her cheeks with kisses, slowly moving down her neck and beyond. “I only need you, here, with me.”
—-
Lukandor woke up with the warmth of the sun on his face. Necromancers usually couldn’t afford the risk of living anywhere the sun touched, but he and Aena had found a basement under one of the many abandoned buildings in the outskirts of the city, where rays still reached through the small gap between the street floor and the house.
He took in the scene, and at that moment, everything was perfect. Aena lay naked beside him, wrapped in the gray bed sheets, the smell of the old grimoires and old wood blended with their own scen and filled the basement with a comfortable fragrance that made it all feel like home. She was home.
Eternity was too little time to spend with that woman.
He made sure not to wake her up as he rose from the bed and went to boil some water to infuse the blumoon leaves in. Her favorite.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
“It’s abandoned,” came a voice from above, just outside the house, “let’s just go to the next one.”
Lukandor froze in place and listened.
One of them apparently ignored his companion’s comment and went inside anyway, their weight making dust fall below. Three more people followed inside and started walking around, but there wasn’t much to look at, a layer of dust covered everything and the air smelled of mold. It was clear that no one had lived there for years. They wouldn’t find them, they shouldn’t, they were safe… or at least that’s what Lukandor wanted to believe.
He immediately put the fire out and slowly walked towards the bed, his heart beating in frantic panic to the thought that Aena could be in danger.
“It’s empty, Eloesh, let’s go,” another one of the men above said, but no one moved towards the door.
“Aena,” Lukandor whispered, gently stroking her face.
She opened lazy eyes and smiled at him, all instantly disappearing when facing his serious expression. He made a signal at her to be quiet and pointed up. She nodded and slowly got off the bed.
“We have a lot more places to look into today, Eloesh,” said a woman, “I won’t be the one to report to the Lord if we’re behind schedule.”
“I felt… something,” said Eloesh.
“Something?”
Metal armor started clunking again, then stopped. Close to the basement’s entrance.
“Yes,” he answered, “something.”
What could they do, run? No, the soldiers were blocking the only path—a crucial disadvantage to the place, one that, in hindsight, they should’ve considered more, no matter how good the place was. Hide? They were already hiding, there was nowhere else to go in the basement. The only option was fighting, which was always last in their list of what to do in situations like this.
Aenar was a brilliant necromancer, but her research focus wasn’t in anything useful in battle, not that she didn’t have any necromantic battle knowledge—in fact, she was probably the most knowledgeable person in all areas of necromancy—but that she didn’t believe in using necromancy to take lives, and that kind of necromancy needed training, it needed preparations she never bothered making. She had one of the most powerful blades in the world, but it was ornamental.
Being her partner—and before that, her disciple—Lukandor too was a master in every area of necromancy. If she was the most powerful, he was right behind her, but again, only as a scholar. He too almost never bothered putting anything into practice, except during experimentations for research purposes, but his worry for her due to the stigma of necromancers in society gave him an edge over Aena when it came to battling.
The heavy desk above could be heard being easily lifted, revealing the basement’s trapdoor.
“Rise,” Lukandor whispered. It wasn’t necessary, but it helped to carry the potentia faster.
Six hunting dogs rose, dim cyan light in their eyes. He had six Shadows in total, four penumbras, one a skeleton and three in halted decay; and two umbras, one was fresh and the other was a skeleton.
Four Casts of the second tier and two of the third, not the strongest, but they weren’t weak either. Humans would have been better, but Aena didn’t like the thought of using people’s bodies, she didn’t even like using the term “necromancy”. The next best—strong and easily available—were dogs.
The trapdoor above was opened and Eloesh said, “Stay here.”
“No!” one of the men said. “Not this again, Eloesh, we—”
“Hama!” Eloesh shouted.
A silence, then Hama spoke again, “You can’t keep doing this, Eloesh, it’s not good for you nor anyone.”
“It’s my duty,” Eloesh said, calm.
“It's our duty.”
“Hama, stay here.”
He started to come down the wooden stairs, into the passageway. The door to where Lukandor and Aena were was just a few steps away, and he walked slowly, his armor announcing his presence with each step. Then came a knock at the door.
“Lord’s Light,” he announced calmly, “open the door.”
That was it, Lukandor had to order the Casts to attack as soon as he unlocked and opened the door, it was his best chance at winning. His advantage was in the narrowness of the short passage that led to the basement, where only one person could walk at a time, and they would also have trouble wielding a sword in there, or any weapon bigger than a knife.
No matter how strong whoever stood on the other side of that door was, they couldn’t do much against six dog Shadows pouncing at them in a cramped space.
He took a deep breath and said, “I’m—”
“A moment, please,” Aena said, “I’m not presentable.”
Aena? he questioned her with a look.
She gave him a nervous smile and a nod, asking him to trust whatever plan she had, and despite being hesitant, he did. How could he not?
“Down," he said to his Shadows, and they obeyed, which hid them as much as it was possible in there, just enough to stay out of view from anyone that didn’t look.
Aena quickly grabbed brown pants and a white shirt, handing it to Lukandor, then proceeded to put on the easiest thing she could find, a blue dress bedwear that wasn’t exactly “presentable” but was enough to serve the function of covering her body.
“Coming,” she said as they both finished dressing, going towards the door.
Lukandor suddenly grabbed her wrist, despite himself. He was overcome with a violent swirl of ominous feelings, particularly on how not completely over the situation was. Usually, if soldiers had any suspicions of “wrong doings”, they wouldn’t hesitate to barge in, even in a lord’s mansion, especially against a necromancer, giving them a chance to prepare was a poor strategy. But this soldier was just standing there, waiting for them to open.
Aena gave him the same trust me look, but more confident, and he let her go. She walked towards the door, unlocking it and opening it, and Lukandor’s heart immediately sank. A fully armored soldier stood before them, his eyes glowed gray in a solemn face, and the air around the sword sheathed at his side ondulated, as if distorted by heat.
Lukandor had never seen one before, but he knew what that man was, he knew he lost the moment that soldier stepped foot in that house. A Blaze Knight, it explained why they didn’t see his coming, why none of the protections in place had worked. His brain worked through hundreds of scenarios, and in hundreds of scenarios they died there.
“You’re necromancers,” he said. Not a question, a statement.
“That’s an outdated term, and misleading,” Aena said. “I prefer ‘potentialogist’.”
Aena was using Soul Diction, a simple skill that depended on the user’s control and strength of their soul. Aena’s reached the third tier, charisma, which could influence others into having a slightly more favorable thought of you.
“I don’t care about your preferences, witch,” he said, there was clear disgust in his face. “For the Goddess Samna, and in the name of the Lord of Dratain, I’ve come to bring you judgment.”
“So be it, then, take me to prison, maybe there will be someone willing to listen, there.”
“Prison?” he said, taking his first step inside the room.
“Guard,” Lukandor ordered as he put himself between the man and Aena. The dogs immediately leapt from hiding and stood in a semicircle in front of him.
“Not another step,” Lukandor said, “if you cross the door, I’ll assume you intend to harm us and act accordingly.”
The Knight seemed unfazed.
“You’ve misunderstood something, necromancer,” he continued.
“Prison is for redeemable humans,” he said, taking another step as he unsheathed his sword in a movement that shifted into a low wide slash that went through all of Lukandor’s Shadows, cutting the dogs in half, their artificial souls fading and the bodies collapsing.
“You aren’t redeemable”---his sword burst in silver flames that seemed to be the only source of light in the whole room—“or human.”
“Aena! Ru—”
In the instant it took Lukandor to half turn his head, the knight had closed the distance. Lukandor tried to dodge and ended up slipping, barely avoiding being decapitated, his throat was slashed and he began to suffocate, trying to stop the flooding blood with his hands.
He grabbed a nearby healing potion and tried using it to heal himself, but it wasn’t working, which only fueled his frenzied state. All Lukandor could hear was the gurgling blood he was choking in.
Aena reached out to help him, but there was a blur and her hand simply fell, detached from her body.
“Why… why are you doing this?” she said, looking at her severed hand in disbelief. “We only wanted to help people. Why?”
“I too asked myself that question,” Eloesh said, walking towards her
“Stay away!” Aena shouted, her left hand outstretched, as if it was a barrier that could stop him. Panicking.
Another swing and her only arm flew away from her torso, blood flowing out as she screamed past the initial shock, falling on her knees.
“Gsh-stop!” Lukandor pleaded, his drowning voice desperate. "St-stopp!"
Eloesh faced him, and he almost looked offended by Lukander’s appeal.
“He didn’t stop when my sister begged,” Eloesh said, walking closer to Aena.
She stared back at him, desperate tears streaming out of her eyes, and said, “Please, stop, I’m preg—”
Eloesh's sword passed cleanly across Aena’s neck, her head flew across the room and rolled on the floor, her body going limp after a second still standing headless, but didn’t completely fall, staying hunched forward, blood oozing out of three different places.
A maelstrom of emotions formed inside Lukandor, all in an instant, but they ultimately culminated in rage, primal hatred towards the man standing by his lover’s body.
“I’ll kill you,” he growled, “I’ll bring her back. I’ll bring her back and kill you!”
His words weren’t based on any plan, it was a promise, a promise that went beyond their situation, beyond rationality, beyond anything else, in his head, it was an undeniable fact, as obvious as the sun rising. He would kill that man.
“No,” Eloesh said, looking down at Lukandor, back to his solemn expression, “you won’t. There’s nothing to bring back.”
Confusion mixed with his rage and was expressed in Lukandor’s face.
“You must’ve noticed by now. This holy sword has an unique ability,” Eloesh said, looking at the flames, “it can burn souls, so the target’s existence is erased forever. The perfect weapon to kill evil beasts like necromancers.”
Confusion turned into disbelief then back to rage, but it went beyond, it was something more powerful. A feeling of hatred so deep that there were no words in their language to describe it, a feeling that was familiar to Lukandor, from before.
“And now,” Eloesh continued, walking up to him, “I’ll fulfill my duty by killing you.”
The moment Eloesh raised his flaming sword and descended upon Lukandor, everything became still, including his own body, time had stopped, but Lukandor was somehow outside of it.
In his paralysis, Lukandor felt a presence, a heavy pressure everywhere, it was the most abominable soul he had ever felt, he wasn’t even sure it could be called a soul, it was too much, beyond anything he could have ever conceived. It touched him, and for a moment, Lukandor forgot everything as his entire being trembled in fear, he knew he was merely an infant in the presence of that thing, the Knight was nothing but an ant.
It held Lukandor’s soul and pulled. Lukandor saw the scene he had just been a part of a moment ago become ever distant, then the abandoned house, the town, the country and then his world. It eventually got so fast that the stars were merely blurs around him, becoming simply light, then nothing.
Darkness.