Kira froze mid-step. Her body was tense as she tilted her head to the side as if she was trying to listen to something.

“What’s wrong?” Victor asked, slowing down to wait for her.

Suddenly, blood drained from her face. “We must hurry. They have begun the ritual.” She hissed, then kicked the ground to start running east, towards the Shimmering Woods.

Victor’s heart sank. Had the Apostle truly found her Lord’s body? “Are you sure?” He shouted as he ran after her.

The dread filled glance Kira shot at him was all the answer he needed. Pushing his many questions to the back of his mind, he chased after her. She clearly knew where to go – and that was all that mattered at the moment.

The Oracle was seated on a pillow on the ground comfortably. She didn’t seem to care for the royal siblings’ presence at all. Aoife scowled, was she not aware of Cedric’s presence? Or did she not care? She prepared to clear her throat to try and draw her attention.

“What was that?” Cedric asked sharply, his gaze turned northeast, beyond the mountain range, towards the Northern Gate. “Oracle, turn your gaze to the Howling Valley.”

The Oracle visibly flinched. “I need not,” her voice was but a whisper. “Soul Magic has resurfaced in our lands, your highness. I can not see through the clouds it wrought upon the Valley or its surroundings anymore.”

A chill ran down Aoife’s back. Her gaze turned to Cedric, who stood as stoic and calm as always. “Brother…” She whispered, knowing what was to come.

He took a deep breath. “We must inform father.”

----------------------------------------

As soon as the Apostle pushed him into the Sarcophagus, the thick streaks of mana holding the lid of the sarcophagus high up slammed it back down.

Ash kicked the lid to no avail. “Let me out!” His own scream deafened him. He didn’t think anyone could hear him outside – not through the thick stone of the sarcophagus.

The sweet scent of the mourning flowers masked whatever smell the dead body of the demon had, but Ash still felt sick. He kicked the lid of the sarcophagus again, but it didn’t move even a little. It was too heavy for him to lift on his own. Despite that, he tired again and again, only giving up when he felt too exhausted to try.

He tried not to think about the demon’s body laying next to him. He was almost glad it was so dark – at least he couldn’t see it.

The air within the sarcophagus grew colder as seconds passed. He heard something – a faint, distant ring that he couldn’t locate. It was persistent, and it kept getting louder.

The mourning flowers began to glow red, taking away the only comfort he could take in the darkness. They petals slowly began to disintegrate into a fine mist that continued to glow. The sweet scent began to weaken as the mist grew thicker.

A low rumble sounded, accompanied by a small, almost undetectable quake. The ringing sound grew even louder. It was now loud enough that it drowned out his own thoughts. Thick, dense mana in the form of a black mist flowed down from where the lid touched the edges of the sarcophagus.

Ash didn’t need to look twice at it to know what it was. He took a deep breath, then held it as he struggled against the ropes around his wrists. If only he could untie his hands, then maybe he could use his own mana to try and lift the lid of the sarcophagus. All he needed to do was to get rid of the cloak that made him unable to use mana.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Soon his lungs began to burn as his body craved more air. He wasn’t sure whether his vision was getting darker, or whether the black mist had covered his eyes. He fought against his instinct to breathe for as long as he could, but eventually he couldn’t do it anymore. A breath escaped his lips, black mist mixed with crimson rushed down his throat, filling his lungs.

His vision blurred, the ringing grew even louder. It was deafening, it drowned out everything, his thoughts, the petrifying fear he had been trying to ignore, everything…

Warmth. He felt warmth, originating from within his body.

Wait.

He felt. He thought. He… opened his eyes.

Everything seemed so… dim. Like the world had lost its vibrance. He looked at the streaks of crude, weak mana holding a slab of stone some distance above him.

He slowly moved. His hands reached for the edges of whatever he was laying in, and he pulled himself up.

Someone gasped far away. His gaze snapped there – a human girl was sat up against a wall, tears running down her face. Her eyes seemed swollen. As soon as she saw him, a weak yet frightened smile appeared on her lips. She mouthed something silently, but he couldn’t quite understand her. Did she call a name?

He turned his attention towards the next voice he heard. Footsteps, and the rustle of cloth. The barely audible sound of metal brushing against clothes. It was an adult human woman, hiding her face behind a mask, wearing layers of clothes that hid her body.

The black aura around her chest caused him to scowl. A human, dabbling in Soul Magic? It was not good for her, she wasn’t strong enough to control such primal power.

She opened her arms wide, her bright red lips curled up with an almost gleeful smile. “We-“

He didn’t hear the rest of her words. He didn’t listen – didn’t focus enough to try and understand their odd language. His gaze was fixed on the pendant hanging from her chest.

Rage filled his heart. Before she, or any of the numerous humans in the cavern could react, he leapt over the edge of the box – a sarcophagus, he could now see – he was sitting in, and snatched the pendant from her. The silver chain snapped, and she screamed in fear as she stumbled back.

How dare they.

How dare they take his gift to her.

“What have you done to her?” He hissed. Surely the words sounded odd – he wasn’t used to this crude, simple language after all. But he could speak it well enough for them to understand. “Answer me!”

His own voice sounded weird.

And now that he paid attention, he noticed a lot of weird things about himself.

Why was he so short? He looked at his own hands, and was met pale, almost ghastly-white skin, and small hands. He was wearing tattered and burnt clothes, and a cloak that had all but burnt off.

“What have you done?!” He roared and was taken aback by how much his throat hurt. Strands of golden hair covered his vision as a snapped hair tie fell to the ground.

“My L-“ The masked woman began to speak, but as he turned to look at the sarcophagus, all became clear.

He clenched his fist around the pendant. The power within it flowed into his palm, then snaked up his arm and leapt to his other, free hand. “You have stolen this.” He showed the pendant. “And you have done this to me?!” He hissed as anger threatened to overwhelm him. “Explain yourself.” He ordered at the woman.

Finally allowed to speak, the masked woman’s voice echoed in the cavern. “We finally succeeded!” She declared. “We have been working to bring you back for years! We sought these burial grounds, sought what remained of your power, and found a suitable host all for this moment!”

He was making a speech – not to explain to him what her goal was, but to satisfy her followers. To solidify her place in whatever distorted cult this was. Disgusted by the glee in her voice, he scowled.

“Now that you are back, you can reclaim the glory of your people!” She continued. “We will gladly fight and-“

“What accursed ritual have you used?” He cut her off. Nothing but one thing she said was of value to him.

“An ancient ritual we found within the Howling Valley. It promised true resurrection – the return of the soul!” She declared. “And it succeeded, as you are here, with all your glory!”

She the turned to her followers. “Bring the children here! Our lord will restore his power by taking theirs!”

As frightened screams filled the air, he slowly turned to look at them. His eyes met with that of the crying girl. Her smile had shattered, she seemed broken, like she had just lost the last trace of hope in her life.

He then noticed the pile of bodies laying on the ground. Dozens of them, if not more, laying still in a pool of their own blood. He again looked at his hands, ran his fingers through his hair.

This was an accursed ritual – one that required many lives in to exchange for a single one. He looked back at the sarcophagus, where his body – his old body – was supposed to be. There was nothing there, absolutely nothing but some ash.

Wrath filled his heart. Despicable. How dare they. How dare she.

He took what power remained in the pendant, then formed it into a blade.

In the end, he hadn’t lied. He was back, despite everything…