The stone walls of the throne room had fallen into an oppressive silence, the shadows long and heavy, as if the very fabric of the place had been infected by the whispers of the dead. Kaelith remained kneeling on the cold marble floor, still feeling the shiver of the king’s final words reverberating through their bones.

The name "Cecil" gnawed at the edges of their mind, an unrelenting echo that threatened to drown out the lingering presence of the murdered monarch. The price was steep. The cost of the answers would continue to unfold. Yet the moment the king's spirit had disappeared, something else lingered—something deeper than the king’s death.

Kaelith’s eyes, still adjusting to the dark, caught a movement at the edge of the room.

The air shifted, and with it came the sound of footfalls—soft, deliberate, like the rustle of dead leaves in a winter’s breeze. Kaelith tensed, fingers curling around the hilt of a blade hidden beneath their cloak. No one approached the necromancer without cause. And in these halls, it was always dangerous to be seen, especially after summoning such a powerful spirit.

A figure stepped forward from the shadows, draped in a heavy cloak that concealed most of their face. Only the faintest glint of pale hands emerged from the folds of the dark fabric, gripping a leather-bound tome. A scholar, judging by the carefully worn edges of the book. And yet, there was something unnerving about them—an air of knowing far too much, a quiet weight in the way they moved.

"You must be Kaelith." The voice was soft, unassuming, but there was an edge to it that suggested knowledge beyond simple curiosity.

Kaelith’s gaze narrowed, but they did not rise. Instead, they let the shadows shift around them, preparing for any sign of aggression. “And you are?”

“Ryn," the cloaked figure said. “A scholar of forgotten histories. I’ve come to seek your assistance, necromancer.”

Kaelith tilted their head. "Assistance? I deal in death, not in the living's endless quests for meaning. What is it you seek?"

Ryn paused, then stepped closer, the air around them still and thick, as though the shadows themselves recoiled from the mere presence of the scholar. Their hands trembled slightly as they opened the tome, revealing pages yellowed with age and filled with symbols written in an ancient script.

"The Heart of Harrowstone," Ryn whispered, their voice taking on a reverence that made Kaelith’s skin crawl. "It’s said to be the key to eternal life."

Kaelith's brow furrowed. The Heart of Harrowstone. Legends told of its power, its ability to grant immortality to whoever possessed it. But it had been lost for centuries, swallowed by the ravages of time and war. Many had searched for it, and countless had died trying. Kaelith had heard the tales, whispered in hushed tones in taverns and around campfires, but the Heart was always more myth than reality.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“Eternal life?” Kaelith’s voice was laced with skepticism. "You believe in such stories?"

Ryn’s hands tightened around the book. "I do not seek immortality for myself," they said. "But for others. I believe the Heart of Harrowstone holds the answers to undo a great wrong. And I believe it can only be found by understanding the paths of those who sought it before—those who died in its pursuit."

Kaelith’s eyes narrowed, considering the scholar’s words. “So you seek... what? To summon their spirits? To pick apart their bones and stitch their memories back together? And then what? You think these dead adventurers will tell you where to find an artifact long lost?”

Ryn nodded, their gaze unflinching. "That is exactly what I believe, Kaelith. I need your help to uncover their stories. To piece together their fates, and in doing so, uncover the Heart. You are a master of the dead. You can call upon the past like no one else can."

A brief silence passed between them, thick with unspoken truths. Kaelith’s fingers brushed the crown shards from the king’s ritual, still clutched in their hands, and their thoughts swirled with the implications. Ryn's request was dangerous. Summoning the dead was one thing; to unravel the stories of so many adventurers who had sought the Heart, each with their own bloody end… that was another.

But there was something in Ryn’s eyes—a glimmer of desperation that matched Kaelith’s own. The scholar had no illusions about the price they would pay.

“I will help you,” Kaelith said finally, their voice carrying a quiet certainty. “But know this—summoning the spirits of those who sought the Heart will not be easy. The dead who were consumed by its lure carry with them more than just memories. Their pain, their regrets, their very essence... will be raw. Their spirits will not be kind, nor will they answer your questions willingly.”

Ryn’s lips trembled, but they stood tall, unflinching. "I understand, necromancer. I am prepared to face whatever it takes to find it."

Kaelith stood, brushing the remnants of the ritual’s energy from their cloak. “Then prepare yourself. I will need your full cooperation. The dead do not suffer the weak.”

Ryn opened the book, revealing a map of forgotten lands, ancient ruins, and forgotten cities long lost to time. The names were unfamiliar to Kaelith, but the power that lay within the pages was undeniable.

"These are the places where the adventurers perished," Ryn explained. "Each one of them had a piece of the puzzle that will lead us to the Heart. If we can uncover their fates, we can find the artifact."

Kaelith studied the map, their fingers tracing the old ink. A world of forgotten legends and untold mysteries waited beyond the edges of the parchment, ready to be unearthed.

"This will not be simple," Kaelith said, their tone sharp as the edge of a blade. "The dead do not give up their secrets easily, and the Heart you seek is buried under layers of lies and blood. But if you are truly willing to face them… then let us begin."

With that, Kaelith turned, leading Ryn deeper into the darkness of the throne room. The path ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear: the quest for the Heart of Harrowstone would demand far more than either of them was prepared to give.

As the shadows of the dead stirred once more, Kaelith and Ryn began their journey into the past, where the dead would tell their tales—and where the Heart would either be found or lost forever.