The fourth night began with a black sky over Ziria, heavy with the weight of a moonless void. The stars, pale and distant, appeared almost reluctant to shine, casting a faint shadow. The air was colder than it should have been, the kind of cold that sank deep into her bones and whispered secrets she didn't want to hear. Not yet.

She tightened her cloak around her shoulders, her lantern casting its faint, flickering light across the uneven path. The graveyard loomed ahead, its iron gate like a mouth, half-open, beckoning her in, ready to bite whenever she would pass through.

Something was wrong tonight. Even more so than the night before. She felt it in the stillness, in the way the wind refused to move the leaves, in the way the shadows felt sharper, hungrier. She hesitated at the gate, her fingers brushing the cold, rusted metal.

Go back, a voice whispered in the back of her mind. Go back, go back. But it wasn’t hers.

Ziria ignored it. She needed answers.

She stepped inside, the gravel crunching beneath her boots, and made her way to the familiar clearing. The gravestones seemed closer tonight, leaning toward her as if listening as she slowly walked. The trees formed jagged silhouettes against the night, their bare branches clawing at the sky with their tall shadows.

Her breath fogged in the air as she knelt on the frozen ground. The sigils she had carved the night before were still faintly visible, their edges blurred by frost. She traced them with her knife, cutting deeper this time, her movements slower, more deliberate. She hadn't made them wrong. It was like the shadow was waiting for her on the other side, not ready to leave and therefore always keeping the connection open between worlds.

The words of the incantation came to her without force, spilling from her lips in a language older than time. Each syllable felt heavy, as if it carried the weight of countless lives. Unnatural and unfamiliar but smooth like running water.

And then, as she whispered the final word, the shadows stirred around her.

It wasn’t immediate, this time. Like before. The darkness moved slowly, pooling like ink spilled on water, stretching and twisting into a form that was both there and not. Everywhere and nowhere. The shadow emerged from the void, taller, darker, more solid than before. Its eyes only two endless black holes gaping into nothingness.

“You’re persistent,” it said, its voice deeper now, resonant, as if it came from the earth itself.

Ziria didn’t answer right away. Her fingers curled into the dirt, her knuckles white. She kept her eyes on the shadow, watching the way it shifted and pulsed, never quite holding a shape. She looked for a clue, in its movements.

“Why do you keep coming back?” she asked, her voice steady despite the chill in her bones.

The shadow tilted its head—or what she thought was its head. “You called me.” Its voice barely above a whisper, a voice split in two.

“I’ve called others before,” she said, standing slowly. Her lantern cast a faint glow that seemed to sink into the shadow rather than illuminate it. “They don’t return. You’re different. It's like you're waiting for me”.

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A sound like dry leaves crackling echoed from the shadow. Laughter. Dry and itchy, making her skin tingle with unease.

“You think you know so much, sweet little necromancer,” it said, stepping closer. The air around her grew colder, the lantern light flickering weakly. “But you don’t even know yourself.”

Ziria stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The shadow didn’t answer right away. It circled her, its movements liquid and unnatural. Though it's form it sounded like sharp footsteps on the ground.

“You meddle with the dead, walking a line you don’t understand,” it said. “You think the darkness is your ally, but you are only a guest here. A fragile, fleeting unnatural thing.”

“Is that a threat?” she asked, her voice sharper now, though her pulse quickened.

“Ahh, but it’s the truth.”

Ziria narrowed her eyes, her mind racing. She couldn’t let it take control of the conversation. She had to push it, corner it. She was a necromancer, this was supposed to be natural to her.

“Tell me more of the boy,” she said, her tone more commanding this time.

The shadow paused, and for a moment, the air grew heavy, suffocating. “Why do you care so much for his story?”

“Because it’s not his story,” she said, taking a step closer to the shadow. “It’s yours.”

The shadow flinched, its form rippling. The wind picked up suddenly, a low howl threading through the graveyard.

“You’re wrong,” it hissed, its voice sharper now, almost desperate. Its form flickered between a deeper darkness and a misty shadow.

“Am I?” Ziria’s heart pounded in her chest, but she forced herself to keep her voice steady. “You said the boy was swallowed by the dark. That he became something else. What was it? What did he become?”

The shadow surged toward her, stopping just short of her face. Its presence was overwhelming, a weight pressing down on her chest. Its hollowed eyers drilled through her soul. “Do not test me, little necromancer,” it growled.

But Ziria refused to back down. “I've heard that dead men tell the best tales,” she said, her voice low. “But you’re not telling tales, are you? You’re confessing.” her voice was now raised, backed by her desire for truth.

The shadow recoiled as if struck, its form flickering violently.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” it whispered, its tone softer now, almost pleading. The shadow around it darkened.

Ziria tilted her head, her black hair falling across her face. The lantern light caught in her eyes, giving them an almost feral gleam. “Then prove me wrong. Tell me another story. Tell me what became of the boy.”

The shadow hesitated, its edges blurring. Then, finally, it spoke.

“The boy,” it said, its voice quieter now, filled with something that almost sounded like sorrow, “wandered far from the light. He sought power, but it came with a price. He lost himself. Piece by piece, he was consumed until nothing remained but the shadow of what he once was.”

“And what does he want now?” Ziria asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

The shadow didn’t answer right away. When it finally spoke, its voice was softer than she had ever heard it.

“To be whole again.”

The words sent a chill down her spine. She opened her mouth to ask another question, but the shadow began to dissolve, its form unraveling into the night.

“Wait!” she called grasping for the shadows with her hands, but it was gone.

The graveyard was silent again, but the silence wasn’t empty. It was filled with something heavy, something that pressed against her skin and sank into her bones.

As she turned to leave, the wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it a single word.

Soon.

Soon.

Soon.