Rebirth: Necromancer's Ascenscion

He found her where he always did when the city felt too small to breathe—

on the edge of the gardens, where the moonlight broke clean over stone and shadow.

She shouldn't be out, but now there was a magic barrier so strong even the gods couldn't peak inside this estate without permission.

Velrosa sat in silence, spine straight, hands resting on her lap like folded daggers.

The wind brushed her silver hair across her face, and she didn't bother to move it. Her gaze was fixed on the horizon—the same black smear above a forest they'd all been pretending not to look at for days.

"I thought you might come," she said without turning.

"It seems...i always do these days, doesn't it my lady?"

She exhaled through her nose. "Eh...don't try to sound noble. You're still not good at it."

He stepped beside her and didn't answer right away. The wind had a bite tonight, one that wasn't natural. There was something on the air—like ash that hadn't burned yet.

"I'm going," Ian said.

Clear. Straightforward. Simple.

Velrosa blinked. Slowly. As if she'd known. And still hated it anyway.

"I heard," she said, voice low.

"I'll leave by dawn."

"And you're telling me now because...?"

"I'm not sure...because it matters," he said. "Because it's necessary."

She turned to him, and there it was again—that look. Cold enough to kill, but lined with something softer underneath. Something that made the space between them ache.

"You're going into a forest we've lost three squads to. Alone."

"Yes."

"And you think that's smart?"

"No," he said simply. "I think it's unavoidable."

Her jaw clenched. "You've rebuilt this city from the rubles you made it. You've crushed the old council, dismantled the Sanctum, and silenced a dozen noble lines who swore they'd bury you. And now you want to run into Blackblood alone because no one else came back? You're not that patriotic."

Ian looked at her.

Her blue eyes glinted like ice beneath moonlight.

Her throat moved as she swallowed.

And for a second, it was like the first time they spoke in this garden. Just her. Just him.

The ghost of what they never said pressed between them.

"Someone has to know what's coming," Ian said.

"We'll find another way."

"We won't. That's what this council is now, Vel. The moment we hesitate, we die."

She stood suddenly, and stepped in close—close enough he could smell her perfume, something faint and violet-sweet, stitched with steel.

"You die," she said, voice cutting. "And what happens then? You think any of what we planned holds without you? What of the people you swore to kill?"

Ian's silence said enough.

She scoffed.

"You are still a terrible decision maker."

He let the silence stretch until it became something else entirely. Not peace. Not quite tension either.

"I won't die," Ian said. "And I'm not asking permission."

"You never do."

"No," he agreed. "But I wanted you to know."

A long beat passed. Then another.

Velrosa looked up at him, her voice soft but fierce.

"You're just afraid... that if you stop moving, you'll have to feel it—the weight of failure."

He didn't answer.

Because maybe she was right.

Velrosa stepped even closer now. Her breath was warm against his collar. Her fingers hovered near his chest but never touched.

"Because of what you did that day, you could have died instead of me, back then," she whispered.

"I tried."

"No," she said. "You lived. And you don't know what to do with that, but it's not over Ian—mark hasn't won yet."

Their eyes locked.

There was no kiss.

No confession.

Only the echo of something they'd never name.

Something brutal. Sacred. Ugly.

And necessary.

"I'm going," Ian said again.

Velrosa's voice barely rose above a breath. "Then go."

She stepped back.

But not far.

---

By morning, the halls of the tower were silent.

Only the echo of footsteps broke the stillness as Ian descended the stairs, dressed in a high-collared coat of black and charcoal gray. His gloves were already on—tight-fitting, worn at the knuckles.

No weapons in sight, but none needed.

The air shimmered faintly around his silhouette.

His inventory was full.

He stopped in the final chamber before the gates, where the dawn light bled in through stained glass.

Eli waited by the stone archway, arms crossed, cloak draped casually around his shoulders.

"You always this dramatic?" Eli asked.

Ian smirked faintly. "Only when people are aware of it."

"Mm. That'll be the entire city by noon."

"Perfect then."

Eli tilted his head. "I could go with you. I've hunted in Blackblood before. Know the scent trails. Know how the forest lies."

"I know," Ian said. "But I need you here."

Eli raised an eyebrow. "To babysit the council?"

"To protect her."

The amusement in Eli's face flickered. Gone, just like that.

"You really think they'd come for Vel now?"

"They might," Ian said. "Or she might do something stupid."

Eli grunted. "She's not half as reckless as you."

"She's more reckless," Ian said. "Because she's smarter."

Eli snorted. "You give her too much credit."

"Maybe."

A pause.

Then Eli stepped forward and clapped a hand on Ian's shoulder—firm, heavy, warm.

"You come back," he said.

Ian gave a single nod.

Then he turned.

And stepped into the morning.

---

The city was quiet, streets still damp with dew. Shadows stretched long and slow as the sun rose behind the tallest spires. Somewhere far off, a bell tolled—low, solemn, tired.

Ian walked alone.

Through empty courts.

Past broken statues.

Past the Crucible.

Its gates were still locked. But not for long.

He paused only once—just long enough to glance back toward the highest tower, where the window glinted faintly with blue-silver light.

She would be watching.

He knew that without needing to see.

Then he turned toward the black line of trees in the distance.

Toward Blackblood.

Toward whatever nightmare waited in the dark.

And he was certain it did.