Rebirth: Necromancer's Ascenscion

Ian stopped walking.

It wasn't the wind. Not a sound. Not even the unnatural silence of Blackblood's cursed heart.

No — it was pressure.

Like the forest itself had grown lungs and breathed in, filling the world too full. The trees bowed. Roots curled tight. The sky dimmed, though there was no sun above. And Ian—still, tense, fingers curled around the hilt of his dagger—felt it.

An aura.

Not simply power, but memory—so dense, so ancient, it dragged time with it. Like the world could crack beneath the weight of this thing's sorrow. Like the ground might forget it was earth and collapse into ash.

He didn't run.

Or speak.

Only waited.

And the beast arrived.

---

It emerged from the veil of mist like a shadow dreamt by giants. Towering, slow, deliberate. Its body was not of flesh alone but bound in bone-plates and thick, ancient fur matted with the stains of centuries. Horns curved back like crescent moons cracked down the middle. And its eyes — gods, its eyes — glowed not with rage, but mourning.

Two massive yellow embers.

Watching him.

Studying.

And it did not attack.

Not even a growl.

The pressure remained, but its weight was no longer threatening. It was reverent. Like the beast was remembering something lost.

Ian, against all instinct, lowered his blades.

The creature snorted — a sound like stone grinding through iron — and lowered its head slightly.

Then, impossibly, it spoke.

Not in words. Not in speech. Not through its mouth.

Into his mind.

> "You carry the scent of broken fire. The Hollow Flame… yet unchained."

Ian blinked once.

"…You know of it?"

> "I am of it."

The voice was ancient. Not male, not female. Just weight. Language wrapped in understanding. Heavy with grief. Rigid with pride.

Ian remained still. His own power quiet, respectful. "Then speak. Why are they moving? The beasts. The migration. What drives them now?"

The creature's body shifted slightly, joints creaking like forest boughs. And the mist around it shimmered, becoming something more than fog — memory.

And it showed him.

---

Long ago. Before the Empire. Before the Sanctum.

There was a world ruled not by kings or gods but by the old compacts — where man and beast had not yet warred, and the Ar'kul still walked.

A clan of beasts.

Not wild.

Not tamed.

But sentient. Bound by law. Vowed to protect the Age of Hollow Flame — a time when power was balanced, not hoarded.

And this beast — the one before Ian — had a name once.

Not a word. A title etched in action.

Last Teeth of the Sanctuary.

It had stood watch over the final refuge of the Ar'kul during the collapse. As the Age of Hollow Flame waned and the Pale Ones came.

> "They came with promises of dominion. Of elevation. To the weakest among us, they offered crowns. To the proudest, they whispered ruin."

Oathbreakers.

A hundred of them.

Beasts that had turned — siding with the Pale Ones, trading loyalty for power. And the Last teeth had slaughtered them. Every one.

Its claws had been soaked in kin-blood.

Its roars had drowned out the sun.

But it hadn't been enough.

> "Even as I tore through cult and traitor, our sanctuary fell. The flame guttered."

The Pale Ones — shapeless, timeless, born from absence — had sundered the world that day. And the beasts?

Scattered.

Cursed.

Their souls thinned. Their bloodlines diluted.

From sovereign guardians to prey.

From the mighty to the mana beasts.

> "And so we became what you see now. Hunted. Trained. Caged for sport. Stripped of names, of line, of fire."

The vision ended.

Ian exhaled, his breath trembling.

The pressure remained, but embers of fear had turned to something else.

Recognition.

He looked up at the creature — the Last teeth — still silent, unmoving.

"You've survived all this time."

> "I watched. I waited. I killed those who sought to awaken the Pale Ones again. I hunted the cults that fed off ancient blood."

> "Until now."

A pause.

Then, soft as rot:

> "The Sanctum came."

Ian's jaw tightened.

> "They came with symbols stolen from old stone. They chanted rites never meant for man. They sought not to seal the breach… but to reopen it."

So it was true.

This beast tide…

It wasn't natural.

Wasn't the forest shifting.

It was provoked.

By sanctum agents seeking to reclaim whatever was buried here. Something older than gods. A fragment of the Pale Ones. Or more terrible.

"They awakened something," Ian said.

"They tried. And failed. But their failure spread like infection. The weak among the beasts began to stir. A call. A hunger. The instinct to move."

A Great Migration, once sacred, now corrupted.

Not all the beasts knew why they moved. Only that something called them.

And they obeyed.

"I held it back where I could. I killed what I must. But I am tired, Sovereign."

The beast lowered itself to the mossy ground, its bulk shaking the earth.

"My oath was to protect the last sanctuary. But that sanctuary is gone. I am a watcher over bones."

Ian stepped closer.

No blade drawn. His voice quiet.

"I carry the Hollow Flame now."

The Last tilted its head. The fire in its eyes flared briefly.

> "Then burn them. Burn the ones who dare wear our legacy like stolen skin."

"The Sanctum must be undone."

Ian nodded.

"I intend to."

A silence passed.

The trees leaned back. The mist cleared slightly. The oppressive weight of the aura began to soften.

> "Then go," said the Last Fang. "And if you survive… return here. There is more to show. You will need the full truth. Not only of beasts, but of death."

> "For the Hollow Flame was not just fire. It was a promise."

---

Ian turned from the clearing.

His breath had steadied.

His thoughts had not.

The beasts weren't moving out of hunger or chaos.

They were being summoned.

A migration twisted into war.

And the ones who should have never touched the old language — the Sanctum — had woke something that should've stayed forgotten.

But now?

Now it was his problem.

He vanished into the trees.

And behind him, the Last teeth watched, unmoving.

Not dead.

Not forgotten.

Not forgiven.