The room was dimly lit, a heavy silence blanketing the air like a funeral shroud. A massive wooden table stood in the center, weathered and cracked with age. Upon it, a sprawling map lay open, etched with markings of worlds once united—Seraphins' domain and the dark realm of the Necravores.
Daeshim sat quietly, his intense gaze fixed on the map. Beside him stood the King and his battle-worn master. The King's fingers hovered above the map as if touching ancient memories.
"This map," the King began, his voice heavy with a sorrow that seemed older than time, "was drawn in the era of your great-grandfather, King Beak. Back when Seraphins and Necravores shared one world."
Daeshim's eyes narrowed. "And now?"
"Now, the worlds are torn apart," the King continued. "Separated by a gate so cursed that crossing it is a death sentence. No one—no matter how powerful—can survive its threshold. But you…"
He looked at Daeshim, his gaze unreadable. "You came through it. Alive. Unscathed."
"Because of my powers?" Daeshim asked.
"Maybe," the King said. "Or maybe it's the blood of King Beak flowing through your veins. Or perhaps… the black water you encountered."
Daeshim turned to his master. "Then how did the Necravores cross into this world?"
The master, silent until now, stepped forward. His voice was gruff, tired. "Long ago, after the war between our realms, I and the other masters created that gate. We used the black water's ancient power to seal it."
"You made the gate?" Daeshim asked.
"Yes," he nodded. "But I'm the only one left. The others… they fell. For decades, I used the last drops of black water to maintain the illusion of a gate stronger than it truly was. But after you defeated me, even that illusion shattered. The Necravores must've sensed our deception… and attacked."
Daeshim's fists clenched. "But their commander is dead now."
"I doubt that matters," the master said grimly.
Before Daeshim could speak again, the King gestured. "Come. There's something you need to see."
They descended into a cold underground chamber. Torches flickered against stone walls as they walked deeper until they reached a room with chains bolted to the ground. In the center, bound and bruised, lay a half-dead Necravore.
"This one was captured after you killed their commander," the King explained. "I sent scouts to their world. Only one returned. This creature was found near the broken gate."
The Necravore lifted his head weakly. His eyes glowed with spite.
"We interrogated him," the King said. "He revealed that the attack was… a test. A probe. They sent their weakest commander through the gate to see if it had truly opened."
Daeshim stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "That was your weakest?"
The Necravore laughed—a dry, crackling sound. "Thousands more. Stronger. Smarter. Hungrier."
Daeshim's heart pounded with a rage he didn't allow to rise. He stared at the dying creature but didn't attack. He turned, letting his emotions sink, storing them like coal in a furnace.
The Necravore's body crumbled into ash.
Everyone in the chamber stood in stunned silence. Fear crawled like insects through their veins. The defenses of their world would not hold against another invasion.
"I've felt something," Daeshim said quietly. "Since I killed their commander. Like… his power didn't die. It came with me."
He paused, remembering the eerie voice that echoed in his mind during that battle.
"Say… Vel'Zar."
The word had rung in his ears like a forgotten prophecy. And when he had obeyed… something dark had shifted. A surge. A bond. And then—nothing.
He hadn't told anyone about that moment.
Not yet.
That night, he couldn't sleep. Shadows whispered. Curiosity became an itch under his skin. He rose silently and crept toward the gate.
The air was cold. The stones underfoot seemed to tremble. Before him stood the portal—no longer flickering, but pulsing. Beckoning.
Daeshim stepped through.
He was no longer in the realm of the Seraphins. The sky above him burned like fire, a twisted red dome with no sun and no moon. The air was thick, dry, and heavy. No trees. No rivers. No beauty. Only death. Monsters with wings soared high above, their cries sharp like blades.
"So this is it," Daeshim whispered. "The world of Necravores."
As he moved forward, a roar shattered the silence. A dragon—black-scaled and molten-eyed—descended upon him, claws slashing.
Daeshim didn't flinch. He waited… eyes locked.
"This is the moment," he whispered. "Let's see what you've left behind, commander."
When the dragon lunged, Daeshim leapt high. His fist, like a meteor, crashed into its skull. The creature roared, collapsed, and lay still. Dead.
Daeshim stood over it. "Now what?"
The voice returned.
"Say… Vel'Zar."
Daeshim's lips moved instinctively. "Vel'Zar."
The dragon's body glowed. A stream of energy, crimson and hot, flowed into him. Daeshim staggered back.
Power.
Not just fire. Flight. Strength. Skin like armor.
And he knew it—not because some screen appeared before him. Not because of a system prompt. But because his body felt it. His muscles shifted. His senses sharpened. The flame danced at his fingertips like an extension of his will.
It wasn't a borrowed skill.
It was his now.
He smiled, eyes glowing.
And somewhere in the sky above, something far more ancient stirred.