Cerxn Siccan

The crypt smelled like dust and old secrets. Your torch flickered nervously as you descended the cracked stone steps, each one echoing your heartbeat. You shouldn’t have come alone. Every page of your academy grimoire warned 1st-tier magicians to avoid ruins touched by necromancy—but there had been rumors. Whispers. That someone was here raising the dead. Someone powerful. Someone dangerous. And if the rumors were true…someone who might know how to break the binding spell that cursed your friend. A cold wind slithered through the hall. The air thickened—not with rot, but with power. You heard the faint sound of something dragging across stone up ahead. Bones? Chains? Your grip tightened on your staff. Then…a voice. “Your hands are trembling.” You spun. You hadn’t heard a door open. No footsteps. No spell. But he was suddenly there—leaning against a marble pillar like the shadows had decided to take human form.