The Mask of the Necromancer

☠ CHAPTER 01 ☠

The sound of water surrounds me, droplets create a loud symphony that I can clearly hear but cannot feel on my skin. I'm not sure where I am, though I'm probably sheltered from the storm, its intensity is evident in the thunderclaps and brilliant lightning bolts that pierce even through the darkness of my closed eyelids.

The wind howls, shaking the landscape and stirring the foliage, releasing soft, barely audible moans.

Where am I?

I involuntarily grimace as I try, in vain, to recall when I lost consciousness. The only certainty is that I am not in my chambers at the palace guard building.

"Wake up, Eirin" a male voice suddenly calls my name, its tone severe and deep. I've never heard it before. I obey almost mechanically.

Looking at the sky, I discover a dark and gray panorama, the night obscured by clouds. Occasional flashes of lightning briefly illuminate my surroundings. The site evokes a strange contradiction —familiar yet new. Have I been here before? Perhaps.

Rain falls heavily on my body, yet I feel nothing. Strands of wet hair stick to my face, their texture eluding me. I don't know if it's hot or cold. What is happening?

Frightened, I sit up. My mouth hangs open in surprise. Glancing around, I confirm my unfamiliar surroundings. I feel like I've been here before, though I'm not sure where here is. Something strange is going on.

Looking down at my body, I notice I'm wearing an old, worn and patched blue dress stained with mud from the wet soil beneath me. This piece of clothing is not mine.

"I know you must be confused and scared, so I recommend you not look to your right," advises the voice from behind me.

Without a second thought, I defy the warning. How can I resist curiosity? I turn my head slowly and discover that, to my side lies... myself —or rather, what remains of me.

The sight disgusts me, but my body shows no physical reaction. No retching or nausea, just the horror of facing my own death. A discomposing corpse that still retains enough features to be recognized.

A soldier should face their end with pride, or so they say, but seeing my decomposed face with missing eyes, broken skin, visible bones, and grotesque violet-toned patches is heart-wrenching. I want to cry and to scream, but I am silent. My voice is trapped in my throat. Caged.

"I told you not to do it," mocks the man behind me. "I thought you would be more obedient."

Frustrated, I turn to the interlocutor. What twisted joke is this? Has he disguised a corpse as me? Or is this a nightmare? Am I in hell? Summoning courage, or the intention thereof, I demand, "Who the hell are you, and what is happening here?" I had forgotten the sound of my own voice. "What have you done to me?"

"I am your master. Your owner. And I just brought you back to life, little Alvola."

I blink, processing the words. Memories flow, blurred scenes of a battlefield and an ambush at dawn.

"Do you know who you are?" he interrupts my thoughts.

"Eirin Valheiner," I whisper, still processing the situation. "Commander of the private army of the crown prince of..."

"Enough, details don't matter," he interrupts again. "Now, bury your former mortal body. Burn its image into your new memory and thank me later for giving you a second chance."

"Who are you?" I ask, defiantly.

"I've already told you. I own you. I'm your master." A thunderclap accentuates his statement's strength.

I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry. All I can manage is to finish turning around on my knees. In the night's darkness, I discern the silhouette of the man under a hooded cloak. I think he is around thirty years old, the way he speaks makes me suspect he is well-born or educated. His figure appears tall and thin, with the posture of one not accustomed to hard work.

"What are you waiting for to start your task?" he urges. "That was an order. Bury your former body."

"I don't have tools to dig, and wet soil is not favorable," I challenge.

"Orders exist to be obeyed, not questioned. Bury the corpse. It will be good for you. You will understand what death means and value the second chance I've given you."

I sit and raise my hands, observing them —short nails, no scars. Am I dreaming?

"Are you deaf, Alvola?" He comes closer and kicks me. "We're in a hurry, start now."

I don't feel the contact of his moody shoe against my side, but I fall like a broken doll.

"What did you call me?" I ask amid the bad weather. "I don't know what that term means."

"Bury it", he repeats, ignoring my question.

"No," I answer, without looking up. My disgust is palpable.

"You don't have a choice", he insists. "And hurry, we must leave before dawn."

"What happens if I resist?"

"You will die again. You are of no use to me if you rebel."

"Will it hurt?"

"Who knows?" The stranger smiles, his pale teeth contrasting with the night.

I nod while getting on my knees again, sigh, and start digging. Despite trusting my abilities, attacking now would be unwise. I lack weapons and information. I must be careful, gather information about the man, create a plan, and decide when to act.

The man remains a shadow as I dig, a silent statue in the middle of the loud landscape.