The figure loomed, its presence heavy but oddly familiar. Ziria’s breath hitched as she met their gaze, flickering and unstable, like candlelight in a storm. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen those emerald eyes. They had been there in her darkest moments, a silent witness to her descent into the necromancer’s craft, a mentor and a guide to all her summoning.


    “Why you?” she asked, her voice trembling with grief, barely louder than a whisper.


    A twisted smile tugged at the corner of their lips, not unkind but far from comforting. “Because you called me once again. And because I know what waits for you at the end of this.”


    Ziria narrowed her eyes at the figure, slightly wrinkling her nose, her grip tightening on the edge of the table beside her. “You’ve always known more than you let on.”


    “Always,” they admitted, the word sharp and cutting. “And now, so do you. That shadow? It’s no ordinary thing. It’s tangled in the roots of this village, in your life. You’ve seen the signs, haven’t you? The darkness crawling fast over everything around you, choking the air, making it harder to breathe. It’s because of it. And because of you.”


    She flinched, a deep crease settled between her brows. The truth in their words was a weight she couldn’t bear, but she knew they weren’t wrong. “Then help me. I don''t know what I have done wrong. If you’ve been watching all this time, if you know so much, help me.”


    The figure stepped closer, their voice softening. “I will. But you’ll have to help me too. You know what I am, Ziria. I’ve walked with you for a long time. Tied to this wretched in-between darkness. I’ve waited for years, decades, maybe centuries—I’ve stopped counting now. Do you want my guidance? My knowledge? Then promise me.”


    “What do you want?”


    “Freedom. Release. To cross the threshold and finally, finally rest.”


    She stared at the figure, the room unnervingly quiet except for the faint, rhythmic thrum of the cursed book behind her, like a heartbeat. “Do you mean a blood vow?”


    The figure nodded slowly, their silhouette dark against the faint glow of the circle on the floor. “A blood vow. You’ll set me free when all of this is over.”


    Ziria hesitated, her fingers curling into her palms until her nails dug into her skin. She didn’t trust easily, but this… This wasn’t the kind of betrayal you walked away from. The figure had been there, in the shadows all of her life, offering guidance when no one else would. She knew them, deeply. She feared them, yes, very much. But she also trusted them with her life.


    “Fine,” she said, reaching for the knife on the table. She made a shallow cut across her palm, wincing as the blood pooled down her fingers..


    The figure stepped forward, holding out their hand. “And I’ll vow to see this through, to guide you to the truth, no matter the cost.”


    Their hands closed over each other, the figure''s skin colder than death. The blood mingled and blended together, a strange warmth spreading through her arm as the vow bound them together. A faint glow creeped up their arms, vanishing lake sand in a brisk wind.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    It was done.


    -


    The village was unnaturally still as Ziria made her way through the narrow streets. Shadows clung to the edges of buildings, seeping into cracks and corners where light couldn’t reach. The air was thick, oppressive, like the world itself was holding its breath. Because of her.


    The figure walked beside her, silent and unseen by anyone but her. Their presence was both a comfort and a reminder of the weight she now carried. She had done this somehow, cursing everything around her. When?


    At the graveyard gates, she hesitated, slowly skimming her fingers right before the entrance. The iron bars loomed before her, streaked with rust and something that looked like teeth, ready to devour her, eat her and take her soul. Beyond them, the graves seemed to shift closer, as though the earth itself was restless.


    “Are you sure about this?” the figure asked, their voice low and steady.


    “No,” she admitted, the truth warming against the cold inside her, gripping the gate with trembling hands. “But I don’t have a choice now, do I?”.


    She stepped inside through the gates, the crunch of gravel beneath her boots echoing in the stillness. The graveyard felt different tonight, more alive than dead, more aware of her presence. The shadows seemed to watch her, their weight pressing against her skin like unseen hands, stroking her hair.


    At the center of the graveyard, she stopped, close to the large tree. This was where she’d summoned the shadow before, where its voice had wrapped around her like a shroud, a shriek and a low growl. She set the cursed book on the ground, its pages fluttering as though caught in an invisible wind. She knew she didn’t have to summon it this time. She never had.


    “Come,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart. “Show yourself, I know you’re waiting for me.”


    The air grew colder, the temperature plummeting so quickly her breath came out in clouds. The shadows around her deepened, pooling together into a shape—a figure that flickered and shifted, never fully solid.


    “Back so soon, my sweet little necromancer?” the shadow said, its voice dripping with amusement, creeping closer to her as she crouched.


    Ziria forced herself up to stand tall, her fingers twitching at her sides. “I have questions. And you’re going to answer them.”


    The shadow tilted its head, the movement unnervingly human, humor coating their voice. “Oh, am I?”


    “You gave the boy a gift,” she said, her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her throat making it feel like the shadows around her tried to choke her. “But it wasn’t a gift at all, was it? It was a curse. A sickness. Why? What did you want from him?”


    The shadow laughed, a sound that sent shivers down her spine. “You’re clever, my sweet little necromancer. But not clever enough.”


    “You won’t tell me, then?” She crossed her arms, now she felt her fury boil inside her. It tried to play her, and she wasn’t in the mood.


    “I’ll tell you this,” the shadow said, its form leaning closer. “You and I are not so different. You seek to control death, to bend it to your will. But death doesn’t like to be controlled. It will consume you, as it consumed him.”


    She clenched her fists, anger flaring in her chest. “I’m not like you. I won’t let it.”


    The shadow leaned back, its form flickering as it laughed. “We’ll see.”


    Before she could respond, the cursed book began to glow, its pages turning on their own. Words appeared on the empty paper, written in a language she didn’t recognize.


    “What is this?” she demanded, but the shadow only laughed again, its voice fading as it dissolved into the darkness. “I’ll meet you again. Soon”.


    The figure beside her stepped forward, their gaze fixed on the book. “It’s a warning,” they said, their voice heavy with meaning. “And a map. It’s leading you to him.”


    “To the boy?”


    “To the man,” the figure corrected her. “To what’s left of him at least.”


    Ziria swallowed hard, her hands trembling as she closed the book. The weight of what lay ahead pressed down on her, but she couldn’t turn back now, she was in too deep.


    She had to find him. And she had to stop the shadow, no matter what it took.