Rebirth: Necromancer's Ascenscion

It was evening in Esgard.

Smoke curled from the chimneys of laborers’ homes, rising into the rose-gold dusk like prayers to gods that no longer listened.

The clang of hammers, the bark of market traders, the cries of children chasing each other down alleys—all of it began to fade as torches were lit and the city shifted.

The night crowd began to stir: masked courtesans, unmasked whores, drunk poets, whispering spies, and silver-toothed killers took their places.

In the veins of this old city, blood moved differently after dusk. Slower. Hungrier.

And at the heart of it all, inside the cold-stoned halls of House Elarin’s manor, Ian stood still as Velrosa adjusted his cloak.

It was a simple thing—a clasp slightly off center—but she fussed with it like it mattered.

Perhaps it did.

Her fingers brushed the engraved bone of the fastener, then smoothed the black-and-steel weave of his collar.

"I still think this is pointless," Ian muttered.

"You think everything is pointless unless it involves daggers or death."

He gave her a look, half-amused, half-exasperated. "And I’m usually right."

Velrosa stepped back, inspecting him like a tailor might a statue. "You look dangerous. Calculating. Very dramatic. Perfect."

"I’d prefer to skip the theatrics and stay here to con-."

She raised a brow. "And leave me to the banquet wolves alone?"

"You’re more than capable of handling them yourself."

"True," she said, smiling faintly. "But it’ll be more entertaining with you, plus these banquets are always much fun."

Ian narrowed his eyes. "You’re a good liar, but that was a terrible lie."

"I know," she said with a quiet, deliberate grace as she turned away to collect her gloves. "But thank you for coming anyway."

A moment passed before he spoke again, more quietly. "You look beautiful."

She paused mid-motion.

The words had come out low, almost as if he hadn’t meant to say them aloud. But he didn’t take them back. And she didn’t turn to meet his gaze.

Her back remained to him, but he saw her fingers pause ever so slightly before slipping the second glove on.

"You look great aswell," she replied after a beat, voice level. "In a... ’might murder someone at anypoint’ kind of way."

"I try."

Outside, hooves clicked against the cobblestones. The carriage waited.

They walked side by side, neither touching, yet not far apart. When the manor doors opened, lantern-light spilled onto their silhouettes like a silent benediction.

The carriage was obsidian black, pulled by twin dusk-gray steeds with silver-stamped harnesses.

Elarin livery, but newer. More dignified than defiant. A statement.

Inside the carriage, thick velvet cushioned the seats. The hum of the city’s night rhythm echoed faintly beyond the reinforced windows. Candles flickered in holders shaped like coiling vines, their flames dancing in time with the sway of the ride.

"You sure you don’t want to jump out now?" Velrosa asked, eyes half-lidded as she peered through the glass at a passing procession of fire dancers.

"I might as well firm the boredom," Ian replied.

Her dress shimmered a dark violet, nearly black except when the candlelight caught its threads and turned them to glinting stars.

A silver serpent circled her throat, fashioned as a choker, its eyes tiny sapphires.

Regal. Calculated.

"Politics is war," she said. "They just smile as they kill you."

Ian leaned back, arms folded. "At least in the arena, the blood’s honest."

Velrosa studied him for a moment. "Do you really hate it that much? The noble games?"

"I hate pretense," he said. "Empty smiles. Men pretending they don’t want to slit each other’s throats. I’d rather they just tried."

She nodded slightly. "I used to hate it too. When I was young."

"You’re still young."

"Not in the way that matters."

For a moment, silence settled between them, not awkward, but full—like something hanging in the air, waiting. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓

Then Ian tilted his head slightly, changing the subject. "The seer from House Ardeval... you know her, don’t you?"

Velrosa’s lips pressed into a line. "I recognized her name. She was a court whisperer back in the Imperial City. House Ardeval rarely shows its true hand, but she was always one of their louder voices in court. They’re all about foresight and subtlety."

"And House Solmere?"

"I only knew they were... dangerous in a different way," Velrosa said. "Judgment. That’s their entire philosophy. They believe the Empire is sacred law incarnate, and they serve as its executioners. But lately... something must’ve changed if they’re entertaining the idea of not killing us outright."

Ian scoffed. "A soft betrayal."

"No," she said, eyes flickering. "A strategic hesitation. Since they know something is coming. Something big. The seers must have seen it. And House Solmere... they don’t fear change, only being on the wrong side of it."

"And us?"

Velrosa looked out the window.

The carriage passed a group of masked revelers throwing flower petals into the street. Lanterns in the shape of suns hung above the cobbled lane.

"They see us as a tide they can’t stop," she said. "So maybe they want to ride it."

Ian’s gaze stayed on her a moment longer.

"And you?" he asked.

She turned to him then, the candlelight catching the violet in her eyes. "What about me?"

"Do you think this change—whatever it is—will be really achieved?"

She tilted her head, considering. "I think it’s already begun. We’re just deciding who gets to light the final match."

The carriage slowed.

Outside, banners hung from polished marble columns, each bearing the triple-lion crest of House Xavier.

The banquet hall rose like a temple—wide steps, golden braziers, and guards in silver-plated armor.

Music drifted through the open doors—violins, low drums, soft laughter.

Nobles arrived in droves, descending from their own carriages wrapped in silk, velvet, and arrogance. Servants guided them with bowed heads.

Their carriage stopped.

Ian was the first to step out, his boots hitting the stone with a dull, heavy sound. He turned, offering his hand—not as a noble gesture, but something simpler.

Habit. Respect.

Velrosa took it, her fingers cool and steady.

They climbed the steps together, their shadows long in the firelight.