Rebirth: Necromancer's Ascenscion

Morning came like a knife through flesh—sharp and sudden.

The sun, a molten eye behind pale clouds, cast a sickly light over Esgard. Banners fluttered across rooftops, council guards stood tall at each major avenue, and the noble houses were already sending out their adorned carriages.

It was a day of ceremony, but also of hidden fangs. The city didn’t move with celebration, it moved like a snake molting skin.

Within House Elarin’s estate, Elise stood at the tall arched window, eyes fixed on the city below.

She watched as the first waves of nobles began to converge near the Spiral Chamber—the ancient hall where votes were cast, and power changed hands behind gloves.

"Fifteen carriages have passed the fourth ward," she murmured. "All noble colors. No deviations in route. No signs of interference."

Behind her, Velrosa sat calmly as Elise affixed the final clasp on her cloak. Deep midnight blue trimmed with Elarin silver. Regal, but subdued.

She looked every inch the woman ready to walk into war under the mask of civility.

Eli leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, gold-ringed eyes unreadable.

"Is this the part where we pretend they might not vote for you?" he asked, half-mocking.

Velrosa glanced at him, a corner of her mouth tugging upward.

Ian entered without knocking.

He wore black, the kind of black that drank light—the tailored overcoat lined with faint bone-sigils, the collar high, the twin daggers of Vowbreaker resting at his hips.

His presence carried weight. The kind that made everyone in the room straighten slightly, even without knowing why.

Velrosa turned to him. "The city?"

Ian gave a nod. "Buzzing. Betting halls are closed. Crucible’s quiet. Everyone’s eyes are on the Spiral Chamber."

"And the Pillar Houses?"

"They’re watching. But not acting yet."

"Yet," Elise echoed. She didn’t like the taste of that word.

Velrosa stepped forward. "Then everything is in place."

Rat burst in through the side door, cloak flaring, his usual grin subdued under the weight of today’s game.

"Final confirmations are in," he said, flicking open a small scroll and scanning the etched runes.

"House Saan, Volmir, Morravel, and Xavier are aligned. Kaelthorn remains undecided but leaning your way after Ian’s little Crucible ballet. Durnhal’s voting against you, obviously. Thalia Virex’s hasn’t spoken but was seen entering with Alurelle’s retinue, so assume manipulation there. That leaves three wildcards."

However Rat didn’t know the truth, Alurelle was loyal.

Velrosa raised a brow. "Three?"

Rat nodded. "Yes. One we expected. Lord Tharros Yvain. Military hawk. Stoic. Unpredictable. Might be swayed by Eli’s and Ian strength. Two is a last-minute curve—Grand Priest Eltharion Vale."

"Vale?" Elise asked, alarm blooming in her tone. "He’s speaking again?"

"Apparently," Rat muttered. "He’s been... quiet since the return. But this morning he gave a sermon about ’shadows hiding in noble blood.’ No names, but I don’t need a map to see where that finger points."

Ian’s voice was ice. "If the Sanctum intervenes again—"

"They won’t," Velrosa cut in sharply. "Not yet. They play the long game."

Eli finally moved away from the wall. "Then who’s the third?"

Rat hesitated, then handed the scroll to Velrosa directly.

She scanned it. Her fingers tightened slightly.

"Elric Daskar," she said flatly. "The neutral chair."

Ian looked at her. "You’ve spoken with him?"

She nodded once. "Weeks ago. He asked for no promises, only that House Elarin not interfere with Eastern trade routes. I agreed."

"He doesn’t want control," Elise said quietly. "Just quiet profit."

Velrosa handed the scroll back to Rat. "Then he’ll vote in favor. He just wants to do it last—make himself feel powerful."

Eli smirked. "Don’t we all."

---

By midday, the Spiral Chamber was sealed.

Nine thrones. Nine names. Each one carrying a history written in conquest and betrayal.

Velrosa stood at the base of the chamber steps, her breath steady.

A ceremonial guard called her name, and she moved forward, every step measured. Every eye followed her—some with admiration, others with venom.

Eli remained near the back wall, alongside Rat and Elise. Ian had taken position by the northern arch, like a wolf half-heartedly dressed as a man.

Outside, beyond the silversteel gates, thousands waited.

Vendors sold paper flags, children perched on balconies, and the streets hummed with tension.

In one corner tavern, a gathering of working men paused their drink as a noble-scribe read the current tally aloud from a long parchment.

"She’s two votes ahead," the scribe whispered. "If the next vote falls her way, she’ll secure it."

In a brothel just a few alleys away, masked courtesans and robed merchants huddled in the lounge, half-naked, fully invested.

"I told you," one courtesan said, straddling her patron with a triumphant grin, "The Lady of Corpses knows how to bury a rival. This is her city now."

"She hasn’t won yet," muttered the merchant. "It only takes one swing. One secret."

Back in the Spiral Chamber, silence fell as Grand Priest Eltharion Vale stood.

Draped in flowing white and gold, his skeletal fingers curled around the staff etched with divine glyphs. His eyes, once clouded with age, gleamed with sudden clarity.

"I cast my vote..." he began, voice echoing through the stone.

Everyone leaned forward.

A breath. A beat.

"...for House Elarin."

Gasps. A rustle of garments. Several nobles stiffened.

Eli’s eyes narrowed.

Vale sat slowly. The smile on his face didn’t reach his eyes.

Something was wrong.

Rat leaned closer. "Why would he—?"

"He never gives away power unless he already has something else," Elise said darkly.

One by one, the remaining votes followed.

Eight.

Then nine.

Velrosa’s name was inked into the record.

The fourth Chair was hers.

Cheers erupted outside. Firecrackers were lit. From the distant Crucible balconies, colored flares shot into the sky.

Velrosa walked toward the throne, steps even, gaze unreadable.

She sat.

Silence followed. Ritual demanded it.

Then, just as the chamber doors were about to open—just as the guards turned to announce her to the waiting city—a second set of bells rang out.

Not from the city.

But from within.

A warning tone. Deep. Resounding. Arcane in nature.

Ian’s head snapped up. Fang shimmered into view at his shoulder, whispering:

"They’ve arrived."

Elise’s eyes darted. "Who?"

The massive doors to the Spiral Chamber creaked open once more.

And through them stepped a figure in white.

Not gold. Not silk.

Just pale robes, simple, traveling-worn, dusted from the road.

And yet every noble fell silent.

Because they felt it.

The presence.

The weight.

At his back came two others—hooded, but powerful. The magic around them was restrained, but monstrous in potential.

The man raised his hood and lowered it.

Hair like starlight. Eyes like burning sapphire.

A mark at his throat that shimmered faintly—a divine sigil.

Velrosa’s breath stopped.

Fang whispered again.

"The God-Chosen... came himself."

And from his lips came a single sentence.

"I request audience."