The wind howled through the desolate valley, carrying with it the scent of blood and decay. In the midst of the carnage, bodies lay scattered, warriors, beasts, and innocents alike. It had been a massacre. Among the broken remains, a single figure stirred. Weak, battered, but alive.
Donn had never been destined for greatness. A simple wanderer, an outcast from any place worth calling home. He had spent his life dodging conflict, avoiding the wars that plagued the lands, always seeking peace in a world where peace seemed impossible to find.
But fate, it seemed, had other plans.
Gasping for air, Donn felt his hands clutch at the earth beneath him, slick with blood. His vision swam as he forced himself upright, leaning against a boulder. The battle had not been meant for him, but he had been caught in the crossfire, another casualty of a world ruled by power and violence.
As he struggled to stand, something in the distance caught his eye. A faint glow beneath the corpses. It was barely visible, a dim pulse of violet light hidden under layers of fallen soldiers. Drawn by an inexplicable force, Donn dragged himself toward it, ignoring the pain that racked his body. The closer he came, the more he could feel it, something ancient, something powerful.
He pulled aside a bloodied shield, and there it was: a small, black tome, its cover etched with symbols that seemed to shift and writhe in the dim light. The book seemed to breathe, as though it had a life of its own. Donn hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of something monumental about to happen. But his curiosity, his desperation, got the better of him.
With trembling hands, he reached for the tome.
The moment his fingers touched the cold leather, his world shattered.
Visions. Memories. Voices. Thousands of them, all at once, flooding his mind. Screams of the dead, the cries of fallen warriors, the whispers of forgotten gods. Donn's body convulsed, and he dropped to his knees as power surged through him, cold, relentless, endless.
A voice, low and ancient, echoed within his mind.
"You have been chosen."
Suddenly, the pain was gone. Donn opened his eyes, and the world felt… different. The ground beneath him no longer seemed hostile, but submissive. The bodies that lay around him, once lifeless and still, now felt like waiting vessels.
He knew, instinctively, what the tome had given him. The power to raise the dead. The power to control them. Without thinking, Donn extended a hand toward the nearest corpse, a fallen knight, his armor dented and bloodied. He whispered a single word, though he wasn't sure where the word had come from.
"Rise."
The knight's body twitched, then slowly, unnaturally, it began to move. Bones cracked as it stood, sword still clutched in its bony hand, eyes glowing with an eerie light. It was no longer the knight who had died hours ago, it was something else, something bound to Donn's will.
A chill ran down Donn's spine, but it wasn't fear. It was exhilaration.
The voice echoed again, softer this time, like a lullaby in the back of his mind.
"With this power, you will never die. You will never be alone. The dead will serve you, eternally."
Donn's eyes burned with newfound purpose as he looked out over the valley of corpses. He felt no remorse, no hesitation. These bodies were his now, an army waiting to be born. And this was only the beginning.
He stood tall, the tome now clutched firmly in his hands, glowing with the promise of limitless power. The world had tried to crush him, but now, he would reshape it. Death was no longer an end. It was his weapon.
And with it, he would carve his place in history.