The group of twenty-one men stopped near their objective, their gazes fixed on the grotesque scene before them. In the middle of a desolate clearing, a dark ritual unfolded.
A pentagon of worn bones marked the ground, and in the center, a skull floated ominously. Green flames danced within the empty eye sockets, illuminating the scene with a spectral glow that seemed to devour natural light.
Cassandro was the first to break the silence, murmuring words in Romaikinian, the ancient language of the Romakoi. His voice was low, almost inaudible, and as he recited the invocation, a field of dim light rose around the group, like a protective barrier.
He advanced, leaving the others behind, his eyes fixed on the ritual. The soldiers, accustomed to such scenes, stood firm and emotionless, like human statues. In contrast, Dagmaros, positioned further back, watched the scene with evident discomfort.
He swallowed, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his short sword, though he knew that blade was useless against what lay ahead. Cassandro moved cautiously into the pentagon of bones. He stopped beside the skull, examining it with keen eyes.
From his leather pouch, he withdrew a small crystal, which glowed faintly as he held it between his fingers. Whispering more words in Romaikinian, he summoned his aether, a magical flow that radiated from his hands, enveloping the crystal and casting a greenish light over the ritual.
"Is this sorcery?" he muttered, mostly to himself.
As he examined the scene, he found a series of ancient inscriptions carved into the skull. The language was savage, indecipherable to him or anyone present. He took a notebook from his bag, scribbling down the inscriptions carefully and sketching the ritual in detail.
After a few minutes of intense study, Cassandro stepped away from the pentagon, snapping his notebook shut. He turned to the group, his expression grim.
"Let's go. I got what I needed. Dagmaros was right. Tampering with this ritual would send a message that we're here, and that's a risk we can't take."
The group began to prepare to leave, but before they could mount their horses, something changed in the air. An icy presence took over the environment.
From the shadows of the trees, a tall, pale figure emerged. The being was a Necros. His skin, dry like aged leather, almost translucent, clung to his bones.
His black eyes pulsed with an unearthly purple light that seemed to penetrate the soul of whoever looked at him.
He moved slowly toward the pentagon, completely ignoring the protective barrier of Cassandro and the group around him.
"Damn it..." Dagmaros muttered, instinctively retreating.
Cassandro, remaining calm, reached out and cast an earth spell. A mound of mud began to levitate, trying to envelop the Necros, but the creature was not disturbed by the mud.
Its steps continued steadily towards the center of the pentagon.
When the Necros reached the skull, it waved its long, cadaverous hands, muttering words in a forgotten language.
The ground around the pentagon began to shake, and the bones that had been buried before it emerged from the earth, forming armed skeletons that rose like undead soldiers.
"We are at a disadvantage. Immediate retreat!" Cassandro said, his voice cutting through the air.
The group quickly mounted and began to flee towards the village, the horses' hooves hammering the damp earth as the skeletons emerged in ever greater numbers.
The Necros stayed behind, but the purple light in his eyes seemed to follow them, a constant reminder that the danger was just beginning.
The morning was gray and cold when Helena entered the military tent. Her steps were firm, but they carried the exhaustion of hard days.
On her back, a worn backpack hung, the worn fabric revealing the weight she carried.
On her lap, little Athanasios was wrapped in a cloak to protect him from the cold, he looked around with curious eyes.
Inside the tent, Commander Thales Stefanos waited, sitting at the central table, surrounded by maps and documents scattered around.
His expression was tired, but his rigid posture made it clear that he was still determined to fulfill his mission, this was a burden he certainly carried.
Helena moved and bowed her head slightly in respect before speaking.
"Lord Stefanos, I need your help. I am the last survivor of the village, and my only wish now is to reach the Spathariosen duchy. However, I am alone with a child, and the journey is dangerous. I humbly request that you designate a group to escort me there."
Thales spoke from his papers, studying her for a moment. His gaze was assessing, but not hostile. He sighed before answering.
"Helena, understanding your situation and your courage is admirable. But I must be honest. Our contingent has already thin, and the men who remain are needed to hold what is left of this village and deal with the impending dangers. I cannot spare soldiers to escort you."
Helena frowned slightly, but she stood her ground firmly. "So you are saying that you cannot help in any way?" "
That is not it," Thales replied, leaning forward slightly.
"What I can do is offer you a horse. It is sturdy and fast, and can carry you safely to the main road. From there, you will have a better chance of encountering other travelers or caravans."
The surroundings were already patrolled by guards and were peaceful, however, crossing Kardithal would be difficult, but not impossible. If the woman had managed to survive the winter alone with a child, she had an unusual resilience and the ability to cross the mountain ranges.
Helena pondered for a moment, before nodding slowly. "If this is the only help you can offer, I accept."
A few minutes later, Helena was at the exit of the village, holding the reins of a medium-sized brown horse.
Athanasios, seated on his mother's lap as she mounted, looked around with curiosity and a touch of uncertainty.
As the horse began to trot, leaving the village behind, the boy turned his head to observe the desolate landscape.
The abandoned houses and ruins seemed to whisper silently stories of better times.
"It's just you and me now, my son," Helena murmured, her voice low but full of determination.
Athanasios continued to watch, absorbing every detail of the scene. He looked at his mother's face, seeing the strength she emanated, even in the face of the unknown, and felt calm.
"We are finally leaving this place forgotten by man." Athanasios thought to himself.
With one last look at the village, Helena touched the reins more firmly, leading the horse towards the open road.
The trees ahead swayed in the cold wind, and the cloudy sky seemed to silently observe the journey that unfolded.
The ranger, mounted on a sturdy gray horse, observed the unusual movement from afar.
He was on a hill near the forest, from where he could see the figure of Dagmaros and Cassandro riding frantically, followed by the twenty soldiers.
Their accelerated pace and furtive glances behind them gave away the reason: they were fleeing.
"What the hell is going on here?" muttered the ranger, squinting to get a better look.
As the group approached, Cassandro raised his hand, ordering them to halt for a moment. With his long cape still billowing in the wind, he looked at the ranger and shouted, "You there! If you value your life, turn that horse and follow us now!"
The man frowned, but before he could question, Cassandro continued, urgency in his voice, "The Necros are here. We saw the ritual, the dead have risen. If we stay another minute in this damned place, we will all be crushed. You come or you die!"
The ranger's initial surprise soon gave way to understanding. He nodded, turning his horse to join the group. Cassandro's words, though alarming, carried a ring of truth that could not be ignored.
As they rode back to the village, the ranger exchanged glances with Dagmaros, who was visibly pale and sweating. He whispered to himself, "Necros… so the rumors were true."
In the village, Cassandro hurriedly dismounted and went straight to Thales Stefanos' tent, accompanied by Dagmaros and the ranger.
Thales was sitting, studying maps with a worried expression, but he looked up when he saw them enter. "Let me guess," Thales began, his tone slightly sarcastic. "Did you ring the dinner bell?"
Cassandro, still out of breath, ignored the provocation. "Necros. Ritual. Undead. They're all coming. If we don't leave now, there won't be a single survivor in this village."
Thales stood up slowly, his expression hardening. Despite his evident irritation, he suppressed the urge to say I told you so and replied.
"We'll summon the officers. There's no time for discussion." In the impromptu meeting with the commanders, Hector was the first to speak.
With his arms crossed and an irritated expression, he snapped, "I knew it. I knew something would go wrong with this idiotic expedition."
Dorian, more measured, seemed surprised, but remained calm. "Are you sure we're dealing with Necros?" he asked Cassandro.
"I saw it with my own eyes," Cassandro replied. "And so did Dagmaros. We have no time for doubts. If we don't leave now, we'll be surrounded."
Without further ado, Thales ordered immediate mobilization. The soldiers were quickly assembled, confusion and urgency permeating the village.
Along the way, the rangers at outposts were recalled, joining the hurried march. The army, though disciplined, showed the strain of facing an enemy so unprepared known and supernatural.
As the village disappeared on the horizon, the group fled in a state of panic, but carrying the hope that the escape would be enough to survive.