Elias tightened his grip on the hilt of his dagger, the weight of it grounding him against the fear coursing through his veins. He had never imagined he'd actually use it. It was supposed to be just a precaution, something to make him feel safe in a world that often felt too dangerous. But now, as he stood face-to-face with the undead soldier, all those layers of hesitation stripped away.
The skeletal figure loomed in front of him, its tattered fedora tilted at an unsettling angle. The staff in its bony hand gleamed with a blade that shimmered faintly under the pale moonlight. Its hollow eyes seemed to burn with something far deeper than malice—a recognition.
Elias felt it too, though he couldn't place it. The way the skeleton cocked its head, almost as if it were studying him, unsettled him to his core. He froze for a heartbeat as the feeling sank in. Did it know him? Did it see something in him that he didn't see in himself?
His paranoia screamed at him to run, but some deeper instinct roared to life instead. His feet moved forward, quick and purposeful, his blue eyes narrowing as he clutched the dagger tighter. The skeleton's gaze never wavered, as if it were challenging him—or perhaps warning him.
Elias didn't care.
With a burst of speed that surprised even himself, Elias closed the distance and drove the dagger straight into the skeleton's chest. The blade pierced its brittle ribcage with a sickening crack, and for a brief moment, Elias could feel resistance—like pushing against years of sorrow, hate, and something else entirely.
As the skeleton's hollow chest shuddered under the force of the blow, Elias's vision shifted. His blue eyes widened as he saw thin, glowing strings stretching from the undead soldier's chest to the princess. The strings pulsed faintly, as if alive, shimmering with an eerie light that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
"Control..." Elias muttered to himself, his voice shaky.
The strings began to fray and dissolve as the undead soldier crumbled. The skeleton staggered, its staff falling to the ground with a hollow clang. Its bony fingers trembled as it reached for its chest, as if trying to hold itself together.
Elias stepped back, watching as the figure began to wither, the once ominous presence collapsing into fragility. The fedora tumbled off its head, revealing the full extent of its decay. But just as it seemed ready to fade completely, the skeleton raised its head one last time.
Its voice came out as a rasp, brittle but resonant. The words it spoke were fragmented, poetic, and heavy with meaning that Elias couldn't grasp.
"Blue-haired one... bearer of storms unseen,
Through blood and thread, your path is keen.
A thousand truths, a thousand lies,
The moon will fall where the phoenix dies.
Your heart may falter, your blade may still,
But fate's cruel hand bends to your will.
But Draven didn't stop to admire the sight. He moved with purpose, his eyes locking onto the princess as she fell from the sky.
He sprinted forward, his boots crunching against the frost-tipped ground. His arms stretched out as the princess descended, her crimson cloak billowing around her like spilled ink.
Draven caught her just before she hit the ground, the force of her fall nearly knocking him off balance. He cradled her limp form in his arms, his chest heaving as the snow continued to fall around them.
The princess's eyes fluttered open for a moment, dazed and unfocused. Her lips moved, but no sound escaped. Draven tightened his grip, shielding her from the falling snow as if the cold might hurt her.
The battlefield was silent now, the once violent clash replaced by the gentle hush of snowfall.
Elias stood at a distance, his eyes still lingering on the ashes of the skeleton. He glanced at Draven and the princess, his expression unreadable.
The snow fell heavier, blanketing the ground and softening the edges of the world. Yet, beneath the peaceful facade, an unease lingered—a weight that none of them could shake.
Elias stared at his dagger, the cryptic prophecy repeating in his mind. And though he said nothing, the words echoed louder than the silence around him.
***
The morning sunlight poured through the tall, arched windows of the Academy's administrative office, bathing the room in a warm glow that felt at odds with the tension simmering inside. Elias, Draven, Ariana, and Roselyn stood in front of a polished mahogany desk, their faces a mix of exhaustion and determination. Across from them sat several professors and higher-ups, their expressions ranging from skepticism to outright disbelief.
Professor Leontius, the head of history and lore studies, leaned back in his chair with a bemused smile. His graying beard twitched as he folded his arms, a faint glint of condescension in his eyes. "Commander Eldran Vale?" he repeated, his voice laced with disbelief. "You're telling us that the spirit of a centuries-old military commander—one long believed to be nothing more than a ghost story—possessed the princess and orchestrated the events in the cemetery last night?"
Elias, his blue eyes sharp despite the shadows beneath them, stepped forward. "That's exactly what we're saying," he replied, his voice firm. "We saw it with our own eyes. The undead soldier in the cemetery wasn't just some apparition."
Draven nodded, his hand resting protectively on the hilt of his sword, even in this formal setting. A bandage wrapped tightly around his injured shoulder hinted at the previous night's intensity. "It wasn't just some story to scare first-years," he added. "This thing was real. The princess was controlled, her actions weren't her own. Those chains, the way she fought... it wasn't her."
Ariana crossed her arms, her crimson hair catching the sunlight as she glared at the skeptical professors. "Do you think we'd make something like this up? We were there."
Despite their words, the professors exchanged skeptical glances. Professor Aldwin, a stern-looking man with sharp features, adjusted his glasses and leaned forward. "Do you hear yourselves? The legend of Commander Eldran Vale has been passed down for centuries, yes, but it's exactly that—a legend. A cautionary tale meant to keep students from wandering into the cemetery at night. To suggest it's real... it's absurd."
Professor Maren, the head of magical studies, tapped her fingers against the desk. "And yet, here you all are, presenting this tale as if it's fact. It's a little too convenient, don't you think? Especially when the princess is involved. A diplomatic incident like this could have severe consequences if mishandled."
Elias clenched his fists, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "We're not making this up! If you don't believe us, send someone to the cemetery."