The war had not touched Necrovia's heart directly but its echoes rang through every hall of bone, every shard of obsidian, and every whispering spirit that drifted beneath the vaulted spires.
Morte stood alone in his study, the heavy stone shutters drawn tight against the blood-hued light of day. Fifteen winters old now, his silhouette had lengthened lean, composed, no longer the child who once summoned skeletons on instinct. The shadows he cast did not fall idly across the floor they lingered, bending at unnatural angles.
He wore robes layered in deep violet and black, inscribed with protective sigils and reinforced with soulthread a fabric Huff swore was woven from the lament of banshees. Around him, books hovered mid-air, pages fluttering in place as if trying to speak.
His eyes pale violet and unnervingly still moved from one floating volume to another. With a flex of will, he folded space around them compressing text, theory, and diagrams into elegant runes that spun about his hand like a miniature galaxy.
"Fifth-tier compression complete," he murmured. "Elastic recoil holds... displacement margin within limit."
He paused. Then turned.
Null stood beside him.
No longer the awkward construct that once mimicked his movements like a child playing pretend, Null had grown into something stranger neither man nor spirit, but both less and more. Its limbs shimmered with veiled mana threads, flowing like liquid glass. Its face had no mouth, but emotion still flickered in the way its head tilted, the way its form undulated between sharp geometry and soft mist.
It said nothing. But it didn't need to.
They understood each other.
"You're more stable now, of course well have to run more test and experiment the threshold of this new core" Morte said, reaching out. Null mirrored the gesture, its fingers brushing his with a sound like wind through crystal. Once their fingers touched Morte was able to see the inner working of the core more clearly. Nulls biggest drawback was his mana consumption and his inability to make his own mana so far, he had relied solely on Morte mana supply. Through Alchemy and highly theoretical spellwork namely thanks to huffs theories they had managed to make an artificial core. One that was capable of pulling in ambient mana. Morte had grown fond of null. He was like a friend to him in a way. One he had created he still didn't understand how he had managed to do so it should have been impossible considering his level at the time. Mortes thought were interupted by a knock at the door.
Kyris entered a heartbeat later, eyes gleaming faintly beneath his silver-framed monocle. The butler's ethereal body stood as straight as ever.
"His Majesty summons you," Kyris said with a graceful bow. "The final assessment begins now."
Morte nodded. No surprise. The Lich King had said as much during the last council meeting: war could no longer be held at bay. Apparently, the Archmage of Magus was the only one still resisting it delaying preparations where he could.
Lucas wasn't supposed to know. But he had gotten much better with scrying.
He had, by accident at first, established a link with the Archmage.
Zachrius.
They had spoken. More than once. And while Morte would never confess it aloud especially not to the King, he considered the man something close to a friend.
Only war stood between them now.
Morte drew a slow breath. The air felt heavier than it had yesterday. Rich with mana. Saturated.
He had his suspicions about why. None he could yet prove.
He had grown fast, too fast. Fifth-tier already. Advanced stage. His only weakness now was experience. His mana was potent enough to rupture stone, bend steel, and peel enchantments with raw will. Even his body radiated magic. If he didn't suppress it, ordinary humans would sicken or go mad within moments.
Even Huff, once irreverent, now approached with wary respect.
"Null," Morte said softly. "Come."
The construct drifted to his side, its form solidifying into a combat silhouette. A reflection of Morte's own readiness.
They walked together down the spiraling stair of black bone toward the throne chamber where the Lich King waited.
The fifth tier was the last where one had a teacher. After this, one walked alone.
At least, that was the rule.
But he was the Lich King's heir. He doubted rules would ever apply the same.