The steps beneath the altar weren't made of stone.
They were made of vertebrae.
Ezra stepped carefully, boots pressing into the delicate spiral of bones as the path spiraled downward like a spine descending into the world's throat. The others followed, silent. Not by choice, but because the very air here forbade idle sound. Even breath came muffled. There was reverence in the silence. And warning.
After all, they weren't just entering a deeper floor.
They were trespassing on a tomb.
Not just for bodies. For memories.
The path ended in a narrow passage lit with ghostly fire dancing along walls of etched obsidian. Carvings lined the space—vivid images of necromancers across history. Some wore robes of splendor, others rags, and some—like Ezra—bore nothing but blood and resolve.
At the end of the hall stood a door unlike any they'd seen.
It was not locked.It welcomed them.
The metal frame rippled with veins of glowing blue, and at its center was a symbol Ezra had seen before—on his own chest. A circle of thorns surrounding a lone flame.
He reached out.
As his fingers touched the surface, the mark on his body burned. Pain lanced through his nerves—sharp, electric, and oddly cleansing. The door dissolved into mist.
And beyond it lay the grave.
A vast, circular chamber stretched before them. At its center was a chasm—an abyss of pitch darkness, yet lined with thousands of glowing orbs that floated in spirals around it like stars caught in orbit.
It wasn't just a pit.
It was a repository of souls.
Kael exhaled softly. "What is this place…?"
Vesper, for once, offered no hymn. Instead, her lips parted in silent awe.
"It's a Necroforge," Galen murmured. "Only heard of it in stories. Where the strongest necromancers left their legacies… their regrets… their power."
Ezra stepped forward, drawn toward the edge of the abyss. The orbs stirred.
Then a voice echoed—not in the air, but in their minds.
"Welcome, Hollowborn.We have waited for you since the world sang its first note of death."
A figure formed from shadow and soul-light, rising from the abyss like a conductor from below. Tall. Faceless. Wrapped in robes stitched with chains and runes.
[Ancestral Echo Detected: Arakthos, The First Gravecaller][Memory Imprint – Fragment Level][Initiating Audience...]
Ezra stood tall.
"I'm not here to kneel."
The specter paused… and laughed. The sound echoed like wind through a crypt.
"You bear no crown, yet command a choir. No bloodline, yet hold the legacy.You are unclaimed. And that is why we offer you a choice."
With a sweep of its hand, the stars in the abyss shifted. Each orb lit up with a scene.
Ezra watched lives unfold:
—A necromancer raising a city from ruins, using bone to build rather than destroy.—Another walking through battlefields, turning corpses into peacekeepers rather than weapons.—And one… who became a tyrant, using the dead to replace the living.
Arakthos floated closer.
"Each soul here chose a path. Some noble. Some monstrous.Which will you carve, Hollowborn? Will you be conductor, king, or calamity?"
Ezra's mouth was dry. His fingers curled slightly.
"I… I don't know yet."
"Good. The ones who claim certainty are the ones we buried first."
The lights flared.
Then one orb drifted closer, pulsing with soft blue light. Inside it, Ezra saw a vision—of himself. Older. Battle-worn. Holding a child in his arms. But in the reflection's eyes, there was only rage. Behind him, the world burned.
Ezra flinched.
"I would never become that."
"Not yet. But grief is a conductor, too. And it plays dirges better than any man alive."
The orb dissolved into his chest.
[You have absorbed a Fragment of Potential Future][Trait Acquired: "Gravebound Insight" – Once per day, view a glimpse of consequence before choosing a major path.]
Suddenly, the chamber shook.
Kael raised her weapon. "Earthquake?"
"No," Vesper whispered. "A disruption. Something is breaking the boundary between the living and the dead…"
[Dungeon Update: External Interference Detected][Emergency Egress Protocol Engaged][Exit Coordinates – Marked]
Arakthos's form began to unravel.
"Fate will test you sooner than you expect. But when it does, remember this:
A conductor cannot weep while the orchestra plays.Choose your final movement wisely."
And then the chamber erupted in a scream.
They didn't run so much as fly.
The path back up twisted and collapsed behind them as Ezra led the team with the resonance of his newly awakened instincts. Echo deflected falling debris while Galen bashed through stone and bone alike. Kael's cloak tore as spectral fire licked her shoulder.
"Almost there!" Ezra shouted, voice finally audible in the outer stairwell.
Just as the final wall closed behind them, they burst into the original Choir pit.
It was no longer silent.
The statues had risen.
But not in reverence.
They were in torment. Whatever force had disrupted the Necroforge had sent its rage upward. The harmony was shattered. The Choir twisted—melodies dissonant, forms malformed.
Ezra didn't hesitate.
He raised his hands—
And for the first time, his undead did not obey.
They paused.
Watched.
Listened.
Ezra realized why.
He no longer had to command them.
He had become part of the same song.
He took a breath.
And sang.
The effect was instant. The Choir steadied. The dissonance recoiled. Not vanished—but pushed back. Ezra's voice wasn't powerful on its own. But combined with their memory of the completed symphony, it grounded them.
Kael looked stunned.
Vesper knelt, murmuring, "He is the Hollowborn…"
As the final notes faded, the remaining statues bowed.
And shattered.
Dust and ash.
[You have earned the Title: "Bearer of the Last Score"][Your undead may now evolve based on harmonic synergy and battlefield performance][Necromancer Class Up: Apprentice ➜ Symphonic Gravecaller]
A gate formed on the edge of the pit—one that glowed with warm orange, the color of the waking world.
They stepped through.
They emerged in Queens.
In the ruins of what had once been a high school auditorium, now a fractured mana site pulsing faintly with runes. Above them, the sun was setting, casting New York's broken skyline in fire and blood.
Kael slumped onto a broken chair. "Tell me we're done for the day."
Ezra stared at his hands. The mark of the Hollowborn glowed faintly, still warm.
"No," he murmured. "We're just getting started."
Far above, across the rooftops, a figure watched them through a scope.
A masked man. Black armor. Tattooed hand steadying a long-range rifle.
He spoke into a comm.
"Subject Vale has survived the Necroforge. Class progression confirmed. Requesting permission to engage or observe?"
A moment passed.
Then a distorted voice replied.
"Observe. He's not ready for what's coming.But when the Hollowborn begins his Requiem…The city will burn."