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Will you bed me here, Darling, where the golden rays of the setting sun pearl upon the sandy soil, where the waves' foam still reach our bodies, kissing our sun-sated skin and then... will you kiss me everywhere the seas' breath did not catch us?
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Thank you so much for being my collab partner Willa, you are the best, you brought it all to life, you created the perfect showcase for "My Swan"
Zine event 'What comes after' by @thefadediscordserver
[NSFW content]
This was the night, or rather, the early morning hours. The last one.
The last new day in the life of Professor Emmrich Volkarin.
But would it be the end?
Emmrich had seen the lich lords of the Grand Necropolis with his own eyes, he had faced them
and spoken to them – on behalf of Manfred, his skeleton son. To let him go was by far the
hardest decision of his life – and the ultimate test if he really was ready to face the
consequences of eternal life – the good and the bad ones as well. Never before had he tumbled
like that, torn apart between two possible life paths. His final decision would bring destiny, to
himself and to the ones close to him. The responsibility was a heavy burden and the memory of
the tears he had shed were still crystal clear, they were young. How would it feel to remember
the days in twohundred years, he asked himself?
That he had only tumbled, but not fallen, was Rooks achievement. He had been there for him in
this moment, when the world itself seemed to stand still to await his decision. Emmrich
cherished Rooks advice, but the ultimate step was a thing he alone would have to do.
He had so much to gain—but just as much to lose. Taking this step would mean eternal life or
utter annihilation. Demanding this uncertainty of himself was one thing, but how could he expect
Rook to bear it with him?
Rook, my heart…
Even a brief glance into his beloved's eyes melted him. He was still so young! Rook was barely
a young adult; he had his whole life ahead of him. Emmrich didn't doubt the sincerity of his
feelings in the slightest—and yet Rook not only accepted his plan—he had even encouraged
him not to give up on his lifelong dream. For no one's sake, neither for himself, nor for Manfred,
nor for anyone else close to him. What spark from the other side had so steeled Rook's soul
with courage? There was more to it than just a sentimental impulse to flatter him. In the past
days and hours, he hadn't let a single hint of doubt surface.
He was emotional and excited, no question about it, but by no means hesitant. It was pure,
sincere conviction with which Rook morally supported him.
In his conviction, he seemed as unyielding as the stone from which the gravestones in the
Necropolis garden had been hewn. Marked, imperishable, yet speaking so much despite their
silence, they lined the path along which Rook and Emmrich walked hand in hand.
It was the last day, yet they were in no hurry. Despite the hours slipping away with breathless
speed, there was no urge to quicken their pace. Rook and he had come to revel in the here and
now. This was where it had begun for them. Their shared care for the graves and the spirits, the
shared recitation of the ritual verses of the Mournwatch —and the getting to know each other in
the process—had brought them together. It was only fitting that they had chosen this place to
bid farewell to Emmrich's life.
There it was, the subtle, barely perceptible hint of regret for his own mortality, stirring within
Emmrich. Rook had sensed it immediately. That subtle change in the way he held his hand. The
warmth and the mortal strength within it would fade, but what would remain forever was the
gesture of love that bound them together.
Rook stopped and turned to Emmrich, gazing up at him, into those beautiful, sincere eyes,
brown and green, which had become the epitome of tenderness to him.
"I'm with you," he said, placing his right hand against Emmrich's chest. Even there, he could feel
the heartbeat. Beneath the fabric of dyed burial silk, carefully stitched with intricate
gold-threaded borders, he felt the warmth of his beloved's body.
"You sensed my thoughts and feelings, didn't you?" Emmrich's frown accentuated the lines of
age on his face. Rook loved every single millimeter of them.
"Not only that, I share them too. If only I could do more than that. I want to be by your side. Until
the very last moment." He took a deep breath. "And after that, too."
They pressed themselves intimately against one another. Rook's lips and the tip of his nose
touched the hollow of Emmrich's neck; there was a pleasing difference in their sizes, and Rook
felt once again an euphoric tingling in his body and soul. It was infatuation that seemed to pull
him in every direction, intoxicating him in a way that even the profound rituals of his order and
his immersion in the mystical depths of magic could not evoke in him. As if of its own accord, his
body reacted, drawn to the one he desired so intensely. His lips made contact, gliding gently
over his skin. As he exhaled, a fragile sigh, his breath mingled with the fine pores, allowing the
remaining traces of Emmrich's captivating perfume to rise to his nose. This aroma alone
seduced him anew, effortlessly overcoming the barrier of his reason, as if an athlete had cleared
three steps in perfect superiority.
“Oh, my Darling!” Emmrich whispered, wrapping his arms around the chest of him, his hands
searching for a place to claw into, letting himself fall down the spiral of never-ending instinct to
hold, to own, to possess the one and only man his love had grown into. Like a beautiful plant
would have been buried deep into the soil of existence, just to break to the surface, shine in its
growth, becoming stronger with every day of rain or sunshine, leaning against the harsh winds
of life. Until it became a force of its own, its blossoms the very essence of beauty itself.
Yuriel nestled close to Emmrich, feeling his breath quicken. This wasn't an embrace to find
peace. Quite the opposite; the mere fact that they clung to each other was enough to intoxicate
them both. Why did this consuming desire refuse to subside for even a single second? "Look at
us, my love. We're like two swans who never want to leave their pond." "A swan?" Yuriel asked,
his hand slid through Emmrich's hair, down his elegantly shaped neck, and finally resting on his
back. Emmrich nodded, caressing Yuriel's neck, his slightly moist lips sliding up his throat until
they reached his mouth. It moved Emmrich to feel that Yuriel's lips were still throbbing and
swollen in a strangely beautiful way, from all the unspeakably wonderful things he had done to
him during the past night. "So faithful and graceful, destined for each other—and beautiful,
swan-like." He kissed him, whispering his poetic words to his beloved. Yuriel blushed at the
tender flattery. Emmrich seemed completely unaware that these words amounted to seduction.
"You do things to me I never even dreamed of. My capacity for affection has always been
limited. And now… as if you hadn't just taken my hand to explore the world, but as if you had
lifted me up to the stars."
For a moment they paused, looked into each other's eyes, and what they found was deep,
unconditional love. It was nothing short of a miracle that they had found each other in the midst
of such terrible times. Their feelings for one another were so evident that no words were needed
to say.
There could be no stronger agreement than this. For all that would inevitably follow.
Emmrich moved first. He grasped Yuriel by the upper arms and pressed him with demanding
determination against the monument with the intricately crafted skeletal couple, carved in stone,
who would love each other for all eternity in the necropolis.
Right here, Emmrich and Yuriel had kissed for the first time. Here they did it again, right in this
fateful moment. Probably for the last time as two living lovers.
Yuriel wanted it just as much, yet he was overcome by the raw desire with which Emmrich
pushed him against the base of the monument. His lips demanded as much as his hands,
greedily searching for the most intimate parts of Yuriel's trembling body.
"By all good spirits…" Yuriel gasped, willingly opening his legs and lips to everything Emmrich
hoped to find on and inside him. He didn't doubt for a heartbeat that he would get it all—and that
he deserved it. Even more, Yuriel wished he could give him more than just his body. "Will you
take me again?" he whispered against Emmrich's cheek, still frantically trying to untie the loops
of his trousers. Apparently, Emmrich's hands were too shaky to work effectively.
"As often as I can," Emmrich replied conspiratorially, then bit him playfully and greedily just
above the collarbone, ensuring that Yuriel wouldn't end the day without seeing marks in the
mirror.
Yuriel was seized by fervor as he felt the suction on his sensitive skin; it aroused him in the best
possible way, finally awakening the bestial desire within him.
With a swift movement, he grasped Emmrich's hips and executed a sweeping half-turn, almost
painfully slamming him against the wall that had just moments before supported himself. He
grasped his wrists and pressed them against the silent stone as well, but could only extend
them far enough so that Emmrich's arms were bent over his head; he was simply much taller
than Yuriel. Nothing about this, however, lessened the vehemence with which the elf declared
him his prey, right here and now. "I think it's my turn this time," he grinned provocatively at him.
Emmrich's eyes betrayed incredible excitement in response to this love-starved counterattack
from his much younger lover. "Oh, really?" he teased him, quite deliberately.
“Oh! YES!” replied Yuriel. “You can’t get involved with a young, wild stallion and then expect to
ride a mare every day.” Yuriel proved that he possessed more muscle than his slender frame
would suggest by pressing himself belly to belly against Emmrich, pinning him against the rock.
Yuriel’s half-open trousers slipped down a little further.
Emmrich found this burning desire highly pleasurable. He feigned resistance with little
conviction; it merely served to further spur him on—and thus himself. "Still wild and untamed,"
he whispered to him.
"And wild with desire."
"I can feel it," Emmrich smirked, and returned the thrust from his navel downwards. They were
both exceptionally hard and throbbing. Devoid of any rational thought, with aimless fumbling
they managed to push Emmrich's trousers down far enough that Yuriel had the free angle he
needed to press against Emmrich's opening. They still stood belly to belly at the base of the
statue, their eyes fixed on each other.
Yuriel grasped Emmrich's wrists once more and pressed his arms against the stone. The
strength of his grip and his rigid physique spoke volumes about the state of his bursting lust for
Emmrich. It was intoxicating.
“Oh, please!” Emmrich exclaimed through his dry throat as he felt Yuriel inside him piece by
piece, without knowing what he was actually pleading for.
That moment, standing there with trembling knees, surrendering to his lover's body in the middle
of the necropolis garden, made a reality of what the necromancer had often secretly dreamed
of, always assuming it would remain a lustful, forbidden fantasy in his mind. Here it became
reality. Their boundless love for one another made it possible, tangible, deep, and intimate.
They moved as a perfectly in sync, both eager to diminish even the slightest gap between them.
"My darling," Emmrich sighed at the sensation, and Yuriel responded with a blissful gasp that
gradually grew louder.
For the first time, it dawned on Emmrich that they might not be alone. This was a frequented
spot, both for their colleagues and for visitors from out of town accompanied by a Mournwatch
member.
It took several more devoted movements before Emmrich had mustered enough willpower to
express himself.
"We could be sp…"
"Let them!" Yuriel replied boldly, even before Emmrich had finished his sentence.
Yuriel released Emmrich's wrists and instead clasped his shoulders. Emmrich immediately
returned the affectionate embrace, covering his slightly upturned face with many scattered little
kisses.
The attempt to address these thoroughly morally charged misgivings had drained every ounce
of rational energy from him. It would have been more accurate to say that Emmrich was, in that
moment, no longer in communion with his own intellect. A primal, instinct-driven desire had
gained the upper hand. As an experienced mage, Emmrich was well aware of the risk that his
intense emotions might attract a demon of lust. Even though wizards of every land commonly
denied this out of self-preservation—the risk was ever-present. He, however, did not blind
himself to this dangerous truth; instead, he possessed a remedy entirely his own for dealing with
it: Love. His unconditional love for Yuriel would keep his desire pure and safeguard him against
insidious corruption.
Nevertheless, the far greater risk here was being discovered by one of the necropolis’s mortal
visitors. This game was no longer uncharted territory for them. Who knew how often, by now,
they had been overheard or observed during their lovemaking? It was hardly conceivable that
they had gotten away with such reckless public behavior unnoticed. And the worst part of it was
that they both enjoyed it. No sooner did the thought cross his mind than a tingling surge of
adrenaline ignited within him even more intensely. He felt a deep, wanton sensation stir inside
him and let out a loud moan. Yuriel simply couldn’t help but reward his overwhelmed reaction
with "even more of that."
Good heavens—that wasn't all. The elf’s slender, sinewy hands explored him, assuring
themselves with gliding caresses that Emmrich’s skin—across his chest and belly—was glowing
and throbbing; hot and damp, they bore witness to just how deeply his beloved was soothed by
what he was doing to him.
“Is this it, my love?” Yuriel whispered, his voice taking on that wicked timbre he reserved solely
for those moments when they coupled like lewd acolytes upon an altar. That tone made
Emmrich bite his lower lip—though only for a moment. For as soon as Yuriel let his whispering
lips wander downward from Emmrich’s ear and began to suck devotedly at his neck, Emmrich
let out another involuntary gasp. In doing so, he was—as the old saying goes—loud enough to
wake the dead. The irony in the making…
Yuriel’s hands had crept lower down the body. His fingertips—and his carefully filed
nails—glided through the trimmed, recently regrowing pubic hair in the lowest region between
Emmrich’s hipbones. Yuriel toyed with it, rubbing gently—and in a bid for recognition—with his
most sensitive part. The heat was remarkable. Finally, he grasped his fully engorged shaft and
tended to the man’s pleasure—a task he understood perfectly through his intimate knowledge of
his own body, and for which he found, with confident ease, the golden mean between forceful
intensity and playful softness.
What Emmrich felt, bordered on sheer bliss. He would have fiercely contested the notion that
there was any room for improvement.
Then, however—interrupted only for a brief instant—Yuriel
licked his own right hand and proceeded to do exactly what he had done just two seconds
earlier; yet this time, it was something more. The warm fluid enveloped him completely, along
with the hand that was lavishing such love upon him. It bore a striking resemblance to the
sensation of actually being inside someone’s body—inside their very core. Very, very similar
indeed. Without consciously directing the movement, Emmrich thrust his hips forward to meet it.
Yuriel offered him precisely the resistance that he—beside himself with ecstasy as he
was—needed so damn urgently in that moment.
He did it so well that Emmrich wanted to beg him to pause for a moment—before it was too late.
Instead, he recognized his own hoarse voice cracking as he cried out for more. Emmrich got
exactly what he wanted.
The exquisite rapture seized him utterly, in all its merciless bloom. Whatever contractions his
body—now past fifty—was still capable of, it bestowed upon him with lavish generosity.
Fortunately, Yuriel pressed him with his body against the monument, allowing Emmrich to simply
let go and relax. With his eyes closed and his thoughts filled with infinite bliss, he let his chin
sink onto his lover’s left shoulder. He, too, was breathing heavily, and the sticky, wet sensation
covering large areas of their bodies led Emmrich to assume—with a high degree of
certainty—that he was not the only one who had just found his release.
It was unclear where he drew this certainty from, but in that moment, Emmrich would have
sworn that Yuriel was thinking and feeling exactly the same things he was—as if, through the
act, they had truly fused together, body and soul.
"Let's stay like this," Emmrich breathed to him, and he saw Yuriel smile, even though he had not
yet opened his eyes. He could see it without seeing. Never before had he been given such
vehement proof that love was pure magic.
Neither of them barely noticed how the time of this final night slipped away. Yet they would have
no regrets about it, for they spent that time together in the best way possible.
As they clung to one another—belly to belly, arms entwined—voices and footsteps could be
heard somewhere nearby. Faint and distant, to be sure, yet no longer to be denied. No word of
coordination passed between them; instead, they glided silently and furtively
downward—stealthy as secret lovers who would endure every hardship the world could inflict,
just to remain undisturbed with one another for a single moment longer.
They came to rest soundlessly—Emmrich on his back, Yuriel atop him. Their clothes hung
haphazardly upon their bodies, anywhere but where they belonged; yet under no circumstances
would they have taken measures to sever that connection at navel-level. Now, all that remained
for them was to hope that visitors to the garden would not decide—of all things—to take a closer
look at this particular monument—or the graves in its immediate vicinity. Emmrich returned
Yuriel’s mischievous grin and tucked a tousled strand of red hair behind the long, pointed ear.
They spent the time they waited for the voices and footsteps to recede exchanging lavish
kisses—kisses whose intensity was befitting of the situation.
When they were finally alone again, they gazed into each other’s eyes with deep affection.
“What exactly are we doing here?” Emmrich asked with a chuckle, shaking his head
good-naturedly. “We’ve already done all of this. Vows of love, kisses, deep gazes, dramatic
farewell sex, ‘bidding-adieu-to-mortality’ sex…” Yuriel, visibly self-satisfied, basked ever more
deeply in his happiness with every item Emmrich listed. “We laughed and cleared the air—just in
case… We dried each other’s tears; we made love once more.”
Yuriel’s gaze grew gentle as he tenderly stroked Emmrich’s half-bared chest. “We thought we
were ready,” he summarized. “But we couldn’t have been more wrong. Oh, Emmrich—how
deeply I must love you to let you go to a place where I cannot follow.”
“Not yet! Not… yet!” Emmrich emphasized the words strongly, gazing deep into those blue elven
eyes. “But I will wait for you, my love! You possess the strength and the will to one day walk the
path of the Lich yourself, and finally follow me through the gates of death.”
“I will! I promise you.”
“And yet…”
Yuriel looked at him questioningly. "What is it?" Since Emmrich didn't answer him right away,
Yuriel propped himself up on his forearms, lying on his stomach, and crawled a little closer until
their faces were level with one another. "Emmrich…?"
"My love…" Emmrich began hesitantly, stroking his cheek and tracing the pulse beating visibly in
his neck. "You are still so young. Johanna was right about that—you are in the prime of your life.
And you have—for all the love you feel for me—the right to a long, fulfilling life of your own."
Yuriel regarded him with a frown. He couldn't fathom what his beloved was getting at.
"I would truly wait. Yuriel, you could enjoy your full natural lifespan unhindered—and even
become a father yourself. For me, those years would ultimately be but a trifle; yet for you, they
could be…"
Finally, he grasped Emmrich's intent. He was being completely sincere, and the tears
shimmering in his eyes bore powerful witness to that fact.
"No!" Yuriel’s voice cut him off with jarring sharpness. Immediately afterward, he kissed
Emmrich, thereby silencing him. Emmrich realized at once that his well-intentioned objection
would fall on deaf ears. And secretly, he rejoiced—sincere as his offer had been. At last, Yuriel
propped himself up again and gazed at him with a piercing intensity, though his lips were
trembling. "I say yes to you—and no to any other life I might have lived. I love you, Emmrich
Volkarin."
"You and I…"
"…forever…"
"…and always!"
The Fade's Anniversary Zine, "What Comes After", is here for the feasting!!!
First of all, thank you to everyone who participated and helped put this together! You all continue to be a light in this fandom, supporting all who come through our doors. It is truly an inspiration to see so many people come together like this.
Below is a google drive folder that contains the "What Comes After" Zine files. The zine has two parts, Collaborations and Solo works. There are light and dark versions of both!
The grand necropolis of nevarra is not only a place of death and mourning. Its a place where the necromancers dance, kiss and fall in love for eternity.
Emmrich Volkarin & Yuriel Ingellvar
Rook laughed. "Did you see their looks during our dance? The way they put their heads together and whispered."
"Really? Why didn't I notice? I must have only had eyes for you, my dear. You were so beautiful in that green gown."
"Thank you, but it gets even better! During our kiss at the end of the dance, not one but two ladies dropped their glasses." He punctuated his story with two raised fingers, and Emmrich listened enthusiastically, as if he hadn't been there himself and even directly involved. "Didn't you even notice?"
"I remember you were wearing a beautiful necklace," Emmrich replied, visibly embarrassed.
Rook blinked, amused. "All right!"
They exchanged a few silent but conspiratorial glances that could have come straight from their bedroom.
"Speaking of jewelry: I want to give you something," Emmrich finally said.
"A present, for me?"
Emmrich pulled off one of his many rings and held it open in front of him. It was a simple, wide gold ring, which Rook, of course, already recognized. For him, it was a natural part of Emmrich's everyday appearance.
"A ring? But... it's yours. Isn't it even magical? Valuable? From your grave gold?" His voice cracked with excitement.
Emmrich laughed at Rook's sweetly frantic reaction. "It's not magical. And nothing is too precious for me to give you, my love."
Rook seemed to be struggling with whether he truly deserved this gift, but finally he nodded. "Thank you. And I will always wear it until my fingers are nothing but bones. And then, too."
It was a bit macabre, but between two necromancers, the ultimate expression of romance. Emmrich gently tested which finger it would fit Rook on. It was the right ring finger; it sat perfectly there.
"As if it had always been yours." Emmrich was pleased by the sight and kissed his hand.
"It's still yours," Rook said, snuggling up to him. "Because I belong to you."
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As Emmrich was fast asleep and had blissfully drifted off into the realm of dreams, Yuriel carefully climbed out of bed, pulled the warm blanket up over Emmrich’s shoulder, and hurriedly threw on his clothes; he gathered his long red hair into a half-bun so that no loose strands would get in his way during the ritual later. He had already hurried halfway to the hallway when he paused and glanced back at Emmrich, who was resting in a deep sleep just as planned. Barring any mishaps, he would be back before Emmrich woke at dawn. But one never knew… On one hand, his undertaking carried significant risks; on the other, Emmrich might wake up if he noticed the empty space beside him in his half-slumber. He had no desire to worry him. So, he hastily scribbled a note and left it on the nightstand for his lover. “I’ll be back at dawn. Don’t worry—I love you. Yours, Yuriel”
Now, however, it was truly time to hurry. He had to perform the ritual he was planning under the cover of darkness. Spirit evocations attempted in daylight carried a far greater risk of failure—or of encountering the spirit in a foul mood. That was a risk he had no intention of taking. Yuriel left the city, heading northeast and relying on a sense of direction born of memories from some fifteen years prior. By the faint light of a conjured veil-fire—just enough to make out his surroundings—he searched for the old path leading to the cave. When he had last walked this way, his stride had been shorter and his feet smaller than they were now. He located the spot after only a brief search and fought his way through a thicket of wild vines and undergrowth. He had to squeeze through the opening, entering the cave on all fours with his hands leading the way. Once sheltered within the cavern, he intensified the glow of the veil-fire and lowered his hood. No one had followed him; here, he was safe from discovery. Another detail revealed just how long ago he had last been there: he could not stand fully upright and was forced to move forward in a stoop, taking short steps. The air smelled of musty fungi and cellar damp—a place utterly forgotten by the world. Small creatures scurried away as he approached with his magical light; creatures dwelt down here that had never seen the light of day.
Yuriel had to be careful not to slip on loose rock or get his hair and clothes snagged on the roots hanging low from the ceiling. He followed the only tunnel large enough for him to pass through. He ignored the smaller, dark niches that were difficult to see into, even though it made him somewhat uneasy to rely entirely on the assumption that he was alone. He found the cavern with the slightly higher ceiling again, though as a child, the place had seemed far more impressive and spacious to him. The only thing distinguishing this spot from the other caves was the presence of fluorescent fungi, which cast a reddish shimmer over the glow of his veil-fire. Blue-green and warm light mingled to form a new spectrum, casting bizarre shadows across the cavern—shadows that seemed to creep about whenever caught in the corner of his eye. He had seen places far more eerie than this, yet more awaited him here than simply enduring the strangely oppressive underground silence until dawn. The true spirit dance was yet to come—provided he succeeded. As he removed his cloak and began the initial preparations, it struck him that he had never performed a spirit summoning of this kind outside the Necropolis. That was where spirits gravitated naturally, at all times. But here—in a forgotten cavern beneath the capital’s city walls—would the dead hear him? Yuriel allowed himself a moment of doubt regarding his undertaking, but it did not last long. The conviction that he was doing the right thing for Emmrich gave him renewed resolve. He wanted to grant him peace and cosmic justice; he could not fail now.
He performed the practiced movements he had mastered during his years of training. Meditative chanting and gestures gradually lulled him into a twilight state—a sensation akin to a blend of intoxication and waking dream. From that moment on, his senses peered ever deeper into the Fade, while his body remained at the ritual site, repeating the same motions as if he had stepped just a pace outside his own physical form. This was the very state he had sought to attain. His powers and knowledge granted him access to a realm that every living being feared—even though a select few, the mages, simultaneously yearned to return to it. It was an invisible reality from which the uninitiated were cut off. Yet, entering this liminal realm came at a price. His senses in the physical world were reduced to a bare minimum. Should cave creatures slither across his legs, he would feel nothing; he would remain deaf to approaching footsteps. Only rough handling or actual injury would rouse him, provided he maintained the meditation. And that state was merely the foundation required to perform the actual incantation.
While Yuriel’s physical self remained seated cross-legged within the ritual pentagram—chanting and swaying in time with slow, deliberate gestures—his exposed soul called out to Emmrich’s parents.
"Elannora Volkarin! Rupert Volkarin! I need you!" He summoned them with the utmost humility and respect. "Draw near; I call to you from the realm of the living. Elannora, Rupert—I beseech you. A friend of the dead calls upon you."
He drew upon every ounce of his knowledge—not merely his own necromantic mastery, but also Emmrich’s memories and the emotions his lover had shared when they lay arm in arm, speaking of his parents. He sought to avoid attracting the attention of other spirits; this was no ordinary service, but a plea for the presence of two specific souls. They had been gone for so long... Could they even hear him from the depths of death? And if they could, would the desperation in his voice be enough to compel them to answer his call? He knew from experience that such detachment of body and soul profoundly altered one’s perception, distorting the very nature of time and space. It felt as though he had been calling out to them for an eternity. Yet, he did not give up. He sank deeper into the trance, daring to take a greater risk. The masters in the Necropolis had always warned students against surrendering themselves entirely to the Fade.
Over the ages, more than a few apprentices had made their final mistake in just this manner. Succumbing to the intoxicating allure of the spirit realm, they had ventured too far beyond the boundary—doomed to wander there forever, leaving their bodies to wither and die, with no hope of ever waking again. Should Yuriel misjudge the limits of his own power, that very fate would befall him. This cave would become his grave. Yet something stirred in the beyond. There was something there… a presence. Or were there two? Yuriel’s mortal frame gasped; cold sweat glistened on his skin in the light of the veil-fire. His body was the anchor for his return from the spirit realm—and he had reached the brink of exhaustion, on the verge of failure, of sudden cardiac stop.
“Please…” Yuriel staggered. Did his spirit falter, or was his seated physical self collapsing? Everything spun—spirits, lights, cold, warmth, consciousness, emptiness, existence, peace… He had given everything. And yet found nothing? Emptiness where he had sought parental love? Did he fail because he himself did not know what that felt like? This realization struck him down; the pain tore a fresh wound in his soul, bleeding where it hurt the most. In the real world, he almost never wept. Not since childhood—from hunger, or the fear of falling asleep in the cold and never waking up. But here, the tears of the soul fell—a helpless cry of anguish at having been left alone. Just as the weight of it all crashed down upon him, he felt a hand take his own. Warm hands—hands that were gone, yet had never ceased to exist. On his left, Rupert—the strong hand of a man who had been a butcher. The one who had appeared to him in his dreams. On his right, Elannora—the gentle hand of a mother who had been a cook. They helped him up. They were dead, yet they were real. Like concerned parents tenderly caring for a frail child, they supported him until, with his last ounce of strength, he reached the anchor: his deathly pale body.
“Thank you.” He sighed from the depths of his soul. “You saved me. Yet I did not call for you for my own sake. I must ask you for another favor…”
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