Necromancy for the Chronologically Challenge

Chapter 5

The heavy stone lid of the sarcophagus didn't just slide; it was wrenched open by the skeletal hands of Korvin Ashar, letting in a rush of frigid, ash-choked air.

“Alright, lovebirds, break it up!” Korvin roared, his voice echoing like a landslide. “I’ve spent the last ten minutes stacking Warden corpses like cordwood while you two were in there playing ‘hide the candle.’ Get out! This crypt smells like repressed hormones and failure!”

Eron scrambled out first, his face a shade of crimson that rivaled the dying embers of the battle. He offered a hand to Saphira, who took it with a grip that was entirely too tight. As she stepped out, her silver armor clattered, and she pointedly avoided looking at him. Her breathing was still shallow, her lips parted and swollen from the heat of their proximity.

“That... that was for survival,” Saphira hissed, dusting off her greaves. “Thermal regulation. Nothing more.”

“Right,” Eron stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Totally. Survival. I’ve never been so... survive-y in my life.”

Della materialized behind them, leaning her chin on Eron’s shoulder with a wicked grin. “Oh, please. The mana levels in that box were high enough to power a small village. If Korvin hadn't opened that lid, I’m pretty sure you two would have fused into a single, very confused entity.”

“Shut it, Della,” Eron and Saphira said in perfect unison.

“We need to move,” Mavren added, his ghostly form flickering near the exit. “The Wardens are gone for now, but they’ll be back with reinforcements. And Phira, if the Bureau finds you with me—a dead man who isn't actually dead—they’ll put you in a cell right next to Eron.”

“I know a place,” Eron said, his voice regaining some authority. “In the Low Quarter. A guy named Neris Vale. He deals in secrets, forged papers, and really bad ale. If anyone can get us out of the city without the Wardens tracking our soul-signatures, it’s him.”

*

The Low Quarter of the city was a labyrinth of damp alleys and leaning tenements that seemed to be held together by spite and moss. As they moved through the shadows, Eron felt the weight of the night catching up to him. He was exhausted, but the violet fire of the soul-bond was still humming in his veins.

They reached a door tucked behind a butcher’s shop that smelled of old blood and vinegar. Eron knocked a rhythmic pattern. A small slit opened, a pair of bloodshot eyes peered out, and the door creaked open.

Neris Vale was a man who looked like he had been dried in the sun and then dragged through a hedge. He sat behind a desk piled high with illegal scrolls and half-eaten pies.

“Valther?” Neris rasped, coughing into a stained handkerchief. “I heard the Academy went up like a tinderbox. They’re saying a Class-D loser finally snapped and summoned a demon queen.”

“She’s a Revenant, Neris. And I’m right here,” Della said, appearing on his desk and knocking over a stack of papers.

Neris jumped, his chair nearly flipping. “By the Hells! And who’s the lady in the plate mail? She looks like she wants to arrest me for breathing.”

“She’s... a consultant,” Eron said quickly. “Neris, we need a way out. And we need to hide our trails. The Wardens are after us.”

“Wardens?” Neris’s face went pale. “Kid, that’s not a ‘forged papers’ problem. That’s a ‘suicide’ problem. I can’t help you unless you have something big. Information. Muscle. Something.”

Eron bit his lip. He looked at Saphira, then at Della. He needed more than just a fighter. He needed someone who knew the future, someone who could navigate the political mess they were about to walk into.

“I’m going to do something stupid,” Eron whispered.

“You usually do,” Saphira muttered, though she stepped closer to him, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword.

Eron closed his eyes. He didn't reach for the cold hunger of Korvin or the sharp wit of Della. He reached further—fifty years further. He felt a soul that was light, airy, and smelled of expensive tobacco and expensive mistakes.

“Ishan Velor,” Eron chanted, his voice vibrating with a new, melodic frequency. “Step through the veil. The future is boring; come play in the past!”

A burst of teal light filled the cramped room. When it cleared, a man was leaning against Neris’s bookshelf. He wore a velvet frock coat of deep emerald, a silk cravat tied in a perfect Windsor knot, and held a silver-topped cane. His hair was impeccably coiffed, and he was currently checking his fingernails.

“Oh, darling,” the man said, looking at Eron. “The lighting in this century is absolutely atrocious. How do you live like this? It’s all so... brown.”

“Ishan?” Eron asked.

“At your service, Master,” Ishan said, bowing with a flourish. He then turned his gaze toward Saphira, and his eyes widened. “Oh. My. Word. Eron, you didn't tell me we were traveling with a literal Valkyrie. Look at that bone structure! That fierce, 'I-will-crush-your-skull-between-my-thighs' energy! It’s delicious.”

Saphira blinked, her face going stiff. “What... what is this thing?”

“I’m Ishan Velor, sweetling. High-tier Summon, professional heartbreaker, and apparently your new best friend,” Ishan purred, strolling over to Saphira and circling her like a shark in a tuxedo. “Eron, tell me you’ve already made a move. Those sparks between you are so thick I could hang my laundry on them.”

“Ishan, focus!” Eron hissed, his face heating up again. “We’re in the middle of an interrogation!”

“Oh, I am focusing,” Ishan said, winking at Saphira. “I’m focusing on how this gorgeous creature is clearly wasting her time in that heavy armor. Imagine her in silk, Eron. Deep crimson. Backless. With that sword strapped to her hip? You’d die. You’d literally just pass away.”

“I will kill him,” Saphira whispered, her hand trembling on her sword. “Eron, I will exorcise him right now.”

“Don't mind her, Ishan,” Della laughed, drifting over to join the fun. “She’s just grumpy because they got interrupted in a coffin earlier.”

Ishan gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. “A coffin? How Gothic! How romantic! Was there biting? Please tell me there was biting. Eron, if you didn't bite her, I’m revoking your man-card immediately.”

“There was no biting!” Eron shouted, slamming his hands on Neris’s desk. “Neris! Ignore the ghosts! Can you get us out or not?”

Neris was staring at Ishan with his jaw hanging open. “Is he... is he from the future? That coat... that fabric doesn't exist yet.”

“I’m from a very stylish future, darling,” Ishan said, leaning over the desk and blowing a puff of ghostly, lavender-scented smoke into Neris’s face. “And I can tell you exactly which of your illegal shipments is going to be seized by the guards tomorrow morning. Unless, of course, you help my Master here.”

Neris gulped. “Tomorrow? The silk run?”

“Seized. Burned. You’ll be in a debtor’s prison by noon,” Ishan lied with the effortless grace of a master conman. “Unless we leave through the North Gate tonight with the proper seals.”

“Fine! Fine!” Neris scrambled to pull out a set of wax-sealed documents. “Just take him away! He’s giving me a headache and making me feel poorly dressed!”

As Neris started frantically scribbling on the documents, Saphira grabbed Eron by the arm and yanked him into the corner of the room. Her eyes were flashing with a dangerous mix of embarrassment and fury.

“Valther, what is wrong with you?” she hissed, her face inches from his. “You’re summoning spirits to... to talk about my clothes? To talk about what happened in that crypt?”

“I didn't choose what he’d say!” Eron whispered back, his heart racing. “Ishan is... he’s a wild card! I just needed his help with Neris!”

“He’s humiliating me!” Saphira’s voice cracked. “I am a high-ranking officer! I have a reputation! I can't have a... a velvet-clad dandy telling people I want to be bitten!”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Eron snapped, his own frustration finally boiling over. The adrenaline and the lack of sleep made him bolder than he had ever been. “Your reputation? Saphira, we’re being hunted by time-gods! We’re hiding in a basement that smells like dead cows! And frankly, Ishan isn't the problem. The problem is that every time I look at you, I can’t breathe, and I think you feel the same way, but you’re too stubborn to admit it!”

The silence that followed was deafening. Even Ishan stopped talking, leaning against the bookshelf with a smug expression.

Saphira stared at Eron, her mouth slightly open. The anger in her eyes shifted into something else—something softer, more vulnerable, and infinitely more terrifying.

“You... you think I’m stubborn?” she whispered.

“I think you’re terrified,” Eron said, stepping into her space, mimicking the way she had pinned him earlier. “I think you’re scared that if you stop being a soldier for five seconds, you might actually like the guy who’s trying to save your life.”

Saphira’s hand moved, but she didn't reach for her sword. Her fingers ghosted over the front of Eron’s tunic, twisting the fabric. “You’re a Class-D failure, Eron Valther.”

“And you’re an Exorcist who’s currently protecting a Necromancer,” Eron countered, his voice dropping to a low, husky register. “We’re both failures, Phira. Let’s just be failures together.”

She leaned in, her forehead resting against his. For a second, it felt like the world had stopped—no Wardens, no Academy, no ghosts. Just the heat between them.

“Ahem,” Neris cleared his throat, sounding incredibly uncomfortable. “I hate to break up the ‘failure-fest,’ but I’ve got your papers. And you might want to see this.”

Eron and Saphira broke apart, both of them breathless. Neris held up a small, shimmering piece of parchment that he’d pulled from a hidden compartment.

“What is it?” Eron asked, trying to steady his voice.

“It’s a list,” Neris said, his eyes dark. “The Wardens aren't just looking for your brother, Lady Kelm. They’ve been sweeping the city for weeks. They’re taking people. Specifically, people with the Valther bloodline. Distant cousins, bastards, anyone with even a drop of your family’s mana.”

Eron felt a cold chill wash over him. “Why? My family is nobodies. We’re just failed necromancers.”

“Apparently not,” Ishan said, his playful tone vanishing. He looked at the list, his brow furrowed. “In my time, the Valther name is... well, let’s just say you don't stay nobodies for long. If they’re taking them now, it means they’re trying to prevent something.”

“Prevent what?” Saphira asked.

Ishan looked at Eron, a flicker of genuine pity in his future-seeing eyes. “They’re trying to prevent you, Eron. You’re not just a summoner. You’re the catalyst. And according to this list, there’s only one Valther left besides you.”

“Who?” Eron asked.

“Your sister,” Neris said. “And the Wardens already have her at the Black Site in the Iron Hills.”

Eron’s world tilted. The honey cakes, the nightlights, the embarrassment—it all vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp purpose that made his violet mana flare until the room glowed.

“Saphira,” Eron said, looking at the Exorcist.

She didn't hesitate. She buckled her sword belt and looked at him with a grim, determined nod. “Get your shoes, Valther. We’re going to the Iron Hills.”

“Oh, I like this,” Ishan chirped, spinning his cane. “Rescue missions are so much better for the complexion than hiding. Let’s go, team! We have a sister to save and a timeline to ruin!”

Eron looked at his hands, watching the violet light dance across his knuckles. He wasn't the Academy’s loser anymore. He was the man the future was afraid of.

And he was just getting started.