Necromancy for the Chronologically Challenge

Chapter 6

The damp night air of the Low Quarter clung to Eron’s skin like a shroud as they stepped out of Neris Vale’s shop. Behind him, the heavy thud of Saphira’s boots and the ethereal fluttering of three very loud ghosts created a cacophony that definitely wasn't "stealthy."

"So, Iron Hills," Eron said, checking his new boots—courtesy of a terrified Neris. "How are we even getting there without being vaporized at the first checkpoint?"

"We aren't going to the hills yet, Master," Della said, materializing in front of him and walking backward with effortless grace. "If we just charge in there, we’re just making the Wardens’ job easier. They’ve turned the hills into a temporal fortress. We need a bypass. A back door."

"And let me guess," Saphira interjected, her hand hovering near her claymore. "This back door involves more heresy?"

"Oh, honey, it involves the best kind of heresy," Ishan chirped, adjusting his silk cravat despite being a translucent spirit. "The Royal Ossuary. It’s where the Kingdom keeps its most important dead. And, more importantly, where the Chronos Wardens keep their... 'discarded drafts.'"

"The Royal Ossuary?" Eron felt a cold pit in his stomach. "That place is guarded by the Silver Flame and about a hundred high-level wards. I’m a Class-D, remember? I can barely open a stuck window with magic."

"You have a legendary warrior, a future-seeing dandy, and a girl who literally eats time," Korvin growled, his massive ghostly axe resting on his shoulder. "Stop whining like a kicked puppy and move your feet, Master Twig. If we’re lucky, there might be some vintage wine in the crypts. Dead kings always have the best cellars."

*

The Royal Ossuary stood like a jagged tooth against the moonlit sky, a massive structure of white marble and black iron. They moved through the shadows of the outer gardens, the silence of the night broken only by Ishan’s whispered critiques of the architecture.

"I mean, look at those gargoyles," Ishan whispered, leaning toward Saphira. "So last century. They’re practically frowning at my coat. Saphira, darling, do you think we could use your big, scary sword to give that one a little trim? It’s offending my sensibilities."

"Keep your voice down," Saphira hissed, her eyes scanning the ramparts. "If a patrol hears a dandy ghost talking about gargoyle aesthetics, we’re dead."

"Technically, I’m already dead, sweetling," Ishan purred. "But Eron’s still squishy. Eron, try to look less like you’re about to vomit. It’s bad for the group morale."

"I’m doing my best!" Eron whispered back, his palms sweating. "Della, how do we get past the main gate? The runes are active."

Della didn't answer with words. She drifted toward the massive iron gates and simply placed her hand on the central seal. The violet glow of her essence bled into the blue light of the ward. "It’s a lock made of time, Eron. And I’m the skeleton key."

The runes flickered, groaned, and then quietly died. The gates swung open with a hiss of escaping air.

"Inside. Quickly," Saphira commanded, grabbing Eron’s arm and pulling him into the darkness of the hall.

The interior of the Ossuary was vast, a forest of stone pillars and vaulted ceilings. But as they moved deeper, toward the lower levels where the common graves should have been, the air changed. It didn't smell like incense and old stone anymore. It smelled like ozone and fresh copper.

"Wait," Eron said, stopping at the edge of a massive, excavated pit in the center of the lower chamber. "This isn't part of the tour. What is this?"

They peered over the edge. Below them lay hundreds of bodies. They weren't skeletons or mummified remains. They were fresh. And as the moonlight hit their faces, Saphira let out a strangled gasp.

"That... that’s Lord Hallow," she whispered, pointing to a man in the pile. "But I just saw him at the palace this morning. He was eating grapes!"

"And that’s Lady Vane," Eron added, his voice trembling. "And... oh god. That’s Ulric Fen. The King’s chief advisor."

"They aren't the people currently in the palace," Della said, her playful demeanor vanishing into a cold, sharp focus. "They’re versions of them. Future versions. The Wardens are 'pruning' the timeline, Eron. Every time someone makes a choice they don't like, they erase that version of the person and dump the 'trash' here."

"It’s a mass grave for the future," Ishan muttered, his usual sass replaced by a look of genuine disgust. "How incredibly tacky."

"Eron," Saphira said, her voice hard. "Summon him. Summon Ulric Fen."

"What? He’s still alive! I can't summon someone who hasn't died yet!"

"The one down there is dead," Saphira countered, pointing at the corpse of the advisor. "Use the paradox. If he’s here, his soul is tethered to this spot. We need to know what the Wardens are planning for the 'Great Erasure' Neris mentioned."

Eron swallowed hard. He knelt at the edge of the pit, reaching out toward the body of the advisor. He felt the violet mana in his chest surge, fueled by the terrifying proximity of the dead.

"By the error in the clock and the blood of the discarded!" Eron chanted, his voice echoing through the chamber. "Ulric Fen, speak from the grave you haven't filled yet! I command you to rise!"

The pit erupted in a sickly, flickering yellow light. A spectral figure tore itself away from the pile of bodies, screaming. It was Ulric Fen, but his face was half-erased, his body flickering like a dying candle.

"The clock... it’s stopping!" the ghost shrieked, his voice a chorus of distorted echoes. "They’re clearing the board! The Great Erasure... it starts tomorrow! Everyone... everything... gone! To start the cycle over!"

"Tomorrow?" Eron gasped. "How? How do they do it?"

"The Catalyst!" Ulric’s ghost lunged toward Eron, his translucent hands clawing at the air. "A Valther! They need the blood of the Gate-Opener to reset the gears! Your sister... she’s the key, but you’re the lock!"

Suddenly, the other bodies in the pit began to glow. The air in the Ossuary started to vibrate with a high-pitched, agonizing hum. The "discarded" souls were waking up, their collective agony creating a temporal feedback loop that threatened to shatter the room.

"They're screaming!" Eron shouted, clutching his head as the mana in his veins began to boil. "I can't shut them down! There’s too many!"

"The feedback is going to kill him!" Della yelled. "Saphira! Use your erasure! Now!"

"I can't control it at this scale!" Saphira shouted back, her armor sparking with white-hot energy. "It’ll consume me!"

"Not if you use Eron as a ground!" Ishan screamed over the roar of the ghosts. "Skin-to-skin contact, darling! Stabilize his mana with your own and use the bond to vent the excess!"

Saphira didn't hesitate. She lunged at Eron, throwing him back against a stone pillar. She ripped off her silver gauntlets, her hands trembling.

"Valther, look at me!" she commanded.

Eron looked up, his eyes glowing with a dangerous, unstable violet light. Saphira grabbed his face, her bare palms pressing against his cheeks. The contact was like an explosion.

"Ah! Phira!" Eron groaned, his back arching as the raw power of her erasure magic slammed into his system.

"Don't you dare pass out on me!" she hissed. She slid her hands down, grabbing his wrists, her fingers interlocking with his. She pressed her body against his, trying to create as much surface area as possible to bleed off the terminal energy.

The sensation was overwhelming. It wasn't just magic; it was a physical assault. Eron could feel the cold, sterile void of Saphira’s power clashing with the hot, chaotic hunger of his own. But beneath the pain, there was a surge of intense, primal heat. Pinned between the cold stone and Saphira’s armored form, Eron felt every curve of her body, the frantic beat of her heart, and the soft, desperate gasp of her breath against his lips.

"It’s... it's working," Eron panted, his vision swimming. The screaming of the ghosts was fading, being sucked into the void Saphira was creating between them.

"Shut up and hold onto me," Saphira whispered, her face buried in the crook of his neck. Her skin was burning hot now, the friction of their mana creating a localized field of intense static. She shifted her weight, her hips pressing firmly into his, a low, involuntary moan escaping her throat. "More... give me more of the mana, Eron. I have to drown them out."

Eron leaned into her, his hands sliding up her arms to grip her shoulders. The intimacy of the moment was staggering. In the middle of a mass grave, surrounded by the ghosts of a dead future, he felt more alive than he ever had. He could smell the iron and winter-spice of her skin, feel the way her muscles tensed and relaxed against him.

"You’re... you’re doing it," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear.

Saphira pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. Her gaze was hazy, her pupils blown wide with the rush of the power—and something else. Something much more human. "I hate you, Valther," she whispered, even as she tilted her head, her lips inches from his.

"Liars go to hell, Phira," Eron breathed.

The tension snapped. The white light of the erasure flared one last time, a silent shockwave that leveled the ghosts and sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated electricity through both of them. Saphira slumped against him, her forehead resting on his chest, both of them gasping for air as the silence returned to the Ossuary.

"Gods," Korvin’s voice broke the silence, sounding uncharacteristically awkward. "I’ve seen some things in my time, but you two... you might want to get a room that isn't full of corpses next time."

"Shut it, Korvin," Eron panted, his hands still resting on Saphira’s waist. She didn't pull away immediately. She stayed there for a long moment, her fingers still curled into the fabric of his tunic.

"We have to go," she finally said, her voice shaky as she pulled back and began to put her gauntlets back on. She wouldn't look him in the eye. "Before the guards realize the wards are down."

Eron nodded, his heart still hammering. He turned to follow her, but his foot caught on a small, upright stone near the edge of the pit. He paused, looking down at the inscription.

His blood turned to ice.

"Eron? What is it?" Della asked, drifting over.

Eron couldn't speak. He just pointed.

There, tucked away in the corner of the 'discarded' section, was a small, neat headstone. It wasn't weathered or old. The stone was fresh, the carvings sharp and clean.

ERON VALTHER

THE GREAT CATALYST

DIED: TOMORROW

"Tomorrow," Eron whispered, the word feeling like a noose. "I’m on the list, Della. I’m not just the one saving the future."

He looked at Saphira, who had turned back, her face pale as she read the name.

"I’m the one who doesn't have one."

The silence of the Ossuary felt heavier than ever, the shadows of the past and the ghosts of the future closing in around them. The mission to the Iron Hills had just stopped being a rescue. It was a race against a clock that was already counting down to zero.

"Well," Ishan said, his voice unusually soft as he looked at the grave. "I suppose we’d better make sure tomorrow is a very, very busy day. I refuse to let my Master die in such a drab location."

Eron gripped his shaking hands into fists, the violet mana flickering at his fingertips. "Let's go. We're going to the Iron Hills. And I’m going to break that damn clock."