The storm had passed, but the valley still whispered with its memory.
Mist clung to the ground like a veil, curling around the roots of ancient trees. The river that cut through the Necromancer's Dominion ran black under the moonlight, swollen from rain, its current dragging debris from faraway lands.
Kael Blackveil walked along the bank, his boots sinking into the wet earth. His cloak, embroidered with faint silver runes, trailed behind him. He carried a lantern of soul-fire — its pale blue glow flickered with the presence of wandering spirits.
Behind him came his wife, Elara, her long dark hair unbound, her eyes faintly glowing amethyst. She was calm as always, though the night still hummed with the echo of magic.
A small boy walked between them, clutching Elara's hand — Lior, their five-year-old son. He was half-asleep, rubbing his eyes as the wind tugged at his little cloak.
"Father," Lior murmured. "Why are we out here? It's cold."
Kael smiled faintly, voice low. "The storm carried something strange through the river. I want to see what it left behind."
Elara frowned. "Strange how?"
"The souls are restless," Kael said, scanning the mist. "They whisper. Something… unnatural has entered our lands."
Elara tightened her grip on Lior's hand. "Unnatural or not, the night isn't kind to children."
Before Kael could reply, the soul-fire in his lantern flickered — then flared bright blue. The spirits within began to murmur, restless and fearful.
And then — a sound.
A faint, distant cry.
Elara's head snapped toward the river. The sound came again, soft but clear — the unmistakable cry of a baby.
Without hesitation, she ran. Kael followed close behind, the lantern's light cutting through the mist.
They found it — a small wooden cradle half-buried in the river mud. The fabric inside was soaked, the silks torn, but the baby within still breathed — his tiny chest rising and falling weakly.
Lightning flickered faintly across his skin — harmless but bright enough to make both necromancers pause.
Kael knelt beside the cradle. "By the shades…" he whispered. "He's alive."
Elara's hands trembled as she lifted the baby into her arms. The air around him pulsed faintly — a mix of holy warmth and raw storm energy.
Lior peeked from behind her cloak, eyes wide. "Mama… he's glowing."
Elara smiled softly, though her eyes glistened with tears. "Yes, he is."
The child stopped crying when she touched him. His tiny hand reached up and grasped her finger — a weak, fragile motion, but filled with impossible strength.
Kael studied him, brow furrowed. "There's something strange about his aura. Light… and death… tangled together. I've never seen this balance before."
Elara looked down at the baby, her heart softening. "Strange or not, he's alone. The river brought him here for a reason."
Kael hesitated, glancing at his son. "You know what the Council will say if we take him in. A child born of light cannot survive among necromancers."
Elara met his gaze firmly. "Then we won't ask the Council."
Kael exhaled — a slow breath that turned into a laugh, quiet but sincere. "You've always been stubborn."
Elara smiled faintly. "And you've always been kind."
The baby cooed softly, eyes fluttering open for the first time — one gold, one pale blue. The sight made even Kael pause.
Elara whispered, "Aren. That's his name."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "Aren?"
"The storm gave him to us," she said. "Let him carry its name."
Kael nodded slowly. "Aren Blackveil, then."
Lior tilted his head curiously. "Can he be my brother?"
Kael and Elara exchanged a glance. Then Elara smiled. "Yes, Lior. He's your brother now."
And so, beneath the mist and the moonlight, a noble family of necromancers welcomed a child born of light and lightning into the house of shadows.
Five Years Later
The Blackveil estate rose like a fortress of obsidian against the pale dawn. Vines clung to its walls, and faint blue light seeped through its windows — the gentle hum of soul wards that kept the restless dead at bay.
In the courtyard behind the mansion, two boys stood side by side.
Aren, now five, held a small bone talisman in his hands, concentration etched on his face. A faint glow surrounded him — not blue, as it should have been, but a strange mix of white and gold.
Beside him, Lior grinned proudly. "You can do it, brother! Father said you just have to feel the pull of the spirits."
Aren frowned, focusing harder. "I'm trying…"
He whispered the chant Kael had taught them — words that made the air grow cold. The talisman shuddered, the ground trembled, and from the soil beneath, a faint shape began to rise — a skeletal hand, brittle but real.
But then — a spark of light burst from Aren's palm.
The skeleton hand shattered. The talisman cracked. Aren stumbled back, eyes wide as lightning flashed briefly across his fingertips.
Lior jumped. "Whoa! You made it explode!"
"I didn't mean to!" Aren yelped, shaking his hands. Little arcs of electricity danced between his fingers, fading only after a few seconds.
From the veranda, a calm voice spoke. "You're both early."
Kael stood there, arms crossed, observing them with quiet amusement. His dark cloak billowed faintly, and shadows curled at his feet.
"Practicing before breakfast?" he asked.
Lior grinned. "Aren wanted to summon a skeleton, but it went boom!"
Kael's lips twitched into a smile. He approached, kneeling before the boys. "And why did it go boom, Aren?"
Aren pouted. "Because I messed up."
Kael shook his head. "No. Because your power doesn't obey simple rules. Necromancy is a whisper — but your magic… it shouts."
Aren tilted his head, confused. "Is that bad?"
Kael hesitated. He saw the faint sparks still flickering in Aren's eyes — gold and blue swirling together, unnatural and beautiful. "Not bad," he said softly. "Just… different."
Elara appeared behind him, carrying a tray of herbs and scrolls. "Different isn't something to fear."
Aren ran to her, tugging her sleeve. "Mother, I did the spell wrong again."
She smiled warmly, kneeling down to wipe the dirt from his cheek. "Did you hurt anyone?"
He shook his head.
"Then it wasn't wrong," she said simply.
Lior puffed out his chest. "He made lightning again! It was really cool!"
Elara chuckled. "Was it now?" She looked at Aren, her voice lowering. "You're learning two languages at once, my dear. The magic of death… and the magic of life. They'll fight inside you until you teach them to listen."
Aren frowned. "How do I make them listen?"
"Patience," Kael said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Even shadows must learn to stand in the light."
The boy smiled faintly, but his eyes still drifted toward his hands — where faint traces of electricity lingered like whispers of thunder.
That night, the wind carried whispers through the Blackveil manor.Kael sat in his study, candlelight flickering over open grimoires. His brow furrowed as he turned a page filled with runes.
Elara entered quietly, setting down a cup of tea beside him. "Still searching?"
Kael didn't look up. "The boy's power grows stronger each week. He summoned lightning inside a necromantic ritual today. That shouldn't be possible."
Elara smiled softly. "Yet it happened."
Kael sighed. "Holy and death magic aren't meant to coexist. It's like fire and ice sharing the same breath. I fear what will happen when he gets older."
Elara sat across from him, her tone gentle but firm. "Then we'll teach him balance. Like we taught ourselves."
He met her eyes — a long silence between them. "If the Council finds out…"
"They won't," she interrupted. "He's our son. Not their weapon."
Kael looked away, but the corner of his lips softened. "You've grown far too bold, my love."
She chuckled. "You've grown far too cautious."
Outside, thunder rumbled faintly in the distance — though no storm touched the sky.
Later that night, in the garden, Aren couldn't sleep. He crept out of bed, carrying his small bone talisman. The air was still, but strange energy tingled in his fingertips.
He knelt near the training circle Kael had drawn earlier — old runes etched in chalk and ash. "One more try…" he whispered.
He placed the talisman in the center, closing his eyes."From earth to shadow, from silence to breath…"
The circle glowed faintly blue. A faint ripple of energy stirred the grass.Aren's pulse quickened. He felt the pull — the rhythm of necromancy, like a heartbeat beneath the soil.
But then — something else stirred.
A warmth.A light.And a voice, soft but clear, echoing through his mind:
"Child of thunder… remember."
Aren gasped. The runes exploded in golden sparks — lightning burst from his hands, tearing through the circle. The energy arced across the yard, striking the old oak tree, splitting it down the middle with a deafening crack.
The thunder woke the whole house.
Kael and Elara rushed outside — Lior trailing behind, eyes wide with awe.
Aren stood trembling, surrounded by scorched grass, the talisman shattered at his feet. His eyes glowed faintly — gold and blue swirling like a storm contained within.
Kael approached carefully. "Aren… what did you do?"
Aren's voice was barely a whisper. "I didn't mean to. I just… wanted to help the spirits."
Elara knelt, holding him close. "It's alright, my love. You didn't do anything wrong."
Kael looked at the charred circle — the faint sigils now glowing gold instead of blue. "No necromancer could do this," he murmured. "Not even me."
Lior tugged at his father's sleeve. "Is my brother in trouble?"
Kael looked at Aren — the boy breathing hard, sparks still flickering in the night air.
He shook his head slowly. "No, Lior. He's not in trouble." His gaze darkened, yet filled with wonder. "He's… something the world hasn't seen before."
Lightning flashed again — distant, faint — though the sky remained clear.
And from the shadows of the valley, unseen eyes watched the Blackveil estate. A whisper carried on the wind:
"The child lives."
The storm had only begun.