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Chapter 6: The Whispering Bones
The night before his eleventh birthday, Ray dreamed of a battlefield.
Charred ground stretched as far as he could see, littered with bones and broken weapons. The sky was a torn canvas of black and crimson. Winds howled, carrying the stench of ash and old blood.
And standing in the center of it all... was himself.
Older. Taller. Eyes like stormed steel, clad in black and silver armor, a tattered cloak whipping around him.
Corpses stirred at his feet—not to attack, but to kneel.
> "You are the one who remembers death," a thousand voices whispered.
"You are the one who commands it."
A shadow moved behind him—vast, ancient, impossible.
It bowed.
---
Ray woke with a start, heart hammering against his ribs.
Moonlight spilled through the wooden window. His small room was silent, save for the distant hoot of an owl and the creak of the old house breathing around him.
For the first time in years, Seventeen stirred.
> "Soon," the System whispered. "Soon you will touch the marrow of the world."
Ray clutched his blanket tighter, feeling a weight settle onto his soul.
It wasn't fear.
It was expectation.
---
The weeks that followed were a blur.
Training intensified. Grandmother Asha personally began drilling him in mana sensing—teaching him how to feel the veins of power that ran through the earth and air.
"Most fools treat mana like water," she said one evening, sharpening a dagger. "Something to drink. Something to waste. But true warriors? True magi? They carve it into their flesh. Their bones."
She tapped his chest, right above his heart.
"Feel it. Listen to it."
Ray did.
Every day, he stretched his senses a little further. Every day, the pull beneath his skin grew stronger.
Like something ancient waking up inside him.
---
When the first snowfall came, the bone fields of Moonveil revealed themselves.
Out past the hills, under a sheet of thin ice and mist, old burial grounds rose. Weathered stones. Shattered markers. A few twisted remnants of graves from forgotten wars.
No one went there.
Superstition said the bones whispered.
Ray heard them.
He wasn't sure when it started. Maybe when the snow first touched the ground. Maybe when he first stood alone among the tombstones. But the whispers came—soft, mournful, calling him by names he didn't know.
He knelt beside a cracked grave, brushing snow away with frozen fingers.
Beneath the surface, something pulsed faintly with mana.
A fragment of a soul?
A lingering echo?
He didn't know.
Yet.
> "When you awaken," Seventeen murmured, "you will understand. The dead do not sleep as deeply as the living think."
---
Ray's life became a balancing act.
Training with Grant. Studying with Asha. Helping Lena with herbs and Mayla with beast traps. Listening to the hunters when they spoke about mutated beasts appearing more frequently near the Emerald Spine.
F-Rank beasts are gathering.
Gates are rumbling.
The old protections are weakening.
Danger was coming.
The world wasn't ready.
But Ray would be.
He had to be.
---
On the eve of his twelfth birthday, a storm rolled across the hills—black clouds and green lightning, unnatural and furious.
It wasn't just weather.
It was a sign.
The elders gathered in the village square, lighting old, flickering torches. Awakening ceremonies were always held on the night of the twelfth birthday—rites older than memory, tied to the land and to the gods themselves.
Children who survived it would awaken a class.
Children who failed… did not come back.
Ray stood barefoot on the cold stone, heart steady, eyes sharp.
Mayla squeezed his hand once before stepping back.
Grant nodded, proud and grim.
Lena smiled, tears glittering.
Asha stood apart, arms folded, a blade sheathed at her side.
Thunder rumbled overhead as the Awakening Stone was unveiled—a slab of ancient, rune-carved obsidian, pulsing with raw mana.
This was it.
No turning back.
No hesitation.
Ray took a breath.
Stepped forward.
Placed his hand against the stone.
And the world—
—shattered.
-
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Chapter 7: Seventeen's Awakening
The moment Ray's hand touched the Awakening Stone, the world collapsed into darkness.
No sound.
No breath.
Only the crushing weight of something ancient unfolding inside him.
Mana rushed into his veins like wildfire, searing, reshaping, judging.
A thousand visions slammed into his mind—worlds burning, empires falling, beasts roaring against blood-red skies.
And through it all, a single thread pulled him forward:
Seventeen.
> "Remember," the System whispered.
"You are not born to follow. You are born to command."
---
In the void, a screen blinked open before him:
---
[Awakening Initiated.]
Scanning Soul Structure...
Analyzing Bloodline Anomalies...
Evaluating Potential...
[Notice]: Unique Trait Detected — Soul of the Undying.
[Notice]: Hidden Class Available — Necromancer (Variant).
Would you like to accept?
[Yes] / [No]
---
Ray didn't hesitate.
Yes.
The void trembled.
Chains shattered somewhere deep within him.
---
[Class Awakened!]
You have obtained: [Undying Necromancer] — (Hidden Variant).
System Interface: SEVENTEEN — Activated.
Welcome, Ray.
---
Light exploded around him.
Not blinding—but cold, silver, and sharp, like moonlight on a blade.
Symbols spiraled across his skin, vanishing as quickly as they appeared. His bones ached, then settled. His heart skipped a beat, then steadied stronger than before.
The world returned with a thunderclap.
He stood alone before the Awakening Stone, but the villagers gasped as a silver aura coiled around him—ghostly hands, skeletal figures flickering behind his back before vanishing into mist.
Asha's eyes widened.
Grant's fists clenched at his sides.
Mayla covered her mouth in shock.
Even the elders, hardened by countless ceremonies, took a step back.
This...
This was not normal.
---
> "Status Interface opening," Seventeen said, voice calm and certain inside Ray's mind.
A new screen unfurled before him:
---
[Ray]
Class: Undying Necromancer (Variant)
Rank: F (Level 1)
Mana Core: Emerging
Attributes:
Strength: 6
Agility: 8
Vitality: 12
Intelligence: 15
Willpower: 18
Luck: 10
Unique Trait:
[Soul of the Undying]: Death cannot easily claim you. (Passive)
Skills Unlocked:
Rise Undead (Lv.1) — Revive fallen corpses to serve you.
Bone Grasp (Lv.1) — Summon skeletal hands to bind your enemies.
Death Sense (Passive) — Sense the presence of death and undeath nearby.
Hidden System Features:
---
---
Ray stared, breathing hard, heart hammering in his chest.
This wasn't just an Awakening.
It was a coronation.
A whisper of power curled at the edge of his senses—raw, hungry, waiting to be shaped.
He could feel the dead beneath the village stirring faintly, recognizing him. A part of the land itself.
He was no ordinary hunter.
No simple swordsman.
No mere mage.
He was something different.
Something meant for war.
For survival.
---
A flash of silver caught his eye.
Asha stood alone now, her hand on her blade but not drawing it. Her expression was unreadable, a storm bottled behind ancient eyes.
She bowed her head—just slightly.
Approval.
Acknowledgement.
Recognition.
And in that moment, Ray understood:
There would be no turning back.
Not from the path he had accepted.
Not from the power thrumming in his veins.
Not from the future that waited beyond the gates of Moonveil.
> "Welcome," Seventeen murmured inside him, voice rich with pride.
"To your true beginning."
---
As thunder cracked over Moonveil, and the dead beneath the earth listened,
Ray stepped forward into the storm.
And the world...
trembled.
---
Next: Chapter 8 - The First Summon
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Chapter 8: The First Summon
The storm howled through Moonveil as the Awakening ceremony ended.
The other children were led away, dazed and frightened, clutching at their newfound powers.
But not Ray.
Ray remained standing in the square, hand still tingling from the Awakening Stone, silver mist curling around his fingers like living smoke.
He could feel it now.
The dead were calling.
Not in malice.
Not in fear.
In recognition.
> "Your first summon awaits," Seventeen whispered inside his mind, calm and patient.
"Reach out. Listen."
---
Ray closed his eyes.
He tuned out the wind. The cold. The murmurs of villagers who dared not approach him.
He reached inward—past bone and blood, past fear and hope—into the deep marrow of the world.
And there, beyond the veil of life, something stirred.
Old. Broken. Waiting.
---
> "Find it," Seventeen instructed.
"Call it by name, even if you do not yet know its name."
Ray stretched his hand toward the earth.
The stones of the square felt cold under his bare feet. He knelt, placing his palm flat against the wet ground, feeling the hum of bones beneath the surface.
One heartbeat.
Two.
And then—
A faint pulse answered.
Not words.
Not thoughts.
Just a silent, stubborn will refusing to fade.
---
> "[Skill: Rise Undead — Activate!]"
Ray whispered the command instinctively.
Mana surged out of him, wild and untamed, pouring into the ground.
The earth trembled.
The villagers gasped and stumbled back as the cobblestones cracked—and from the broken earth, a figure began to claw its way free.
---
It was not a monster.
It was not a horror.
It was a boy.
No older than Ray himself.
Or what was left of him.
Bones bleached by time. Shreds of ancient armor clinging to his frail frame. Empty eye sockets glowing faintly with a soft, blue light.
He knelt before Ray, head bowed, one hand over his chest in a soldier's salute.
Not a servant.
Not a slave.
An oath.
A promise.
---
> "[Undead Summoned: 'Nameless Squire' (F-Rank)]"
> "Congratulations," Seventeen said gently. "You have awakened your first knight."
---
Ray stumbled back, breathless.
Not from fear.
From connection.
He could feel the squire's emotions—not full thoughts, but echoes:
Loyalty.
Loneliness.
Hope.
Even in death, the boy had waited for someone to call him back.
And Ray… Ray had answered.
The bond between them locked into place like a heartbeat finding its rhythm.
---
The villagers stared in horror and wonder.
Mayla's hands trembled at her sides. Lena clutched at Asha's arm, whispering in fear.
Even Grant looked grim, his hand hovering near his weapon.
Necromancy was not illegal.
But it was feared.
Misunderstood.
Despised.
Ray saw their fear.
Felt it like a blade against his skin.
But he didn't flinch.
He stepped toward the kneeling squire, placed a hand gently on the boy's shoulder.
The undead flinched—then relaxed under his touch.
Acceptance.
Command.
Compassion.
This was his first summon.
His first comrade.
---
> "You did well," Seventeen said, pride thick in its voice.
"You did not force. You did not enslave. You remembered."
> "The dead are not tools, Ray.
They are memories.
They are promises."
---
Lightning forked across the sky, illuminating the ruined square.
Ray stood tall, the Nameless Squire behind him, a silent sentinel reborn.
No more running from destiny.
No more pretending to be ordinary.
He had crossed the threshold.
And there was no going back.
---
In the distance, hidden by the hills, the Gates rumbled.
New monsters were slipping through the cracks between worlds.
New dangers were awakening.
And Ray?
Ray was ready to meet them.
Not alone.
Never alone.
With the dead at his side.
And the storm in his veins.
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Next: Chapter 9 - The Burden of Power
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