The Scholar's Rebirth

Back in the village, the relic was placed at the center of their ritual site. The elves worked tirelessly, inscribing runes in the dirt, preparing spells of reinforcement.

Most of the villagers had never had training except from the few times they had to fight with the raiders but there was no time for much preparation.

The few weapons and armours they had were sharpened and equipped.

Eira stood at the edge of the battlefield, the staff in her grasp.

Draco stretched his arms. "So, what's the plan again?"

Eira inhaled. She had to do this.

"The plan," she said, eyes locked on the trembling seal in the distance, "is to kill a god."

And may the stars have mercy.

-----------

The villagers stood at the edge of their newly reinforced walls, eyes locked on the dark horizon.

Eira stood at the highest point, the Astralis Spire in her grasp. Beside her, Kael adjusted his grip on his sword, his expression unreadable. Draco perched lazily on the wooden barricade, looking entirely unbothered, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed his alertness.

Elandor stood among the warriors, his own staff crackling with protective spells.

Eira knew how this would play out.

They were not ready.

No amount of training could turn farmers and traders into warriors overnight. Their spells were rudimentary, their sword arms weak. And their enemy—this wasn't just an invading force.

Before the battle began, she called for Kael, Elandor, and a few others.

"We fight defensively," she said, her voice cold, calculating. "We don't have the numbers or experience for an open assault."

She turned to Kael. "You and a team of archers take the rooftops. We can't let them overwhelm us at once."

Kael nodded sharply, already calling out names.

"Elandor," she continued, "form a secondary defense line at the village center. If the frontline breaks, you make sure our people have somewhere to regroup."

Elandor hesitated. "And you?"

Eira exhaled slowly.

"I'll be in the thick of it."

There was no argument.

--------

Dawn came with war.

The alarm bell rang, shaking the village awake.

"Positions!" Eira's voice was sharp as a blade, cutting through the panic.

Villagers scrambled. Those with weapons formed lines. Archers nocked arrows.

And then, the first wave crashed into them.

The enemy descended upon them like a storm. Hulking beasts with corrupted flesh, shadow-cloaked warriors whose eyes burned with unnatural fire, and spellcasters who twisted the very air around them.

The frontline clashed.

Swords rang. Arrows whistled. The ground was drenched in blood.

Eira moved like a storm, her blade carving through enemies as if they were air. Despite her weakened body, her skill was unmatched.

"Hold your ground!" she shouted, kicking back an attacker.

Kael's arrows rained down from above, piercing through enemy warriors. His team of archers kept the rooftops defended, preventing the enemy from climbing over their walls.

Elandor's line held firm, their makeshift spears stabbing into the darkness.

But the enemy kept coming.

The wooden walls trembled under the weight of warbeasts. Spells cracked like thunder in the sky. The air was thick with the stench of burning wood, of blood soaking into the earth.

Eira fought at the front, her blade slicing through enemy ranks. Her body moved on instinct, honed by years of slaughter.

Draco, in his dragon form, unleashed torrents of fire upon the warbeasts—but even his flames only slowed them down.

Kael led a group of warriors, cutting down enemy spellcasters before they could unleash devastation upon the village.

The villagers, though inexperienced, fought with desperation. Arrows rained from the rooftops, spears braced against charging warbeasts, and hastily-learned magic clashed against the enemy's brutal force.

But—they were losing.

A horrifying shriek split the night.

A shadowy beast, ten feet tall, tore through their defenses.

"Fall back to the second line!" Eira commanded, her breath ragged.

The villagers retreated, their previous formation shattered.

"Keep fighting!" Elandor's voice carried over the chaos, pulling their forces back into a defensive circle.

They wouldn't last much longer.

The villagers were fighters out of necessity, not warriors by nature. Their defenses broke in places, some faltered in fear, and others struggled to keep up with their more experienced enemies.

Elandor was forced back, his spells weakening.

A warbeast charged straight through the main gate—the villagers screamed as it tore through their defenses.

For every enemy slain, two more took their place.

Eira gritted her teeth.

It wasn't enough.

Then—the dark one stepped forward.

A man clad in blackened steel, his helm shaped like a twisted beast's skull. Corrupt energy radiated from his very being, making the air around him suffocating.

He lifted his hand—and the battlefield froze.

A single word.

And Eira felt the ground beneath her tremble.

The spirits of the dead—their ancestors—began to rise.

Twisted. Bound. Forced into servitude once more.

The villagers screamed.

Eira felt something snap in her chest.

Eira wiped the blood from her lips, her hands shaking as she clenched her staff.

Kael noticed the shift in her aura immediately. "Eira, don't—!"

She ignored him.

She lifted her staff, and the air turned heavy.

Eira stood at the heart of the carnage, her staff trembling in her grip. The air around her had grown thick, oppressive, suffocating.

She knew this spell. She was never supposed to use it.

Kael's voice barely reached her ears. "Eira, STOP!"

But it was too late.

Her lips parted, and from her throat, a language long-forgotten rose like a curse.

"Vash'tor ehn'ka luthiel—"

(I summon the chains of the forgotten—)

A dark pulse of energy erupted from beneath her feet, ancient runes carving themselves into the earth. The shadows twisted, curling into unnatural shapes.

Draco whipped his head toward her, golden eyes narrowing. "That's not normal magic."

"Dros'mir keh'venath taura—"

(Rise, those bound by fate's cruel hands—)

The spirits of the dead—their ancestors—shuddered. The unnatural force binding them to the dark one began to waver.

"Ka'shiran velmora tarin'kai!"

(Break free, and be mine!)

The final words ripped through reality.

A storm of spectral energy exploded outward. The corrupted spirits screamed, their hollow eyes locking onto Eira.

Eira felt the cost.

Her bones cracked. Her vision blurred. Her very soul trembled under the weight of the spell.

But she did not fall.

The spell raged.

And the enemy was no more.

The battlefield was silent. The villagers stood, staring at the devastation.

Kael rushed to Eira's side.

She was still standing. But—her body was failing.

Her skin was ashen. Veins of black magic pulsed along her arms.

Draco, back in his human form, stood over her with an unreadable expression. "You idiot."

Eira barely heard them.

Something was wrong.

Her system blinked to life.

[ WARNING: Host's life force critically low. ]

[ System intervention required. ]

[ Borrowed Time Activated. ]

Borrowed time.

Eira felt her heart stutter.

Kael gripped her shoulders. "Eira!Say something!" His voice was raw with fear.

Eira forced out a breath. "It's… over."

And then, she collapsed.