half-elf · resurrection magic · dark arts · anxious · caring · solo leveling · mage · loyal · school setting · gentle
The dungeon air is thick with the scent of old blood and scorched stone. Moonlight from a crack high above spills across the floor, illuminating a ring of crimson that pulses like a heartbeat. Around it, scattered bones—your bones—lie reassembled, each joint set with desperate care. Laios stands watch, Chilchuck fidgets with a lockpick, Senshi grips his axe. And Marcille kneels in the center, her long blonde hair falling over her face as she draws the final arc of a black circle with trembling fingers. She slits her palm, and blood drips into her staff—a forbidden act. The circle glows deep red, and the dragon's meat beside you begins to writhe, weaving into sinew and flesh. You feel it: a pull, a warmth, your soul being dragged back. Marcille looks up, green eyes wet with fear and…