—Atlantis Magic School, Faculty Tower, Secure Briefing Room—
Year 12118, Era Elyndris
The council chamber was a formidable stronghold of knowledge, its walls filled with ancient books and ominous artifacts. Atlantean scrolls murmured the secrets of ages past, Gaian relics pulsed with dormant energy, and fragments of the long-lost Gamma archives were cloaked in shadow. The windows, protected by intricate anti-scrying runes, offered only a view of the turbulent storm clouds that swirled outside, mirroring the unease within. Faculty magi, with their scholarly focus, clerics bearing their solemn dignity, and vigilant security chiefs formed a semi-circle around a dark stone table, which sagged beneath the weight of myriad secrets. At the center, a containment case throbbed with an eerie light: the remnants of Vlad's necrotech were ensnared within a fragile web of shimmering blue glyphs.
Sivenna, her demeanor carefully controlled, commanded the attention of those gathered. To her left, the perceptive Master Archivist Helena leaned in, her sharp gaze sweeping across the room; to her right, the imposing Magus Kharos radiated an unsettling authority. In the shadows, Rinoa stayed alert, poised with a quill above her notes, her breath held in a moment of tense anticipation.
"Let us skip the formalities," Sivenna began, her voice steady but charged with urgency. "How is it that Vlad's technology survived the inferno of the Vlad Wars? And why is it still cloaked in such secrecy?"
Kharos uncrossed his arms and leaned forward, shadows deepening around him like the folds of a dark cloak. "This is no ordinary relic, Sivenna," he replied, his voice resonating with a grave intensity that filled the silent air. "It is a curse. Vlad's necrotech—do you comprehend the significance of what it once represented? A weapon forged from the very fabric of existential dread. The protocols? They were not crafted by our hands. No, they rose from the ashes of the fallen Gamma nation."
Helena nodded solemnly, her expression marked by understanding. "Those necromancers clung to the belief that memory is the foundation of immortality. They created machines aimed at preserving that which should have been lost."
"Machines?" Rinoa interjected, her tone sharp like a blade. "Are you suggesting they attempted to replicate a soul's essence? That's pure madness!"
Kharos met her gaze, his expression revealing no hint of softness. "Madness or brilliance? It matters little—the outcome is what truly counts. They believed they could extract, preserve, and even transfer what they called the 'soul's echo' from one being to another, whether living or dead."
Sivenna steepled her fingers, the flames from the braziers casting flickering shadows across her face as she contemplated the implications. "And these machines, Kharos? Do they still operate, or are they merely echoes trapped in the sands of time?"
Kharos's brow furrowed, a fleeting shadow of concern flitting across his features. "Operational? Perhaps not in the way you envision. Yet, the potential for their revival lingers in the dim recesses of darkness—waiting for those reckless enough to unearth them."
"We must tread carefully," Helena warned, her voice low yet resolute, echoing against the stone walls of the dimly lit chamber. The flickering light from the enchanted torches cast shadows that danced on their faces, heightening the tension in the air. "In the early Gamma texts, the essence of the soul is not shown as a rigid form, but rather as a delicate pattern—an exquisite tapestry woven from memory, emotion, and will. Necrotech sought to unravel the fragile remnants hidden within the brain's fibers long after the final breath."
"If they truly succeeded, the consequences would be dire," Rinoa gasped, her wide eyes reflecting both awe and dread. "Consider the possibility—what if the very echoes of the departed could be ensnared within new vessels? To tread the earth once more, as mere shadows of who they were?"
Sivenna's expression hardened, a deep understanding of the impending danger settling in her mind. "We stand on the brink of a monumental abyss. This knowledge could either grant us salvation or plunge us into our undoing."
Helena interjected, her voice unwavering yet urgent, "In those ancient Gamma texts, the soul is described not as an unchanging entity, but as a complex configuration of data—an intricate blend of memories, emotions, and will."
Sivenna leaned closer, curiosity bright in her eyes. "So, this necrotech—how does it really work?"
Helena gestured animatedly, her hands moving as if to summon the very essence of her words. "It taps into bio-alchemical engines, interpreting the lingering electromagnetic traces left in the brain's tissue after death. Imagine this: reconstructing the deepest memories of a person, binding them within a new vessel, thus breathing life into the past."
Sivenna narrowed her eyes, her voice sharp as a blade. "Yet there is always a cost, isn't there? The Atlanteans abandoned such practices after the disaster known as the Scourge of White Lake—a failed resurrection that unleashed a terrible plague upon the city. Tell me, what did Vlad dare to do that could cause such havoc?"
Kharos tilted his head, his expression thoughtful as he considered Sivenna's question. "Indeed, Vlad was a master of strategy. You have read more of his manuscripts than any of us, Rinoa. Can you enlighten us?"
Rinoa swallowed hard, her brow furrowing in concentration as she recalled those dark pages. "Vlad's genius lay in his extraordinary ability to wield fear as a weapon. He fused the Gamma protocols with the forbidden blood magic of our ancestors and the complex arrays of microglyphs. This combination was dangerous yet powerful."
"And he made use of those viral vectors, did he not?" Kharos pressed, leaning forward with keen interest. "Engineered pathogens designed to alter the very mnemonic maps of the deceased?"
"Exactly," Rinoa murmured, her voice barely rising above a whisper, steeped in reverence. "The results were... somewhat stable at times. Yet, we must not overlook the brutality of his methods. The viral magic often intensified existing traumas, rage, or longing within them. Those who returned were little more than puppets of their obsessions, stripped of their true identities."
Helena's expression grew grave, shadows flickering across her features. "This clarifies why, within Vlad's ranks, the most formidable necrosoldiers emerged from violent ends, souls burdened with unresolved desires. The viral necrotech clung to their lingering memories, amplifying them until they overshadowed all other instincts."
A junior faculty member, his voice trembling slightly with unease, interrupted the heavy atmosphere. "How could these protocols have infiltrated our esteemed Academy?"
Sivenna turned a page in her dossier, her lips pressed tightly together in thought. "After Vlad's grim downfall, the Spiral Council ordered the destruction of all necrotech repositories. Yet, as is often the case, dissenters remained among us."
"Dissenters?" the junior member echoed, his complexion pale. "You mean to suggest they are still out there?"
Sivenna nodded knowingly, her gaze unwavering. "Some believe these dark secrets may provide a shield should we face another existential conflict. Even now, fragments and notes endure, well hidden from watchful eyes."
Sivenna turned the delicate page of her dossier, her brow furrowing in deep thought. "After Vlad's fall," she began, looking at her companions with a seriousness that hung heavily in the air, "the Spiral Council commanded the obliteration of all necrotech records. Yet dissenters—oh, they thrived in the shadows, didn't they? Many held the belief that these forbidden secrets could offer protection if our world were to confront yet another existential conflict."
Kharos leaned in closer, his face shadowed by a troubled frown. "And what remnants did they leave behind? A few samples, perhaps some scattered notes, carefully hidden within the depths of this very academy and in the halls of Oda Sanctuary. Elbert was not the first to attempt the reanimation of a beloved soul—he merely stands as the latest fool to tread that dangerous path."
Rinoa's voice cut through the heavy atmosphere, soft yet firm. "You all seem so eager to pass judgment, yet let us not forget—he was not alone in his endeavor. Each of these attempts carried a staggering price. Plagues arose, and widespread despair enveloped the land. In the waning years of Gamma, they banned necrotech not because of its failures but due to its haunting successes—crimes resonating with memories, ghostly afflictions... children born bearing the whispers of the departed."
Helena carefully lifted an ancient, blackened tome from the table, her hands shaking with a troubling mix of fear and determination. "This…" she whispered, her voice barely audible, "is the challenge we face. The 'Crown of Tenebris'—one of the most dangerous relics of necrotech ever discovered. It is said to possess the ability to extract memories from the Spiral, regardless of where the soul has found its rest." She paused dramatically, her gaze sharpening as if cutting through the thick air of uncertainty that surrounded them. "But consider the consequences. Insanity. A fracturing of the very self. Do we truly wish to walk that perilous path?"
Sivenna folded her arms, her tone slicing through the oppressive tension like a blade. "Then why, pray tell, does this knowledge continue to entice us? What draws us back, again and again?"
Kharos shook his head slowly, the weight of his thoughts reflected in his somber expression. "It transcends mere musings of existence beyond the veil, Sivenna. This darkness runs much deeper." He inhaled deeply, the gravity of his words lingering in the air. "In the hands of the state, imagine the power that could be unleashed. Necrotech could create the ultimate warrior—one who transcends death, holding onto every memory from every battle and conflict. That temptation… it courses through the veins of our leaders like a poison, tainting their very souls."
Helena reclined slightly, her voice carrying a weary dryness that reflected the burden of her thoughts. "To reduce our history to such ruthless mechanics… It is sheer madness. And yet…" Her voice faltered as she scanned the faces encircling the table. "What remnants of hope do we genuinely possess?"
"Hope," Rinoa murmured, her gaze fixed on a distant point, as if she were peering beyond time itself. "Or perhaps it's merely the illusion of hope that we pursue. We crave the chance to rectify our past mistakes, to seek solace for our wounds of loss. It's a scar that runs deep in the psyche of our Gaian people—our nation's unending conflicts and the broken families left in their wake."
Kharos leaned in, his expression tense with contemplation. "Consider this: within the grasp of the state, necrotech could summon the ultimate warrior. A being untouchable by death, one who recalls every battle endured, every struggle confronted. The allure of such power has forever haunted those in authority."
Helena crossed her arms tightly, her voice cutting through the air. "So, you propose they desire a weapon that remembers every defeat? That yearns for vengeance lurking in the darkest corners of our history?"
Kharos nodded, a deep furrow etching his brow. "Indeed. Yet, the cost we must pay for such power is not something we can ignore."
She let out a weary sigh, shaking her head as if to banish the thought entirely. "What remnants of our humanity will remain? If we allow necrotech to thrive, we risk becoming mere echoes of who we once were."
With a focused intensity, Helena continued, "The far-reaching consequences of necrotech cannot be ignored:"
"First and foremost, it unraveled Gamma from within—tormented by memory infections, the core of identity left to erode."
"Secondly, it ignited two succession wars among the Gaian nobles, as those seeking power resurrected long-dead kings to bolster their claims."
"And we must not forget the tragedy of Atlantis—remember the White Lake disaster, where an entire city was transformed into a mindless horde."
"Lastly, in the region of Oda, necrotech gave rise to the so-called 'Eclipse Children'—orphans burdened with wisdom and pains not their own, haunting their very existence."
Sivenna let the heavy silence stretch, the air thick with tension, before she spoke, concern evident in her voice. "And that brings us back to Professor Elbert's alarming findings. Once again, he has shed light on this looming threat. What protocols do we need to establish in light of these revelations?"
Magus Ashari, the resolute security chief, cleared his throat, drawing the attention of every eye in the room. "We must act with urgency. The necrotech must be dismantled. All records must be turned to ash. We shall seal the chamber with Runes of Forgetting. Only a brief summary shall be retained—for the Queen's eyes only."
Helena's eyes widened in unease. "But what of the data? The insights we could gain about the true nature of the Spiral—"
Sivenna interrupted gently but firmly, "Helena, are you truly willing to risk everything on the grim possibility of another White Lake disaster?"
Helena lowered her head, her lips pressed into a thin line, feeling the burden of her choice weigh heavily on her shoulders.
With a hesitant voice, Rinoa finally raised her tone, her words gliding softly like a whisper. "What if we considered a different approach? Research that is sealed and monitored—not for revival, but to understand how memory intersects with the Spiral. Surely, there must be applications that are inevitable... perhaps to heal trauma, to restore lost memories to the living?"
Kharos fixed a sharp gaze on Rinoa, a profound pity reflected on his face. "Every time, Rinoa, they wield knowledge like a sword. They believe it grants them an advantage, yet power only breeds temptation and despair."
Sivenna, arms folded across her chest, returned Kharos's tempestuous expression. "Then what? Do you wish for us to remain trapped in ignorance? To allow the Queen to dictate our fate; until she speaks, this matter should remain considered secret."
She scanned the dimly lit chamber, locking eyes with each council member in turn. "I have one final question for all assembled here: if necrotech is to remain a forbidden art, how then shall we navigate our grief? What counsel can we offer when the shadows lengthen and the light begins to fade?"
The air thickened with an oppressive silence, tension coiling like a serpent poised to strike. After what felt like an eternity, Helena's voice pierced through, steady yet laced with haunting sorrow. "We shall not allow our anguish to twist us into something monstrous."
Rinoa's gaze shifted to the delicate containment case that shimmered in the flickering candlelight. Her thoughts spiraled like autumn leaves caught in a storm—was Elise's essence still ensnared within the Spiral, lost in a ceaseless search for meaning? Is it ever wise to tread that treacherous path again?
Sivenna's gaze was unwavering, as if she could unravel Rinoa's unspoken thoughts before they formed words. "You must promise me, Miss Alfrenzo: do not seek phantoms in the shadowed halls of the past. The Spiral holds enough lost souls to consume us all."
"I promise." Rinoa swallowed hard, the weight of centuries pressing down on her. In truth, the wound of forbidden knowledge would never fully close. Even as she spoke, a flicker of longing ignited in her heart, weaving a taut thread around her resolve.