I was flabbergasted, but one thing was clear. If there was any way to figure out how I ended up in this world, the Usurpers who worshiped the God of Reincarnation would hold the answers.
Out of nowhere, I heard a voice beside me. A timid-looking guy had appeared, sitting quietly next to me. He was of average height with a thin, slightly hunched frame. His hair was dark, nearly black, messy, and paired with deep black eyes that darted around nervously. Small, round glasses rested on his narrow nose, giving him an oddly academic look. He was dressed in plain, dark robes that were simple but well-maintained. His presence felt meek, yet there was something unsettling about it. I hadn't even noticed when he arrived. Most people avoided me because I came from a main family. Even though I had failed the summoning test, my family still wielded some influence.
"Oh man, this sounds scary," the timid man muttered beside me.
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. He noticed my gaze almost unnaturally fast.
"Hey, by the way, I'm Anton Erasmus," he said, raising his hand toward me.
I introduced myself as well, shaking his hand. It was cold, his hands were cold.
"Sorry, it's quite cold," he said, retreating his hand into his pockets. "This academy is very dark and gloomy. I prefer warmer places, like Siliyia Bay. I heard people there eat insects that live in the ocean." He giggled as he said the strange fact.
I tried to avoid this guy as much as I could, but he kept rambling on and on. I did not know what he saw in me, but it was not all bad. Being alone was far scarier than I had imagined. After the night at the cemetery, I was still shaken, though I did not realize it yet. His presence, as annoying as it was, carried a strange reassurance.
Soon the classes ended. Now it was time for practical class. Today we had to summon a creature from the miasma itself, with no corpse around for medium. It was considered crucial and had to be learned. This was a skill that even talented people could not master immediately, or in some cases, at all. It was a skill based on the natural aptitude of the miasma responding to the life force of a living man. Necromancers, though dealing with death, were actually the living ones.
Today we had a special instructor, Basortigo Besro, a dark mage from the Northern Continent.
"All the dark mages and necromancers, make separate groups for this class," he announced as he arrived. No introduction, no explanation, he just began the class. He was a practical man.
If not for the attire, I would have guessed him to be a foreign fool, but both his name and position were written on his badge.
Slowly the groups were formed. The dark mages and necromancers were now in two separate groups. There were eight dark mages in the lower class and three necromancers.
Anton was a dark mage, so he joined their group.
The necromancer group consisted of me and two twin necromancers from the family of Bienmort.
Olivia and Oliver were their names. They kept quiet and kept to themselves, though their eyes held disdain for me because of my family name. I did not care.
The practical began. Slowly, one by one, the dark mages were called forward to summon a creature directly from the miasma, but none could. There was no one among them who succeeded. The instructor was not even surprised, as he had already guessed none would.
When Anton's turn came, I felt a flicker of curiosity. Even though he was annoying, I wanted him to succeed and prove the instructor wrong.
But he too failed. Scratching his neck, he gave a small bow before stepping away.
What he was apologizing for, I did not know. There was something strangely awkward about him.
Finally, it was the necromancers' turn.
"I suppose necromancers should be proficient in dealing with miasma," the instructor commented, his voice tinged with mockery. He was right in part. The domain of death belonged primarily to necromancers, while dark mages were more tied to the domain of mysticism and the occult.
The twins moved forward in perfect sync, their steps quiet and deliberate. Olivia led, her fingers weaving an intricate pattern in the air as she murmured softly. Her tone was steady and calm, but there was an icy edge that seemed to weigh down the air. Oliver followed her lead, matching her movements flawlessly, his chant blending seamlessly with hers until their voices became one.
A thin mist began to rise between them, swirling unnaturally as the air around their circle grew darker. The miasma reacted faintly, writhing as if alive, but it refused to take shape, lingering just out of reach as though testing their resolve.
The instructor's voice broke the tension. "Persistent. I'll give them that."
Time dragged on as their motions remained fluid and unbroken, but the haze slowly dissipated. A soft sigh passed between the twins. Olivia pressed her lips together, and Oliver furrowed his brow.
"It won't yield," Olivia muttered under her breath.
Oliver gave a brief nod, lowering his hands.
The miasma vanished completely. The twins bowed slightly to the instructor and stepped back. This time, there was no apology just a quiet, unreadable glance exchanged between them.
The instructor's eyes swept over them, his expression neutral. "As expected, Summoning miasma without a corpse isn't something mastered in a single afternoon." His tone carried a mix of disdain and intrigue.
Next was my turn. I strode forward, feeling the weight of every gaze on me. Mockery began quietly at first, but it grew. Even though my fellow necromancers stayed silent, it was in their nature to keep their distance. The rest, apart from Anton, did not stop. They had failed and yet took every chance to make fun of others.
I ignored them. Instead, I closed my eyes and tried to recall the night at the cemetery, the weight of the air, and the strange sight of the darkwood door I had seen. That memory anchored me. I let it sink into my mind, letting the feeling of that moment guide me.
If there was an answer, it would be the experience of that memory, the same feeling during my awakening. Deep down, I knew it was the right choice; my intuition screamed it at me.
I moved my hands slowly over the circle, chanting softly in the ancient tongue of the necromancers I had learned from the famous Necronomicon during my earlier visit to the library, further ensuring my success. The air within the circle grew heavy, sending a chill across my skin. The miasma rose in slow spirals, drawn toward the heat of my life force.
A low hum filled the air, resonating deep in my chest. The miasma contracted, twisting and turning as it struggled to create a passage for a creature summoned from the depths of Death's gates. The convulsions lasted only seconds before the miasma finally yielded, opening the path. And so, it was brought into the world.
A creature emerged, its form twisted, caught between shadow and flesh. Pale light burned in its eyes, and its claws dragged softly against the ground, leaving faint scorch marks in their wake. A low, resonant hiss escaped it, making the air around it quiver.
Its form reminded me of something I could name, something I I had seen before, yet my memory betrayed me. What was it? I asked myself the question, but no answer came. "I shall see it later," I said to myself.
The room went still. Even the instructor leaned in, examining my summon with a mix of surprise and admiration.
"You succeeded," he said simply. "Few can do this without a medium. Fewer still on their first attempt."
A murmur ran through the class. Olivia and Oliver exchanged a glance, their expressions unreadable. Anton stared at me with wide eyes, as if he had not expected it.
I stepped back, bowing slightly to the dark green miasma. The creature faded slowly, its form dissolving into the miasma it had risen from.