“Can anyone play for me?” Dahlia asked. The Ebon Chorus had gathered in the Twilight Courtyard, where they had fought Shriekfang mere days ago.

  “I can drum,” Drynthor offered apologetically.

  “I can play the pipes,” Lorien said.

  “That would be perfect, both of you,” Dahlia said.

  Drynthor flipped his reflective shield and rapped it with his knuckle. Shockingly, it produced a deep thrum. Lorien pulled a set of reed pipes from his belt. Dahlia wasn’t sure where or when the ranger had acquired them—had he made them? Or had he found them within Vesperis Morghaine? She had allowed them to explore and take stock of her new realm.

  Dahlia hummed her rhythm until the two understood what she wanted. Then, with a rustic accompaniment of haunting, airy melody carried by the reed pipes and the metallic, warlike crashes of the shield-turned-drum, Dahlia sang. Yet unlike previous raisings, she gathered all of her magical energy into a single, multi-part weaving of magic and song. In addition to the spell slots, she spent the five Glimmer that Glimmer Warp required to make her desires a reality.

  ? “Beneath these shattered spires high,

  Where whispers weave, and embers die,

  The wind still sings of olden names,

  Of kin and crown, of lost domains.”

  Fairy dust flowed off Dahlia as if a brand-new fountain had been installed into the Twilight Courtyard, and sparkling motes of pastel magic filled the dour garden in explosive releases with each word she sang. Within the cascades of glitter, glimpses of humanoid forms came and went, not yet ready to be defined, but spirits had already gathered in response to the magic.

  “O shades of dusk, O silvered wraith,

  I call you forth from sleep’s embrace.

  The city stands, though time may wane,

  Rise once more. Morghaine remains!”

  Spectral figures gained cohesion amongst the overwhelming deluge of glitter. Dahlia, channeling every one of her spell slots at once, became a vortex of color and power. Power that surged as Dahlia delicately maintained the weave of the spell and reclaimed a third level spell to add into the ritual magic. Splashes of color variation flowed through the magical energies, creating a show of colors for the watching members of the Ebon Chorus.

  “By blade unbroken, longbow unbent,

  By spell unspoken, fate unspent,

  The blood you shed, the wars you knew,

  Stand now again—the vow holds true.”

  Glimpses of a spectral human with a sword, an elf with a staff, and a halfling with two daggers appeared and faded in the constant shifting of the fairy glitter. The three Spirit Allies took shape alongside the darker glimpses of the pale but deadly wights who danced chaotically through the glitter, their movements a declaration of malevolence for mortal kind restrained only by Dahlia’s control over them.

  “By night’s decree, by oath of old,

  Return in light, return in cold.

  By steel and soul, by duty bound,

  Take up your arms, heed now my sound!”

  From within the glitter, four shadows took form. They might as well have been clones of the previously summoned Shade. Streams of glitter flowed into them, an extension of Dahlia’s will. The spell for Call Shadow required each of the Shadows to be infused by her power and differentiated before she could materialize the next.

  “Do you recall the banners bright,

  The golden halls, the burning light?

  Do you recall the war-horns’ cry,

  The march of a king who would not die?”

  Images of a man filled Dahlia’s mind. A human man, shockingly. A broken helm obscured his face, and he wore the armor of Aelwyth Morghaine. Ruth mentioned that the Age of Harmony started when humankind was allowed entrance to Aelwyth Morghaine. Still, until now, Dahlia had assumed they had been a tiny minority and certainly hadn’t been part of its guards or military. Yet here was a knight who radiated many of the same qualities that Xeras embodied—loyalty, discipline, and silence.

  Contrary to the expectations and preconceived notions Dahlia held, her first Wight was forged from a human.

  “Yet stone may fall, and stars may fade,

  And still your names won't be erased.

  The world moves on, yet here you stay,

  A memory’s breath, a shade of gray.”

  After Edric Vayne, the Pale Knight, came Lisette Vaul—another human. No remnant of the fiery red hair she’d been so proud of in life remained. Once, she’d been called the Blooded Song and been lusted after for her crimson hair, smokey eyes, and hedonistic inclinations. Her hair was a nasty, tangled mess of white in her new body. Black, tattered leathers clad her form, and short swords hung from her hips. She remembered how to sing, though, and her much-changed voice rose to back Dahlia’s own.

  “The tide has turned, the gates undone,

  The age was lost, the song unsung.

  Yet in this hollow, in this dusk,

  Your names endure, your blades don’t rust.”

  The trend of humans broke with Dain. The half-elf’s enormous bicepts threatened to break the tattered robe whose crest Dahlia did not know. Few were the elf or human she’d met with the raw muscles of this half-elf, and his lack of weapons made it quite clear he fought with his fists. Despite the malevolence that resonated from the other two wights, Dain radiated the cold serenity of death. She was sure that Dain, the Death Palm, would cause more than a bit of consternation if Dahlia took him out into the world. He was far more disquieting than the other two combined.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “No war to wage, no battle’s cry,

  Yet still your blades shall not lie dry.

  Where ruin fell, where silence grew,

  A city's breath now calls for you.”

  As the Wights solidified, their bodies formed from the base materials Dahlia had dumped from her Feywoven Satchel and raw magic. Most people would frown on carrying the body parts of foes, the long dead, or even just those you dug up in your bag, but for necromancers it was to be expected. Dahlia assumed. None of the Ebon Chorus had said anything about her looting habits yet, but they weren’t the living.

  The four Shadows grew in substance and form. Unlike the previous versions of Shade, each of these Shadows had something slightly different about them. One loomed two feet taller than the other, with a density of darkness that seemed to preclude the intangible nature of the other three. Another had almost wisp-like illumination within its darkness, and it drew the brightest explosions of glitter into itself to defy light and create more darkness. The third danced between the shadows of the Wights, taking on their appearances, while the final shadow seemed hollower than the rest.

  “Not just to strike, nor just to shield,

  But guard the halls, reclaim the fields.

  Where once you stood with iron and flame,

  Now stand with hands that mend the same.”

  The Wights, all three eager for blood and violence, seemed to be on the precipice of groaning in dissatisfaction. The Shadows gnashed their insubstantial teeth and gestured in disappointment at the heavens with their clawed hands. Mending? Fields? They wanted to reap the living and feast on the blood of mortals. They craved snapping bones and sucking the marrow out.

  “A watch to keep, a charge to hold,

  Through night’s embrace and moonlight cold.

  Rise, O wardens, sworn anew,

  The city's heart beats on through you.”

  Dahlia’s fingers coiled through the last surge of glitter that exploded from her. Like the air, each of her new followers was showered with the glittering dust that covered them from all angles. Dahlia mused that it wasn’t an inadequate representation of her will covering the newly raised undead, raining upon them, and binding them tooth and nail to her slightest whim.

  The tiny fairy stared the Wights down. The undead looked away first, unable to bear their master's disapproval. Drynthor and Lorien ceased their playing. The eddies and vortexes of fairy dust slowly dissipated, allowing full glimpses and the actual reveal of the three spirit allies, four shadows, and three wights.

  “I did not call you to fight for me, although someday, you will do that too. The ten of you will assist Elyssandra with things here in Vesperis Morghaine while I attend to other matters. You will comply with all orders Elyssandra gives you.”

  Dahlia’s eyes flicked to the Grand Seneschal and her wrappings of scrolls. Her elven ears seemed almost twitching.

  “Quite the cast of characters you’ve given me, my lady.” Elyssandra said, stepping closer to Dahlia.

  New skill unlocked! You have been granted Requiem Weaving Rank 3.

  Magic—Requiem Weaving. Advanced Ritual Casting through Song.

  Prerequisites: Thaumaturgy, Spell Singing, Performance

  Requiem Weaving is the art of layering multiple spells into a single ritual performance, allowing a caster to simultaneously generate the effects of numerous spells. Spells cast through Requiem Weaving do not function as independent incantations. Instead, they are woven into a singular magical composition where the song catalyzes multiple spell effects.

  A character with this skill can infuse their magic into songs, chants, or performances to create complex, multi-layered effects that grow in potency as their mastery increases.

  Rank 1—Harmonic Invocation: You may weave two spells into a single ritual song.

  Rank 2—Threaded Chorus: Increases spell duration for any Requiem effects.

  Rank 3—Dirge of the Conductor: You may weave up to three spells through Requiem Weaving. Each subsequent spell in the chain increases range, duration, and intensity.

  Dahlia’s huge and toothy smile as she absorbed the information about her new skill put the Ebon Chorus and the new recruits at ease. Whenever the fairy smiled that large, and there wasn’t a mound of sugar larger than her, it could only mean good things.

  When Dahlia ran her violet eyes over each of the new summonses to absorb their information, she laughed and re-examined Dirge of the Conductor. It was the only thing she could think would explain why all ten new minions were already level 4.

  Yet, this turn of events also made Dahlia gnaw on her lower lip. Why did the name Conductor keep influencing her skills? Sure, it was a musical term, but the only person she’d ever heard of referred to regularly as the Conductor was the leader of the Discordant. Was the Conductor also a Gloamcaller? Did the Path of Gloam end in the Discordant Court?

  “Enjoy the Profane Hoard, Ely,” Dahlia quipped, before she hopped onto Mr. Disapoofer. “To my room, boy.”

  Dahlia attempted to project strength, but her fatigue might have shown through. If it did, it did. The concerns about the Conductor, the Discordant, and ideas on how to keep making gains like Requiem Weaving all warred in Dahlia’s mind. Yet harnessing all of her spell slots and Glimmer points simultaneously had truly exhausted her. She wanted to claim she’d have the energy to read more of the Volume of Ruling Presence, but the draw of letting her mind wander and resting could not be denied. She’d never felt quite this exhausted before.

  You have gained 1 level of Fatigue. To reduce your fatigue level, rest for at least six hours. If you continue to exhaust yourself, you will gain a second level of Fatigue.

  With six levels of fatigue, you will die.

  Dahlia gasped at the rapid escalation of Nantes's voice. It felt like a Hag had scolded her about resting, and the Hag escalated to ‘rest, or I’ll pluck your wings off!’ She disapproved of this rapid change of tone or the idea that you could over-exert yourself to death. How desperate would you have to be to work yourself to death?

  “Ruff!” What’s wrong? Mr. Disapoofer asked, immediately catching the change in her scent and posture.

  “Oh, just thinking its nap time, boy. I don’t suppose you have any sugar for a quick snack first?”