Michael’s heart pounded as the shimmering windows hovered before him, each pulsing with quiet, eldritch life. The class had been chosen—Necromancer—and now came the final decision. Race.

  He looked through the options again. Each called to something different in him—strength, speed, wisdom, light…

  But he wasn’t drawn to the light.

  No.

  It was the Drakenborne that reached out with open claws and smoldering breath.

  Wreathed in scaled heritage, marked by the blood of ancient dragons, they were feared and respected. Powerful. Rare. And among them, there were those touched not by flame… but by shadow.

  “I choose Drakenborne,” he said.

  Elyndra tilted her head. “And your affinity?”

  Michael didn’t hesitate. “Dark.”

  The windows pulsed, absorbing the decision. A glowing symbol burned into the sky—an ancient draconic rune blackened with shadow. As it pulsed, the System responded.

  ---

  [Race Selected: Drakenborne]

  Subtype: Nightblood Lineage

  Affinity: Dark

  Inherent Trait: Shadow-Wreathed Core – Natural resistance to curses, minor mana regeneration in darkness.

  ---

  A deep rumble echoed through the divine veil as Michael felt something crackle through his veins. For the first time in his life, he felt strong. Not numb. Not forgotten. But like something old and powerful stirred beneath his skin.

  Two new panels slid into view.

  They gleamed with silver flame.

  [Select Your Unique Trait]

  Forged by your soul, class, and choices. Choose one:

  1. Soulbrand – Your undead bear the mark of your will. Each summon is stronger and evolves faster. Possibility of elite undead.

  2. Black Pact – You may sacrifice portions of your own health to empower spells or raise powerful minions beyond your current level cap.

  3. Graveknit – Every death around you strengthens you temporarily. Absorbing essence grants temporary stat boosts.

  4. Wyrmblooded Warden – Grants the ability to raise and bond with a Draconic Undead Companion. Only one, but it grows with you and remembers.

  ---

  [Select Your Unique Item]

  One artifact, bound to you. Choose wisely:

  1. The Hollow Grimoire – A sentient necromantic tome. Stores souls, learns spells, and whispers forbidden secrets. Grows with your level.

  2. Gravepiercer Scythe – A curved obsidian scythe that cleaves both flesh and spirit. Steals mana on hit. Inflicts bleeding and decay.

  3. Veilbound Cloak – Grants concealment from detection magic, immunity to low-tier curses, and boosts Dark Affinity. Can shift into wings temporarily.

  Stolen story; please report.

  4. Phylactery of the First Death – Grants one resurrection upon fatal blow. Upon rebirth, you unleash a shockwave of necrotic energy.

  Elyndra gave him space, watching quietly, the stars of her gown swirling gently.

  “These choices,” she said, “will shape not just your fate… but your legend.”

  Michael stared at the glowing panels.

  The weight of his new life was a fingertip away.

  Michael’s eyes scanned the glowing selections, but his heart had already made its choice. One trait pulsed in rhythm with the core of his being—one that resonated with everything he'd become… and everything he wanted to be.

  Soulbrand.

  He selected it with a slow breath, and the moment he did, a burning sigil etched itself into the air before him. It was jagged, serpentine, and black as ink-drenched bone—his mark.

  [Unique Trait Selected: Soulbrand]

  “Your undead bear the mark of your will. Each summon is stronger than standard, with accelerated evolution. Possibility of birthing Elite-class undead through battle or ritual.”

  — The dead will not just rise for you… they will thrive under you.

  The pulse of power that surged into him was subtle but undeniable. A tingling under the skin. A shift in breath. The invisible brand now embedded deep within his soul, waiting.

  Then he turned to the next panel—Unique Item—and one glimmered more darkly than the rest.

  The Hollow Grimoire.

  There was something alive in it… something ancient. Its edges flickered with shadows, the pages barely visible, veiled by drifting ash and spectral chains. He touched the panel—

  And the tome appeared.

  It floated silently in front of him, bound in cracked black leather stitched with silvery thread. A claw-shaped lock held it closed. Etched into the cover was a circular symbol—half a skull, half an eye, and beneath it, a mouth sewn shut.

  Elyndra’s voice turned hushed, almost reverent.

  “You’ve chosen the Hollow Grimoire. A sentient relic of forgotten necromancers. It is alive—not in flesh, but in soul. It can learn. It can speak. It will remember every spell you cast… every enemy you slay.”

  Michael furrowed his brow. “It says it stores souls. What does that mean, exactly?”

  Elyndra raised a hand, and a miniature vision shimmered between them—a phantom battlefield, spectral corpses drifting above slain monsters.

  “When something dies near you, and your will is strong… the soul does not pass on. The Grimoire takes it. Holds it. Binds it in ink and memory.”

  She gestured again, and the vision changed—souls stored in swirling orbs within the tome, trembling with energy.

  “You may use them to empower spells, forge new minions, or craft elite undead from their essence. Stronger the soul, stronger the creation. Some souls whisper… some scream. Others beg. You will learn to silence, tame, or bargain.”

  Michael stared at the book, and it stared back with its stitched eye.

  “And it talks?” he asked cautiously.

  “Whispers,” Elyndra said. “To most. But to its chosen master… it sings. You’ll hear it in dreams. In blood. In silence.”

  The tome drifted into his hand, pulsing gently like a second heartbeat.

  [Unique Item Acquired: Hollow Grimoire]

  A living book of necromantic lore. Stores souls. Records spells. Learns forbidden rituals. May unlock sealed knowledge at higher levels.

  — The dead are no longer lost. They are cataloged… and wielded.

  Elyndra smiled, stepping back as Michael’s choices solidified in the air—his new soul echoing with power.

  “Drakenborne of the Nightblood. Wielder of Soulbrand. Bearer of the Hollow Grimoire. You are more than reborn, Michael…”

  The air grew still, the sky above trembling with ancient power.

  “You are becoming.”

  A portal of spiraling starlight tore open behind her.

  Michael took one last look at his broken, forgotten past.

  And stepped forward, toward a world that would never forget him again.

  As the spiraling portal roared behind her, Elyndra’s gaze lingered on Michael one last time.

  “One final thing,” she said, her voice like the rustle of starlight through leaves. “In Aerithrael, names carry weight. Some reflect power, others destiny. Would you like to keep the name ‘Michael’… or choose a new one for your new life?”

  Michael looked down at his clawed hand, the Hollow Grimoire floating at his side, blackened pages rustling though there was no wind. The name “Michael” felt distant now—an echo from a world that had abandoned him.

  He thought of fire in his veins, the mark of Soulbrand etched in his spirit, and the blood of ancient dragons now sleeping in his bones.

  “…Yeah,” he said. “It’s time I let that name die with the old me.”

  He took a breath and spoke his new name aloud:

  “Kael.”

  Simple. Sharp. Like a blade just unsheathed.

  Elyndra’s eyes gleamed with approval. “Kael,” she repeated, and the name carried through the veil like thunder whispered through silk. “A name that will one day be feared… or worshipped.”

  She stepped aside.

  “Go, Kael of the Nightblood. Necromancer. Soulbearer. The world of Aerithrael awaits.”

  And with that, he stepped through the portal.

  [Name Registered: Kael]

  — The dead remember the name of their master.