I stared at the dragon-like beast before my amethyst eyes, a grin tugging at my lips. At last, the beast I had been training had advanced—its core rank had finally reached Abyssal.
"Aren't you such a good boy," I said calmly, raising my hand and petting the creature's snout.
Then I turned.
A helmetless figure stood in stillness. Its skeletal head was fully exposed—bone polished to a pale sheen, etched with faint runes like scars from forgotten wars. Green flames flickered in its hollow eye sockets, burning without heat, casting a sickly glow that danced across its skull. When it finally spoke, its voice was brittle and ancient, like crumbling parchment.
"Shall we proceed, Lady Violet?"
I let out a quiet sigh, the air curling in front of my lips as though chilled by death itself. My amethyst gaze drifted toward the vast field behind the resting dragon-like beast. The grass there bent unnaturally, already sensing the coming shift in aura. I brought two fingers to my lips and whistled—not an ordinary sound, but one layered with spectral intent. A note laced with power. A summoner's call.
The earth trembled.
With a soft crackling of rupturing space, portals tore open in midair. Shadows bled from the rifts, stretching across the land like reaching hands. One by one, my legions emerged.
Thousands of creatures stepped forward into the living world:
—Skeletal warriors.
—Death vultures with bone-split wings and razor talons.
—Skeleton bears and foxes whose ribcages glowed with residual spirit-fire.
—Pale dragons cloaked in black-green flames, their roars like echoing dirges.
—Knights clad in pitch-black armor, their swords bound in cursed chains.
—The Witherborn Hounds, massive and snarling, dragging shadows as they moved.
—Elegy Ravens circling above, voicing the last cries of long-dead kings.
—Obsidian Templars whose shattered armor reflected the battlefield's past.
—Wailing Maids in bloodstained gowns, drifting like phantoms behind the rest.
—And warriors of old—conquerors, defenders, tyrants—who had once defied me, and died for it.
They had all bowed, without hesitation, as soon as they arrived. Their loyalty was unbreakable. To them, I am no mere summoner—I am their goddess. The one who allows them to walk again after death. The one who gives meaning to their ruin.
"Stand," I commanded, my voice a gentle breeze laced with divine weight. The entire legion rose in unison, their movements precise, almost reverent.
My eyes caught a cluster standing farther off—the Crownless. Former kings and queens, stripped of regalia, their melted crowns fused to bone. I remembered each duel. Each downfall. Each death.
"I summoned you here for two reasons," I began softly, stepping forward, the hem of my violet gown brushing the grass. "Because I wished to… and because you must remember: the stronger you grow, the stronger I become. And the more power I hold…"
I paused and smiled warmly. "…the happier I'll be."
It was a smile no living thing could deny. Dead or alive could resist. Without a word, my entire army began to move: some sparred, others lifted stones as heavy as buildings, some meditated in silence, their bones humming with deathly resonance. The field became a quiet storm of training, discipline, and silent devotion.
I turned away from the scene and began walking back into the kingdom, entering the large violet doors. The air shifted behind me as I snapped my fingers.
Without protest, the helmetless skeletal figure that had spoken earlier crumbled into fine, whispering dust—returned to the summoning realm with a silent farewell as my smile faded away along with the skeleton knight.
I made my way through the silent, shadowed halls of the castle, the air heavy with magic and old memories. My right eye twitched involuntarily, and I shut it tight, pressing two fingers briefly against the lid.
'I need to get some rest… It'll likely stop twitching afterward,' I thought, biting down softly on my lower lip. The pressure grounded me as I came to a stop before the grand staircase—a spiraling ascent carved from dark obsidian stone, each step cloaked in a violet carpet threaded with silver sigils. Those runes shimmered faintly beneath the low torchlight, reacting to my presence.
I lifted my right foot, resting it on the first step, then climbed swiftly, one quiet step after the other. My black low-heeled shoes made no sound, as always—enchantments wove into the leather ensured silence.
As I reached the second floor, a distant clash of steel met my ears—an echo from the training field outside, where my summoned warriors sparred. I rolled my shoulders, allowing the tension to bleed from them as I stepped fully onto the upper landing.
The hallway before me stretched long, lined with an eerie grandeur. Dark stone walls held centuries of history, every inch of them alive with whispers of different powers. On one side, treasures and relics stood mounted like trophies of eras long gone.
Cursed swords once wielded by kings now long dead rested in etched mounts, each blade humming softly with a hunger that had never faded. Their hilts, blackened by dark rituals, seemed to turn toward me slightly as I passed, as if yearning for my touch again. Between the weapons, tattered royal cloaks and ceremonial armor hung like fallen banners—garments of cursed monarchs who had once oppose me, preserved in their defeat. Some still dripped spectral blood that would never dry. Their names were carved into small black plaques, forgotten to history, remembered only by me.
Paintings of rulers—some human, some not—lined the opposite wall. Their gazes followed me, eyes painted with such uniqueness that the aura of their past lives as living beings clung to the canvas like smoke. One bore my own image: Lady Violet, seated on a throne of bones and blood over my clothes, a baby dragon curled beneath my feet. A portrait painted in reverence... or fear.
I reached the door at the end of the hall. Crafted from dark oak, it was bound in blackened iron with an ancient lock that obeyed only my aura. I touched it briefly, and it creaked open.
Inside, the scent of old ink, wax, and leather filled the air.
My study.
My eyes settled first on the wooden desk, worn but still strong—the same one I had used for years. Its surface was carved with symbols etched by my own hand, protections layered atop compulsions, ensuring no one but me could access what lay within its drawers. Shelves stretched along the walls, overflowing with thick tomes on rituals, incantations, summoning theory, forbidden pacts, and histories too dangerous to be spoken aloud.
'I still have a few letters to write… and then I must send them.' The thought made my lip curl slightly in irritation. 'The Akser Meeting draws near.'
A council that took place once every five years—tedious, pompous, filled with posturing from rulers who fancied themselves immortal. And this year, it was my turn to host. My kingdom, the Violet Throne, would serve as the gathering place for these vain titans and their retinues.
'Especially annoying this year,' I mused bitterly, 'I must play host to fools who will soil my halls.'
I dismissed the thought with a slow shake of my head and forced my body forward, moving across the soft, violet carpet. The weight of obligation dragged at my limbs, but I would endure. I always did when it comes to important matters.
Pulling out the high-backed, velvet chair behind my desk, I seated myself with a quiet breath.
With a flick of my fingers, my right hand reached for a raven-feather quill and the obsidian inkwell beside it. I placed them gently to my right, then pulled a fresh stack of white parchment toward me.
I sighed deeply, exhaling a breath that carried irritation. I didn't want to write a single letter, If I have to be honest.
Picking up the quill, I twirled it once between my fingers before dipping its point into the obsidian inkwell. The ink shimmered faintly—deep violet with traces of silver, crafted from crushed moonroot and preserved banshee blood. Only the finest for letters carrying my name.
The parchment before me waited, untouched and pristine, like snow just before a storm.
I pressed the tip of the quill to the paper and began to write in a slanted, razor-sharp script:
To His Esteemed Majesty, King Varnem of Gyro,
It has been quite some time since our last correspondence, and I trust your engines still roar with that pride of yours. We both know that the weight of ruling is never light, nor the days ever truly restful.
As you are hopefully aware, the Akser Summit approaches. This time, the Violet Kingdom bears the burden—and honor—of hosting. I write to confirm your attendance and extend a formal invitation to you and a retinue of no more than seven. Do ensure that those you bring are capable of basic diplomacy.
Our gates will open on the fifth of December. You will be expected by dusk. Should you arrive late, I will assume Gyro's priorities lie elsewhere—and I will act accordingly.
With all due courtesy,
Lady Violet.
I lifted the quill, examining the sharp curve of my signature before setting it down.
The ink shimmered faintly before drying, a subtle hiss rising from the parchment as the magic within sealed the letter's truth. Not even a skilled forger could replicate my hand. I slid the page into a scroll tube crafted from polished bone, sealed it with violet wax, then pressed the signet of the Veil Crown into it—my emblem: a dragon's skull framed by a crescent moon.
With a flick of my hand, the scroll vanished into shadows, carried by wraith-wind to its destination.
"One down," I muttered coldly. "Far too many to go."
The candlelight flickered across my eyes as I reached for the next piece of parchment.