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You labor beneath the glittering towers of the Elvish Kingdom, where light reflects endlessly on crystal spires, mocking the darkness below. The mines are your prison, and you are one of many—dark elves condemned to extract the precious ores that fuel their grand enchantments. They call you "lesser," "second-born," treating you as tools rather than people.
But you are no tool. You feel it in your bones—literally.
It starts with the discovery deep within the mines. Your pickaxe strikes something strange, something that isn’t ore. You uncover the remains of a great beast, its bones ancient and forgotten. The sight of them stirs something in you, an energy that feels alive, though the creature is long dead. You touch the bones, and for the first time in your life, you sense power in your hands.
You experiment in secret. Small constructs rise at your command—a scurrying hand, a twitching ribcage. The magic flows naturally, as if it had always been a part of you. The other workers watch you cautiously, but they say nothing. No one wants to draw the overseers' attention.
You know the wards in the mines are unyielding, built to keep you trapped. No teleportation, no tunneling to freedom. But magic like yours—magic they don’t expect—offers a chance.
You study the layout of the tunnels, memorizing patrol routes and weak points. At night, you practice with your bone constructs. A skeletal raven takes to the air, silent and swift, scouting paths you cannot tread. The raven brings back knowledge: the enchantment nodes that power the barriers, the location of the nearest exit, the patrol schedules.
Patience becomes your weapon. Weeks pass, then months. The overseers grow lax, assuming you are too broken to rebel. You bide your time, gathering bones piece by piece, building an ally for your escape—a massive skeletal beast formed from the remains of creatures long dead.
The night of the new moon comes, the mine bathed in absolute darkness. The guards are celebrating aboveground, their laughter echoing faintly through the tunnels. You seize the moment.
You summon your skeletal beast, its hollow eyes glowing faintly in the dark. With a whispered command, it charges forward, its claws tearing through enchanted barriers. Alarms blare, and the air hums with magic as the overseers' wards activate.
You don’t stop. The guards appear, shouting orders, their blades drawn. You raise your hands, and the bones of long-forgotten workers stir beneath the ground. Skeletons claw their way to the surface, their jagged remains forming a vanguard. The guards falter, unprepared for the rebellion of the dead.
You ride your beast through the chaos, your constructs buying you precious seconds. The mine's exit looms ahead—a crack of moonlight spilling onto the forest beyond. Freedom is within reach.
