Weeks after the second call of heroes, the air around the kingdom was filled with an unnatural stillness. Mah’nethotep, Talich, Ta’fair, and the remaining lords of necromancy prepared for their journey to the newly formed Moon of Necromancy. This 'moon,' once a celestial body, had transformed into something more. It was now a vast, ethereal plane of magic that pulsed with dark energies, a realm that would serve as a sanctuary and a source of strength for those who wielded the craft of necromancy.

  The new realm was no longer a simple physical object orbiting the world. It had become an entire plane of existence, where necromantic magic flowed freely like the currents of a great river, untamed and boundless. Upon their arrival, Mah’nethotep immediately sensed that the well of power, the ancient source of necromantic strength that had once governed the moon, had not returned. Instead, the plane seemed to exude necromantic magic, raw and limitless, lacking structure and stability.

  The landscape around them was barren, like a void between worlds. Vast stretches of shadowy terrain spread out before them, formless and incomplete. Mah’nethotep and Ta’fair shared a knowing glance; they had anticipated this. The creation of the plane of Necromancy, was only the beginning. They would need to shape it, to make it inhabitable, and to restore its function as a bastion of their magical craft.

  With a slow, deliberate gesture, Mah’nethotep raised his hands, his fingers tracing intricate patterns in the air. Ta’fair mirrored his movements on the opposite side of the plane. The two began to chant, weaving their spells together with precise harmony. The ground trembled, and in the distance, dark clouds swirled as though responding to their call.

  The bronze elves, renowned for their mastery in planetary creation, were not simply artisans of rock and earth; they were architects of worlds. They understood the delicate balance needed to forge life from nothingness. With Mah’nethotep and Ta’fair at the helm, their magic acted as a primal force, reshaping the chaotic plane. Soon, trees began to sprout from the shadowy soil, their bark dark and smooth like obsidian, their leaves shimmering with faint necromantic energy. Boulders formed from the void, solidifying into jagged cliffs and smooth stones, each infused with magic that anchored the plane's existence.

  Water flowed next, conjured from the very essence of the plane itself. Streams of inky black liquid bubbled up from the ground, winding through the newly formed valleys and coalescing into rivers and lakes. This was no ordinary water, imbued with necromantic power, carrying the essence of life and death in its depths. As the seas spread, the plane began to stabilize, the magic settling into a rhythm as nature took root in this otherworldly realm.

  Despite the rapid progress, the place was eerily beautiful. The sky above them was not a sky at all but a swirling vortex of dark magic, faintly illuminated by flashes of violet lightning. The atmosphere felt heavy, like the world was alive, breathing with the magic that filled every corner of the plane. Time seemed to move differently here, and though they worked tirelessly, it felt like mere minutes had passed.

  The other lords of necromancy stood back, watching in awe as Mah’nethotep, Ta’fair, quickly shaped the plane. This act of creation was something new, an act of life. They were building a sanctuary, a world where necromancy could thrive without interference from the other moons or the prying eyes of mortals.

  After hours, or perhaps days, the landscape had transformed completely. What had once been an empty void was now a living plane, complete with forests of shadowy trees, towering cliffs, and dark water rivers shimmering with necromantic energy. It was a place of eerie tranquility.

  Mah’nethotep lowered his hands, his magic now settled into the foundations of the plane. He glanced at Ta’fair and Talich, who both nodded in satisfaction. The work was done. The Moon of Necromancy was no longer a simple celestial object but an entire realm of its own, a plane of dark magic where necromancers could draw power from the very essence of the land.

  "This will serve us well," Mah’nethotep said, his voice echoing across the newly formed plane. "It is now a place of power that will be a refuge and source of strength for those who wield our craft."

  Ta’fair looked out across the vast landscape, her eyes gleaming with pride. "We have not only reclaimed what was lost, but we have built something greater. A sanctuary for the forgotten."

  Talich smiled faintly, the task behind them. "And now it is ours to protect."

  Once the plane of necromancy had been stabilized and the land had taken shape, Mah’nethotep wasted no time in beginning the next phase of his plan: the construction of grand cities, castles, and other structures to make the plane habitable for those who would call it home. He summoned his vast undead workforce, which had long been under his command. These tireless, deathless laborers had once served him on the mortal plane, but now they had a far greater task: building a necropolis worthy of the Lords of Necromancy.

  With a single gesture, Mah’nethotep brought the undead forth from the shadowed depths of the plane. They rose from the dark earth like soldiers obeying a long-dormant command, their skeletal forms gleaming faintly in the dim, violet-tinged light of the plane. Some were ancient warriors, still clad in rusted armor, while others were more recently dead, still bearing the marks of their demise. Despite their differences, they all moved with eerie precision, as if guided by an unseen hand. Their hollow eye sockets seemed to glow with a malevolent intelligence, and the sound of their bones scraping against each other filled the air.

  Mah’nethotep stood at the head of this army, his eyes glowing with the dark power that sustained them. He did not need spoken commands. The undead understood his will as clearly as he had spoken it aloud. The first task was to construct the heart of this new world—a grand necropolis that would serve as both a seat of power and a home for the lords of necromancy.

  At Mah’nethotep's direction, the undead gathered the materials needed for the construction. They worked ceaselessly, for they required neither rest nor sustenance. Stones were torn from the jagged cliffs that lined the plane, each boulder hewn with unnatural precision. Massive blocks of obsidian and dark granite were pulled from the earth, each infused with necromantic energy to give them strength beyond mortal stone. The rivers of black water provided the foundation for alchemical mixtures that would reinforce the structures, their necromantic essence flowing through the mortar and stone.

  Under Mah’nethotep's gaze, the first city began to rise from the dark soil. It was a place of shadows and grandeur, its architecture both alien and familiar, as though it had been pulled from the dreams of the dead. Tall spires pierced the swirling sky, their tips crackling with necromantic energy. Massive fortresses with blackened walls stood sentinel at the edges of the growing city, their battlements designed to withstand any assault, whether from the living or the dead.

  The streets of the necropolis were wide and paved with smooth obsidian, reflecting the dark sky above like a mirror. Towers of bone and stone twisted upward in intricate designs, their structures held together by magic rather than mundane engineering. Skulls, carved with arcane runes, adorned the fa?ades of the buildings, their hollow eyes glowing faintly with the energy that permeated the entire plane.

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  Mah’nethotep's undead engineers, necromancers of ages past, directed the construction with silent efficiency. They moved through the skeletal workforce, ensuring each tower, fortress, and home was perfectly crafted. The grand halls of the necropolis were designed to host councils of necromancers, their long, echoing corridors lined with the statues of long-forgotten lords. The central keep, where Mah’nethotep himself would reside, was the crown jewel of the necropolis. It was a fortress unlike any other, a massive black citadel, its walls engraved with the history of necromancy and adorned with sigils pulsed with dark magic.

  Beyond the necropolis itself, Mah’nethotep had grander plans. He ordered his undead forces to expand their work to other parts of the plane, raising castles and fortresses in key locations. Each stronghold was a sanctuary for necromancers, where they could practice their craft without fear of persecution or interference. These fortresses were linked to the necropolis by vast networks of magical gates, allowing swift travel between them, regardless of distance.

  The undead, tireless as ever, expanded their efforts to create everything necessary for life, or unlife, on the plane. Great libraries were constructed, their shelves filled with ancient tomes of necromantic lore and forbidden knowledge. Laboratories for alchemy and dark magic were built into the foundations of many of the castles, their walls lined with the tools of the trade, cauldrons, beakers, and reagents infused with necromantic power.

  Even the plane's natural landscape was shaped to serve the needs of its inhabitants. The rivers of black water, once aimless streams, were redirected and harnessed, their flows controlled by arcane sluice gates that powered the plane's alchemical machinery. Forests of shadow trees, those dark, obsidian-barked plants created by Ta’fair and Mah’nethotep, were cultivated and expanded, providing resources for construction and magical rites.

  As cities and fortresses rose from the ground, the plane of necromancy began to feel like a world unto itself. It was where the dead ruled, and necromancers would soon come to dwell in safety and power. The once-barren land now teemed with life, or a form of it. The necropolis and its surrounding castles were filled with the silent, tireless movement of the undead, their bodies continuing to shape the realm long after they had completed their initial tasks.

  Standing at the heart of this dark, new world, Mah'nethotep gazed upon the growing cities and castles with satisfaction. "This is only the beginning," he thought, his mind already turning to future plans.

  Mah’nethotep stood at the edge of the newly formed plane, his dark robes fluttering in unseen energy currents. His ancient eyes glowed with a faint luminescence as he surveyed the vast expanse before him. The plane was whole, yet it resonated with a sense of incompleteness. The pulse of power that should have flooded the air was weaker than he had anticipated. It was missing something.

  He closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, feeling the tendrils of power that flowed from the well that had given birth to this realm. The well had nearly been drained to accomplish this feat, yet a residual current lingered, not within the plane, but within something else. Mah’nethotep’s brow furrowed as he traced the energy back to its source… Zavet.

  Some of the well’s raw power still thrummed inside the young lizardman, clinging to him like a second skin. It made sense. Zavet had been at the center of the ritual, a conduit for the energy that reshaped magic into a plane. He had absorbed more than anyone anticipated.

  Beside him, Ta'Fair stepped forward, her ethereal form shimmering in the half-light of the new world. Her voice was soft but carried a weight of concern.

  “The plane is not at its full power,” she said, her gaze following Mah’nethotep's. "And neither are you. The power you should hold is inside him. You are incomplete."

  Mah’nethotep’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "It's fine," he replied, his voice calm yet laced with underlying authority. "Zavet’s power is stronger than the gap between my current and full power. It's better to have him as an ally in his current state. Rather than his allies being my enemy. Because if I take his power, they will find out eventually. "

  He turned away from the distant horizon to meet Ta'Fair’s gaze. “Right now, we need every bit of strength we can muster. We don't know how long we have until Wispein breaks free of her chains. The moment she does, we will be at war. So let's take a nice break."

  Ta'Fair's eyes narrowed as she processed his words. "And after Wispein?"

  "After we've dealt with her," Mah’nethotep said, his tone darkening for a moment but softening unexpectedly, "Then we will let Zavet live his life."

  Ta'Fair tilted her head, her shimmering form flickering slightly as she processed his words. "You would spare him? Even with the power he holds?"

  Mah’nethotep gave a dismissive wave, his eyes narrowing as though the thought amused him. "I don’t need the little strength I’d gain from his power. It’s a mere fraction of what I have already reclaimed. Zavet may be powerful, but it’s not worth the trouble."

  Ta'Fair’s gaze grew sharper, questioning. "But the well’s energy."

  "Iscariot," Mah’nethotep interrupted smoothly, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. "I got more than enough from him during the ritual. His essence provided far more than Zavet’s ever could. Taking Zavet’s power now would be like scraping the bottom of the well. Unnecessary."

  Ta'Fair’s eyes softened in understanding. "So you let him go."

  "Yes," Mah’nethotep said, turning his gaze away and staring once more at the vastness of the newly created plane. "He’s no longer relevant to what comes next. I have what I need, and there are bigger threats." His voice grew quieter, almost like he spoke more to himself than to her. "Zavet’s fate is his own now. We have more important things to prepare for."

  "Maybe I’ll take his power for my own," Ta’Fair said, her voice lilting with a casual confidence that broke the silence. Her shimmering form rippled as if her presence stirred the air around them.

  Mah’nethotep’s expression darkened, and with a slow exhale, he dropped his head in disappointment. He turned to her, his ancient eyes weary yet filled with a deep, steady resolve. "No," he said firmly, his voice low but clear. "He is one of mine. I see him like a grandson."

  Ta'Fair rolled her eyes, unimpressed by his sentimentality. "We are equals, Mah’nethotep. Your claim over him doesn’t bind me. If I want his power," she leaned in closer, her voice smooth but tinged with a dangerous edge, "I will take it."

  Mah’nethotep straightened, his form becoming more imposing as his authority filled the space between them. "You might want to rethink that, Ta'Fair. He carries more than raw power; he carries potential, something I will not squander. If you overreach, you risk undoing everything we’ve built."

  Ta'Fair’s eyes flashed, her lips curling into a sly smile. "Perhaps. But I’ve never been one to let an opportunity pass me by." Her voice held a teasing tone, but the underlying threat was real. She turned away slightly as if already bored with the conversation, but her words hung in the air.

  Mah’nethotep stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "He is one of mine," he repeated, his voice softening yet commanding. "Do not forget that, Ta'Fair. There are lines you should not cross."

  She paused, then glanced back at him, her smile fading slightly. Her sharp gaze lingered on Mah’nethotep briefly as if whether to continue pressing her will. For now, she said nothing further. But their tension had undeniably shifted, a subtle undercurrent of conflict simmering beneath their calm exchange.

  After a moment of silence, they parted ways.