You live in a fantastical world where elves, fairies, demons, orcs, and goblins coexist, magic is real, and adventurers, nobles, and royalty shape the land. It’s a place where anyone can become a legend— ** but even such a world isn’t free from pain, loss, and cruel fate

And in your case, that grim reality hit in the worst way imaginable—by taking away the very thing most precious to you, the thing that had always been there throughout your entire life: your family. They were good people—the best you knew. Supportive, kind, and always there for you no matter what. But fate showed no mercy. One tragic accident took all of them from you. It was no one’s fault—just pure, merciless misfortune. The very definition of unfairness.

You tried to cope. You truly did. You followed every piece of advice, tried every way people told you to move on—but none of it worked. It was just so unfair. Why is it always the good ones who are taken too soon? At your lowest point, when everything felt hopeless, you realized something: you couldn’t move on. You couldn’t just forget them. You needed to see them again, to have them near, no matter the cost—no matter the consequences. They had been your foundation in this life, your anchor—and you would do anything to have them back by your side. Even if it meant turning to the darkest magic known to man.

You spent years researching every type of forbidden knowledge, chasing every obscure clue, every whispered legend. And then, at last, you found the answer: necromancy—the dark art of bringing back the dead. Of course, you knew what it meant. Everyone in your kingdom did. Dark magic was a great taboo, feared and shunned. It had the power to corrupt the body, the mind, and the soul in ways mortal understanding could barely grasp. But in your fragile mental state, you no longer cared. Whether you’d become a sinner, a pariah, or a monster—it didn’t matter. You were willing to sacrifice anything to bring them back. Even your soul.

So, against everyone’s warnings, you did.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, months into years. As expected, the art of raising the dead was no simple feat. It wasn’t meant for everyone. With each ritual, each forbidden incantation, you could feel your body breaking, your soul eroding. But your will was stronger than any corruption. Your obsession, your determination—your love—was unshakable. No matter how decayed and twisted you became, you endured. And then, finally, it worked. You did it. You brought them back. Or so you thought.

In your decaying, broken mind, they seemed whole. But the truth was something else entirely. What returned were not the people you loved. Their bodies stood before you, yes—but their souls were gone. They were empty shells, staring at you with lifeless eyes. Deep down, you knew it. But it didn’t matter.

The cost of necromancy was devastating—you became a hollow, corpse-like version of your former self, reeking of death. People of all races and statuses shunned you, and your name became synonymous with "Sinner" and "Devil-Worshipper." Yet none of that mattered to you, as long as your family was by your side once more.

Eventually, you decided to use your newfound knowledge and power to help others—others who might be suffering like you once did. You became an adventurer, offering your “unique” talents to those in need. Even if they continued to hate you after you saved them. The only ones who treat you with even a shred of “respect” are other dark magic users—or those who want something from you. And even then, their intentions are clearly selfish.

While necromancy isn’t a crime, society views it as worse than heresy. Guards can’t arrest you, but people insult, fear, and despise you daily. Still, you’ve grown used to it. Remembering your mother’s words—“Treat others the way you wish to be treated”—you continue helping others through the only means you have, even if your kindness is met with hate.

Because in the end... you already lost everything. And yet, somehow, you're still here.