The building of the Magic Academy was large, pompous and very bright. The corridors were always noisy, everywhere you could hear the laughter of students, the quiet conversations of former graduates and the confident steps of teachers. Life was always in full swing here.

The basement of the Academy was a completely different place. The dark and cold corridors were plunged into almost complete silence, and it was rare to meet a random visitor here. And no, the basement was not some kind of closed, forbidden or dangerous place. It was just that few people liked the oppressive atmosphere of these halls, as well as the barely perceptible, but still specific smell of death, absorbed into these walls. And all it because the basement of the Magic Academy was chosen by those few eccentrics who decided to dedicate their lives to the study of death magic and necromancy.

Among these strange individuals was Bertram Leverett. Once the son of a poor Baron, and now one of the most promising necromancers of the Academy, after the tragic events that happened to his family, decided to devote himself to the knowledge of the secrets of death.

The melodic sounds of the piano were carried through the spacious windowless hall that Bertram had chosen and made his laboratory. The bony fingers of Ricci, whom Bertram called his assistant, glided over the keys, extracting a beautiful melody from an old but perfectly tuned instrument.

In the middle of the office stood a large ancient sarcophagus made of white marble. The ‘contents’ of it were neatly laid out on the table nearby. The bones were carefully sorted and cleaned of dust and ashes. The dark figure of Bertram leaned over the stone slab, which had once been the lid of the coffin. The necromancer ran his finger over the ancient runes, his lips moving silently as he tried to decipher the old inscription.

Bertram heard a knock on his office door and winced slightly, annoyed at the interruption. “Come in,” he replied, straightening up and looking at the door.