Diary Entry Found In The Crypts of Dawnhaven

Entry 1: The Fallen Sun
Day of the King’s Passing

The news came at dusk, borne by a trembling courier whose face was pale as bone. The king—our radiant sovereign, the Sun of the Dawn Empire—was dead. A hunting accident, they claimed. A pierced heart, swift and final.

We gathered in the crypt beneath Dawnhaven, our sanctum of shadow. Whispers turned to urgent voices, voices to arguments. His death could not be allowed to stand. Without him, the realm would fracture like brittle glass. The lords would war. The people would starve. The Empire’s light would dim, leaving only ash.

Yet, even in our panic, there was purpose. We are necromancers, sworn to the preservation of balance between life and death. The king must rise.

Entry 3: The Price of Immortality
Three Days After the King’s Passing

The body arrived at midnight, shrouded in ceremonial gold, the crimson of his blood long dried. We worked in silence, the weight of our task heavy as the stone walls around us. His corpse was intact—thank the gods of twilight—but the soul had begun its journey beyond the veil.

It would not return willingly. Souls tethered to mortal crowns often resist rebirth, for the weight of rulership lingers even in death.

We prepared the Circle of Ascension, etching runes of binding and remembrance into the floor with obsidian blades. Each of us made our offerings: a drop of blood, a fragment of bone, and—most sacred of all—a shard of our will. To anchor him would require parts of ourselves, fragments we may never reclaim.

“Do we preserve the man, or the crown?” one of us dared to ask.

“The crown,” another answered. “The man is dead. The empire must live.”

Entry 7: The King Returns
Seven Days After the King’s Passing

The ritual succeeded—or so it seems.

The chamber was bathed in cold, unnatural light as his eyes opened. Not the warm amber of the living king, but pale gold, shimmering like dawn over a frost-covered field. He rose slowly, his movements deliberate, as though he still remembered how the living moved.

“Who calls me back?” his voice rasped, hollow and heavy.

“We, your faithful servants,” we answered as one. “The empire needs you, Your Grace.”

He stared at us, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, we feared we had summoned a wrathful shadow, a hollow mimicry of the king we knew. But then, he nodded. “Then let the dawn rise once more.”

Relief flooded through us, though it was tinged with unease. He spoke as our king, but there was a weight to his voice—a timelessness, as if the man he had been was now something more.

Entry 10: The Shadow Council
Fourteen Days After the King’s Passing

The king sits upon the throne once more, and the lords bow before him. They do not question his distant demeanor, nor the sudden chill in his presence. For them, his voice alone is enough, steady and commanding. Order remains intact.

But we, the Circle, know the truth. This is no longer the king we served in life. He is a tethered being, bound by oaths and sorcery, his soul fractured and reforged. The man who laughed in the halls of the sunlit palace is gone.

It falls to us to rule in the shadows. The king trusts us—or perhaps tolerates us—to ensure the realm's survival. We have sworn a new oath, one that binds us to secrecy and sacrifice. The people must never know.

From this day forth, we are the Shadow Council of the Dawn Empire. While the king wears the crown, we will bear the burden. Peace has a cost, and we have paid it willingly.

Entry 15: The Fractured Dawn
One Month After the King’s Passing

Already, we see the strain. The king’s advisors grow wary of his icy demeanor, his inability to recall small details from his reign. There are whispers of illness, of divine punishment.

We work tirelessly to preserve the illusion. Messages are intercepted. Dissenters are silenced. Each day we meet in the crypt to strengthen the wards binding his soul to this plane. It is draining us, piece by piece, but the alternative is unthinkable.

The people sing of the "Eternal Dawn" as though it is a blessing. If only they knew what keeps their empire standing.

Final Entry: The Eternal Task
Date Unknown

It is clear now: our king will never be as he was. The man is gone, and what remains is something between light and shadow, a living memory. Yet, he endures, and through him, the Dawn Empire stands unbroken.

We, too, endure. We are no longer just necromancers but stewards of a fragile peace, custodians of a secret that must never be revealed. The world above basks in the light of the eternal sun, ignorant of the shadows that hold it aloft.

Our work is endless. Our sacrifices are unseen. But we are resolute. For the empire, for the people, for the fragile dawn that must not fade—we will remain.