Nyxtharion became history's first necromancer.
But…
"What is that power? Disgusting."
"A proud dragon using dead as his pawns… is revolting. Let's not meet again."
"Is he really 'his' grandson?"
"That power is evil! He must be banished!"
Nyxtharion didn't understand why they were acting like that. Evil? That depended on the holder's hand.
In correct hands, Necromancy could allow anyone to be strong. It could change tides of wars.
Fear. Disgust.
And finally…
"You will be banished."
"Why, grandfather!? Why? What have I done wrong? The power can never be evil! Darkness isn't evil, death isn't evil, then why Necromancy!"
Nyxtharion still remembered those emotionless eyes filled with apathy looking down on him.
"Tell me, Nyxtharion. If someone resurrects your parents and makes them dance to his whim, force them to do something utterly disgusting, would you still say the same?"
"That's just a hypothetical—"
