Legacy of Death

Arthur's heartbeat pounded in his ears, his body frozen under the weight of the figure's presence.

The man—if he could even be called that—sat with effortless grace atop the altar, his head tilted slightly, watching Arthur with amusement.

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

Arthur swallowed the dry lump in his throat. His voice came out sharp, laced with the bitterness that had become second nature to him.

"Yeah, well, it's not every day you fall into a nightmare and meet a bastard who looks like he crawled out of a black hole."

The man chuckled. It was a slow, deliberate sound, as if he relished Arthur's defiance.

"Oh, I like you already."

Arthur's fists clenched. He didn't know what this thing was, but every cell in his body screamed that he was standing before something wrong.

Something ancient.

Something hungry.

"You're right, though," the man continued, shifting his weight. "This isn't a dream. And I am no ghost." His void-like eyes gleamed. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

Arthur stayed silent.

Because the truth was—he did.

Deep in his bones, beyond logic or memory, something in him recognized this presence. Like a forgotten name lingering at the edge of his thoughts, just out of reach.

The man's smile widened. "Oh, come on. I can practically hear your thoughts crawling toward the truth. Just say it."

Arthur's voice was a whisper. "Who… are you?"

The man laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, little heir, that's the wrong question." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, those abyssal eyes locking onto Arthur's own.

"The question you should be asking is—"

The air shifted. The darkness around them seemed to pulse, the carvings on the walls twisting as if alive.

"—who are you?"

Arthur's breath hitched.

A sudden, violent pressure crashed into his mind. Images flooded his vision—shattered memories, forgotten voices, whispers that belonged to no one and everyone at once.

Flashes of war. Wings dark as the void itself. The echo of a name spoken in reverence, in fear.

And a dagger—plunging into flesh that should have been unkillable.

Arthur staggered back, clutching his head. "Stop—!"

The pressure vanished.

Arthur gasped, his vision swimming, but the man remained exactly where he was—calm, patient, like a predator watching its prey realize what was about to happen.

"There it is." His voice was soft now, almost... pleased. "You feel it, don't you? The cracks in your soul. The truth clawing its way back."

Arthur's breathing was ragged. "What the hell did you just do?"

The man leaned back with a smirk. "I didn't do anything, heir. You're the one who woke up."

Arthur shook his head. "I don't—" He stopped.

Because he did.

He felt it.

Something deep inside him had shifted—something he had spent his entire life not knowing was missing.

A silence stretched between them.

Then the man sighed, standing up in a fluid motion. "Well, this has been fun, but I didn't drag your soul into the abyss just to chat. You have work to do, heir. And whether you want to or not, you're going to wake up soon."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Wake up?"

The man smiled.

And then—

The ground beneath Arthur shattered.

A force yanked him upward, light swallowing his vision as the darkness collapsed around him.

The last thing he heard was the man's voice, amused and distant—

"See you soon, little heir."

And then—

Arthur's eyes snapped open, his body drenched in sweat, his breath ragged. The ceiling of his room loomed above him, the dim morning light filtering through the curtains.

For a second, he lay there, his pulse still racing.

Had it been a dream? A hallucination?

But then he felt it.

A presence coiled deep in his soul, lurking beneath his skin like a shadow waiting to rise.

Arthur wasn't sure what had changed.

But something had.

And there was no going back.