Mat stood there looking at the coffin's lid silently. This had to be a joke. There's either nothing in that coffin, or he's just.. he didn't know anymore. This is too absurd, no fucking way this was real. It had to be empty, it had to be empty.
He looked up at the portrait corresponding to the coffin, and saw what had been him once, in the past. The one he is right now.
It was the portrait of a boy who looked too young to be in a portrait like this, where almost every other was a middle aged or old man. He had grey hair like the rest of his ancestors, and large blue eyes that framed his face beautifully. He was a young boy though, and as kids are, he looked too young to be doing anything of this sort, ruling a duchy, or burning to death in sacrifice.
Mat touched the coffin, and traced the words that wrote his name. There was a thum of magic to the coffin, he could feel it flowing through the lid and all across it. It felt different than the gates he had felt it in till now, though. It felt familiar, like it was his own. It resonated with him, his soul. Mat inadvertently let some of his mana out, and it swirled around the coffin's lid.
It twirled and it danced, and it swam along the little box where his name was written, until it settled into the characters. A little more of his mana leeched out and the characters started glowing in a cyan light. Something was happening. Mat took a step back in surprise, and cautiously observed the coffin. Nothing more happened after that, but this time, when he got closer and touched it again, there was no thum of magic on it, as if an old spell that kept it together, and held it safe and enclosed, was suddenly lifted.
Indeed, Mat knew this instant that he could open the coffin with little effort now, if he wanted to. He was not sure if he wanted to, though. Or if he even should. What if he was wrong? What if Mordain was actually buried in here? Would it not be blasphemous to open the coffin of the dead? Would it not be an insult to him, whose supposed body he now had a second life in?
He didn't know. There was little chance it would be like that, after all he was Mordain, no way there was going to be another in there. There was that little voice in the back of his head, that told him that he should do it. He needed any and all information he could find, and he needed to do this.
Mat took a long breath, and steadied his heart. He walked to the side of the coffin, and held the lid with both his hands. He gently lifted it up, and closed his eyes. He would do whatever he could to delay it. He carefully put the lid on the ground and stood op again. He finally opened his eyes and looked inside what was supposed to be the container for his corpse.
He sighed in relief to find no corpse or bones in there for a moment. He was glad. But that meant it was certain that he was indeed Mordain—the last scion of house Noxleigh—now, an undead.
Although there was no corpse in the coffin—fortunately so, he reminded himself—there there was a piece of cloth wrapping around something. He turned to Mordain's portrait, and bowed to it, before lifting up the cloth and unwrapping it.
It opened to reveal a black, ebony like, thick piece of wood looking as uninteresting as piece of wood could be. It was anything but a simple piece of wood though.
A large black gem was embedded at the top of the staff, covered on all sides by the segments of the wood fibres like they had been wrapped around it carefully. Wrapped around the staff though, was also a piece of parchment paper.
Mat opened it to see it filled with those same runic words.
It was a little letter.
___
Mordain, my dear
If you are reading this, of which I am sure that only you would read this, no one else will be able to open that coffin. So, if you are reading this, it means that the prophecy has come true. It means that our sacrifice was worth it. You have returned, risen from the ashes like the phoenyx you are, my dear. It means half of our work is already completed. Now there is only one thing left to do. You need to stop the hunt. Faith and powers of your ancestors are behind you, and you shall also put your faith in them. If you are alive, then it has already begun, the hunt. Kill him, if you must, that is the only way to peace.
Forgive me son, we do not have much time, and we must hurry. If you could, then please forgive me for putting you through this ordeal. How I wished I could save you from this fate, but that is what house Noxleigh's legacy is. That is the prophecy we have followed for centuries, and this is the only way. Forgive me, son. Forgive me.
Your father
Mordred Noxleigh
___
Mat felt disturbed reading something so private, meant only for his predecessor.. but he kept reading and reached the end. It was.. surprising to say the least. It all but confirmed that the house Noxleigh killed themselves just so they could follow some crazy prophecy. Mat was certainly infuriated at this sort of medieval fanaticism.
It's possible that there might actually be some truth to the prophecy, but he didn't know if there was any. And as long as it was, he could only doubt and look at the family of his predecessor in disdain. He felt nothing but growing sympathy and pity for the poor boy who died not even understanding why it was all happening.
A sour taste filled his mouth, and Mat felt sick. He channelled his mana and burnt the parchment with Noxfire, turning it into floating petals of ash in a mere moment.
He was going to ignore all his realisations for the moment.
He focused on the staff instead.
['Status']
He spoke in his mind, and a window flashed to him.
+++
Heart of the Night (Rare, Incomplete Treasure)
[Ancestral Staff of House Noxleigh]
Description: Ancestral staff of the House Noxleigh, possesses mysterious powers beyond human comprehension, said to have been used in the ancient war of the first epoch. Can only be used by a blood member of house Noxleigh.
+++
Amazing, he thought as he read the information.
It was a very interesting little trivia. This staff could either be an actual legendary weapon, or be a piece of wood with overblown tales meant to scam people into throwing golds on it while it only valued pennies.
Mat was not too sure either way, because the larger possibility would simple be that it was a mid range, sufficiently strong weapon. Although its incomplete made him think of some other possibilities.
He traced his fingers along its surface. Its black wood made his fingers chill like it was covered in a sheet of ice. He ignored the discomfort and grabbed it in his right hand, pulling it out of the coffin, and keeping it on the ground like he imagined mages in grand fantasies did. He was reminded of Gandalf the White, the all knowing wizard and imagined himself with a long white beard.. except that he had not even a body, let alone anything that came along with it.
The discomfort from the cold had subsided, and now he only felt a little comforting chill from the staff.
Mat wanted to try something.
He let his magic flow along the channels in his body, and erode in little bits through the staff. He directed it to the several bulbs of light that he had kept up to keep the room bright, and suddenly, they all flared up ten times bright.
"Truly amazing." Mat said in joy.
Walking about on the circular platform, Mat looked at every single coffin, and its corresponding portrait, before he walked down from the stairs opposite to the ones he had come from.
'I will not let your sacrifice go to waste. Whatever you were supposed to do, if it is real, I will complete it.'
He had one last look at Mordain's portrait, the face of that innocent child, and promised him his legacy. He was determined to do so, especially for someone who gave him a new chance at life, however deathly it might be.
Mat turned towards the exit, and walked out of this ornate hall. The door to the exit opened the moment he was in five paces of it. He walked out of there like he owned the place. Considering who he was.. he pretty much did.
When Mat walked out of the room, the doors closed behind him, both the entrance and the exit. Something told him he could enter in there again anytime he wanted though.
Out of that room, Mat was now more confident about experimenting with the staff.
He channelled his mana through it again, and the staff hummed to him in response. The large gem, the size of a fist, started glowing in a cyan-greyish light and filled the room with its control. Mat felt like he owned any and all mana within a few feet of himself. It was an amazing feeling, the sense of power, of control.
The other side of the ancestral hall was a similar basement like room that he had come from on the other side. Mat lit up several bright bulbs of light, and the rooms brightened to reveal itself. There were more skeletons here than before. His confidence disappeared, and suddenly he was back to his cautious self. He carefully walked through them, making sure not to disturb any of them, and looked for a way out.
Walking along the walls of the room, Mat traced for any way out. His light balls did well brightening up the atmosphere, this not only made it easier for him to look around, but also made the room feel less scary. He was glad he could do things like this.
It took him a few minutes before he found a similar stairway leading upwards, this time hidden behind a pillar protruding from the far wall of the room.
Just as he was about to climb his way out, he heard a clack behind him.
Multiple undeads slowly were rising up to their feet. He didn't know what was their problem, or why they would just stay put and wait for him to lower his guard only to then jump-scare him. He poured his mana and the lights in the room brightened substantially, leaving no corner untouched and no undead unseen.
"Well, as good of a staff it can be." Mat said to himself before he closed his eyes for a moment, and imagined a type of spell he had seen in video games often.
A large circle of blue coloured light appeared on the room's ceiling, covering all the undeads in its shadow. Then, cyan flames rained down from the skies. Mat didn't wait for the undeads to stand up or get ready to attack him, he gave them no chance, he was getting tired now.
Although the flames only came out in trickles, in Mat's head they were bright pillars of inferno raging on the ground. It was nothing of sort, of course, but it did the job. One by one, each and every undead burnt in the place it stood, some screeching, some not even awake enough to do that.
One thing was certain though, making fire that hurt was way harder and energy consuming than just making bright little light bulbs.
'I am not a god! Although it is cool to imagine myself as one sometimes!' Mat sighed in reality, and finally walked up the staircase again. On the other side too, it had that similar gate made of steel rods, but a little touch of his magic was enough to deactivate it, and it opened with ease. Getting out, Mat looked around to see where he was. Indeed, he was on the other side of the courtyard where he was planning to go after checking the tower, and the catacombs themselves led him here. Good thing.
In front of him stood another arching gate, at the tail end of the courtyard.
Hopefully this will be the last one, and he would finally see the outside world.