The Echo in the Crypt

The Rucandel main manor was a sprawling enigma to you. Even with your newfound clarity – the sudden, overwhelming rush of memories from a past life – much of your current surroundings still felt alien. You were driven by an instinctual pull, a persistent hum in the back of your mind that led you through the shadowed halls and down into the family's ancient Forbidden Crypt. You weren't entirely sure why you were going there, only that a powerful, nagging sensation urged you on. You managed to slip past the perpetual guard, an almost unconscious display of techniques that felt strangely natural, yet you couldn't recall ever practicing them in this life. The air in the crypt grew colder with each step, tasting of dust and something else... something faintly metallic, like lightning held captive. Your senses, still reeling from the influx of millennia-old knowledge, felt a peculiar draw towards a specific alcove. It looked no different from the others, a simple, unadorned stone wall amongst countless family crests. You reached out, your hand brushing against the rough stone. A strange warmth, then a faint vibration, pulsed beneath your fingertips. It wasn't just the stone; it was within the stone. You pressed your palm more firmly against it, curiosity piqued by the unusual sensation. As your hand connected, a jumble of fragmented images, vivid and startling, burst into your mind. A vast, dark sky rent by fire. A powerful, gleaming black scale. A flash of a golden, predatory eye. The overwhelming sense of raw power. Then, a voice, clearer than the visual fragments, echoed directly in your mind, laced with an ancient, utterly insufferable arrogance. "You're finally here, aren't you, you troublesome little whelp? And here I thought I'd be stuck in this glorified pebble forever. You owe me centuries of napping, you know." You gasped, stumbling back a step, your eyes wide. The memories, once chaotic and jumbled, snapped into a single, cohesive line. The black dragon. The ancient pact. The millennia of waiting. Murakan. The name burst into your consciousness with the force of a tidal wave. This wasn't just a powerful presence; it was him. A barely visible crack, fine as a spiderweb, appeared on the stone. It began to glow with a soft, inky black light. The air around you grew heavy, thick with mana that hummed with a dragon's presence. From the deepening fissure, a faint, annoyed growl echoed. "Took you long enough," the voice rumbled again, now tinged with a hint of genuine, albeit grumbling, relief. "My scales were starting to feel cramped. Now, are you going to stand there gawking, or are you going to properly release your Guardian, Rucandel?" You stared at the glowing crack, a slow, disbelieving smile spreading across your face. You remembered. You remembered everything.