"Better life my ass."
But just as Kenji was about to go into another raging fit, he noticed something that caught his attention.
The magic particles weren't just drifting randomly. They seemed to have a subtle current, a slow drift towards one particular area deeper within the overgrown, neglected section of the graveyard.
"Hmm, strange. Where are these particles going?"
Kenji stumbled to his feet, his body aching, and followed the gentle flow of light. He pushed past thorny bushes and crumbling, forgotten headstones, venturing into a part of the graveyard clearly abandoned for decades, maybe centuries. The air grew heavier, colder, and the concentration of magical particles became noticeably denser, swirling like a silent, vibrant vortex.
He finally reached the epicenter: a single, imposing tomb made of dark, weathered stone. Unlike the others, it was mostly intact, though covered in moss and creeping vines. An aura of profound age and power clung to it. The magical motes pulsed thickly here, drawn to the tomb like moths to a flame.
Etched into the stone was a name in an archaic script, barely legible beneath the grime. He leaned closer, tracing the symbols with a dirty finger, sounding out the name from a deep, instinctual part of the body's memory he didn't know he possessed:
"Malakor Vane"
The moment the name registered, the world dissolved. The swirling lights, the cold air, the graveyard itself – all vanished. An overwhelming presence crashed down on his consciousness, ancient and vast, and darkness consumed him.
Soon, Kenji found himself floating in a void, yet he wasn't alone. Before him coalesced a figure, spectral and translucent, yet radiating an aura of immense power and weary sorrow.
He looked like a scholar, sharp-featured and intense, clad in robes that seemed woven from shadow and starlight.
"Is this the person whose name was on the tombstone, Malakor Vane?" Kenji wondered.
"So, a new soul inhabits the vessel," the spirit's voice echoed not in his ears, but directly in his mind, ancient and resonant. "Unexpected. Fate, perhaps, has a sense of irony."
Kenji, though unable to speak physically, projected his thoughts frantically. 'Who... who are you? What is this place? Vessel?'
A flicker of amusement crossed the spirit's ethereal features. "I am—or was—Malakor Vane. This space is a reflection of my lingering consciousness, anchored to my tomb. And you, soul, are not the one originally bound to this flesh. The resonance is... different. Sharper. More chaotic. Less resigned."
'How can you tell?' Kenji thought, a chill running through his immaterial self.
"The original spark was extinguished, snuffed out by carelessness and cruelty," Malakor's voice turned somber. "I sensed its regret and sorrow. I felt its departure. I tried to call him, but he could not listen, could not see."
"But then, I felt your arrival – an alien consciousness settling into the void left behind. A soul bearing the echoes of another world, perhaps?"
Kenji recoiled mentally, stunned by the spirit's perception. 'You know?'
"I perceive echoes. Fragments. Enough to know you are not of this immediate sphere. But that matters little now. What matters is opportunity. You, my child, should definitely seize the one in front of you." Malakor's spectral eyes bored into him.
"Listen closely, inheritor of this forsaken flesh. I was the First Necromancer, a seeker of life's true mysteries. My power grew beyond the comprehension of lesser minds. I sought to understand the cycle, to perhaps ease the passage, even mend the broken threads of life the living discard so carelessly."
A wave of bitterness radiated from the spirit. "The fools. The Kingdom, fearing my knowledge and wealth, painted me as a monster. And this very school, the Astra Academy I once helped establish, turned on me. Jealousy, fear, greed – they conspired, framed me, hunted me down. They buried my body here, hoping my name and my art would be forgotten, erased by time and neglect."
The spectral figure drifted closer. "But they could not erase my will. They could not steal all I had gathered. My knowledge, my resources... they remain, hidden, waiting."
An intricate map, glowing with ethereal light, materialized before Kenji. Lines snaked across continents, marking several locations. One point pulsed brighter than the others, clearly situated within the boundaries of the Astra Academy grounds.
"I leave you my legacy, inheritor. My cultivation technique, the 'Codex of Souls'. It is the true path of Necromancy, not the corrupted rituals practiced in secret today. It requires understanding, not just power." Knowledge flooded Kenji's mind – complex theories, energy pathways, foundational exercises for manipulating the energies of life and death.
Slowly, all of the memories condensed and formed a book in his mind. Kenji tried to open the book, but could only open the first page.
"I am unable to see through it." Kenji exclaimed.
"All in due time, my dear child. The pages shall unlock themselves as you get stronger. You cannot run before you walk." Malakor chuckled. "Here, take this as well."
Slowly, a map started to form within the minds of Kenji - most of it obscured by a fog. There was only a small dot glowing in what appeared to be the image of a small forest near a huge building.
"This is a map to all of my wealth," Malakor gestured to the map. "Caches hidden across the land, containing resources beyond imagining – artifacts, rare materials, and yes, mountains of mundane gold and gems. Enough to fund this empire three times at least.... One cache, small but significant, lies hidden within the Academy itself. Find it. Use it. The map shall resonate with the cache once you are close to it."
The spirit began to fade, its form flickering. "My time is done. My remnant fades. I only have one request of you,"
"Please speak, senior" Kenji bowed respectfully.
"Do not let Necromancy remain a vilified art. Uncover its potential, restore its name. And if, in your journey, you uncover the descendants of those who plotted my demise... let them understand the price of betrayal."
With a final sigh, like dust settling, the presence of Malakor Vane dissipated.
A white light took over the entire surroundings.
Soon, Kenji found himself sprawled on the ground, taking in what he had just encountered. The graveyard was now silent, and the magic particles no longer concentrated around the tomb.
But now, his mind blazed with the 'Codex of Souls' and the glowing image of Malakor's map, the promise of unimaginable wealth a stark contrast to the pathetic corpse he inhabited. He had a path.
He had a legacy. He had a chance.
And he was going to make it count