Zavet wakes up, his mind foggy, unable to remember his journey as a spirit. The cold, stone floor beneath him feels unfamiliar. He looks around, taking in the dimly lit resurrection hall. Shadows dance on the walls, cast by the flickering torches. Before him stands a skeleton adorned with a crown, its eye sockets glowing with an eerie blue light. He immediately recognizes it as a lich.

  "Hi," Zavet greets the lich, his voice echoing slightly in the vast chamber.

  "Who has given you permission to use this resurrection hall?" the lich demands in a voice that carries a threatening undertone, clearly unafraid to use force if necessary.

  "Talich, I think. I don't know. I have never seen this place. What is it?" Zavet stands and begins to walk around, his curiosity piqued by his strange surroundings.

  Not satisfied with Zavet's response, the lich raises a bony hand and casts a paralyzing spell. However, the spell does not affect Zavet. The lizard man turns to face the lich.

  "What was that?" Zavet asks, unfazed.

  Frustrated, the lich attempts a more powerful necrotic spell. The dark energy surges toward Zavet, but instead of harming him, it heals him.

  "Thanks, but I'm not hurt," Zavet replies, bemused by the lich's apparent attempts to aid him.

  Anger flares in the lich's glowing eyes as he draws a golden sword and lunges at Zavet. The blade sinks into Zavet's scales, which does very little damage to him.

  "Ok, wow. You must really want to heal me," Zavet remarks, still unbothered.

  The lich pauses, his skeletal face astonished. Then, with a shrug, he attacks again. This time, Zavet uses his powerful tail to knock the sword from the lich's hand effortlessly.

  "No, thank you," Zavet says, his tone almost playful.

  The lich's eyes blaze with frustration as he prepares another spell, this one crackling with cold blue energy. The icy blast hits Zavet, burning like a healing spell would, causing parts of his body to frost over.

  "Ouch! Why did you do that?" Zavet exclaims, jumping back, the frost shimmering on his scales.

  As the lich prepares another icy spell, a commanding presence fills the hall. Mahnethotep strides in, his aura of authority instantly noticeable. The lich hesitates, his glowing eyes flicking to Mahnethotep.

  Zavet's confusion quickly turns into mischievous energy as he leaps onto the lich, climbing its bony frame like a tree. The lich struggles under the unexpected assault.

  "Play easy, Tear," Mah’nethotep chuckles, watching Zavet hanging onto the lich.

  The lich, clearly exasperated, looks over to Mah’nethotep, his skeletal features showing a mix of fear and respect. "Uhh, Master Mah’nethotep. You bless the guild with your presence. We are not properly prepared for a visit from the master himself."

  Mah’nethotep's imposing figure stands in the doorway, his eyes glowing with ancient wisdom and power. The lich quickly pushes Zavet off and begins to hurriedly tidy the hall, his movements frantic. "Stop it, lizard. Help me clean."

  Zavet, still bewildered, shrugs. He watches Tear momentarily, trying to understand what "cleaning" entails. Mimicking the lich's movements, he grabs a nearby broom and begins to sweep, though his actions are clumsy and inefficient. He looks over at Tear, who is hastily organizing and dusting, and tries to mimic him, but the result is more chaos than cleanliness.

  Mah’nethotep walks around the dimly lit hall, his eyes tracing the ancient hieroglyphs his people had inscribed centuries ago. He searches for any clue that might help unravel the mystery before them. "Zavet," he begins, his voice deep and thoughtful, "I fought a lizard man a lot like you—just a little smaller. He overpowered my hold on the lords of necromancy."

  Tear, busying himself with the frantic cleaning, suddenly screams, "WHAT? Wait! NO. Master, come on, I am cleaning. You don't need to tease me, okay? I am sorry, but I will never let her resting place get this dirty again."

  The bronze elf, Mah’nethotep, puts a finger to his lips, signaling Tear to quiet down. Teardrops his head and resumes cleaning with even more fervor.

  "Zavet, what do you know of that lizard?" Mah’nethotep asks, his tone more serious now.

  Zavet stops his clumsy attempts at sweeping and looks up. "Uhh, his name is Iscariot."

  Mah’nethotep curses in an ancient, dead language. "Betrayer?... Zavet, how did you get your name?"

  Zavet thinks for a moment, glancing around. "It was whispered to me as I transformed into what I am now. I just knew that was my name; why?"

  Mah’nethotep sits down heavily, elbows on his knees, hands on his head. "Iscariot translates to Betrayer in my original language, and Zavet translates to Promise in the dragon's first language. I think she named both of you these names as a threat to me. She purposely put you both on a path that would cross me. I promised Wispein to save and bring her to my moon, but I never did."

  Talich walks in from the resurrection hall, catching the end of the conversation. "Master, she knew it would cause all the other moons to fall," he says, a tear streaking down one side of his face, leaving a trail of greenish residue.

  "I'm so sorry, Wispein," Mah’nethotep murmurs, staring upward, trying to keep his tears from falling. Talich's large bear-like figure places a reassuring hand on Mah’nethotep's slender back, his hand encompassing nearly the entire span.

  Mah’nethotep takes a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. "We need to find a way to undo the damage. Zavet, your transformation and the name you carry may be the key to understanding how to proceed. If Iscariot overpowered my hold on the lords of necromancy, he might know something we don’t."

  Talich, standing resolute beside Mah’nethotep, nods. "We must be cautious, Master. The balance of power is delicate, and any misstep could be catastrophic."

  Mah’nethotep looks at Zavet with a newfound determination. "We need to learn more about your transformation, Zavet. And we need to understand why Wispein is doing this. Perhaps, through you, we can find a way to fulfill that old promise and prevent the moons from falling."

  The lich, Tear, continues cleaning, but his movements are less frantic now as he senses the gravity of the situation.

  Mah’nethotep rises with a heavy heart and determined steps, heading toward the hall where his wife is laid to rest. "I require a day or so to meditate and seek guidance," he announces, echoing through the ancient corridors. He turns to Tear and Talich, his gaze firm and commanding.

  "Tear, the lizard needs a mentor. Teach him about the world, and ensure he learns to read and write. He must be prepared for the challenges ahead."

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  Tear, still feeling the weight of his earlier mistakes, nods solemnly. "Yes, Master Mah’nethotep. I will do as you ask."

  Mah’nethotep then looks at Talich, his eyes softening slightly. "Talich, he will need a father figure. Guide him, protect him, and help him find his place among us."

  The request momentarily takes aback Talich, but he feels a sense of purpose and duty swelling within him. He has already started to see the lizard man, Zavet, as a son. He steps forward, placing a large, reassuring hand on Zavet's shoulder. "I accept the challenge, Master. I will do my best to be the father figure he needs."

  Zavet looks up at Talich, his eyes filled with curiosity and gratitude. Mah’nethotep gives a final nod of approval before disappearing into the hall's shadows, leading to his wife’s resting place.

  Tear and Talich exchange a determined glance as the ancient doors close behind him. "Come on, Zavet," Tear says, his tone gentler. "Let's start with the basics. There's much for you to learn."

  Talich smiles warmly at Zavet. "And I'll be here to help you every step of the way. You're not alone in this."

  Tear constructs a classroom, and Talich makes a bed chamber for Zavet. While they are building inside the pyramid, he explores it.

  The Necromantic Guild Hall, hidden deep within an ancient pyramid, exudes an eerie, foreboding atmosphere. As you step inside, the temperature drops noticeably, and the air feels thick with centuries of dark magic. Dimly lit by flickering torches ensconced in skull-shaped holders, the walls are adorned with intricate hieroglyphs and arcane symbols, some of which seem to move and shimmer in the torchlight.

  The main hall is a vast, echoing chamber with a high, vaulted ceiling supported by massive stone pillars, each carved with depictions of necromancers performing dark rituals. At the center of the room, a large, circular stone dais is an altar stained with the remnants of countless sacrifices. Surrounding the dais are several ornate obsidian and gold chairs reserved for the guild's most powerful members.

  To one side of the hall, a grand staircase descends into the pyramid's depths, leading to the crypts where the guild's ancestors and powerful undead creatures are entombed. On the opposite side, a series of arched doorways open into smaller chambers: laboratories filled with alchemical equipment, libraries housing forbidden tomes, and meditation rooms where necromancers commune with spirits.

  The air is filled with the scent of incense and the faint, unsettling whisper of long-dead souls. Shadows seem to dance and twist with a life of their own, and an oppressive sense of ancient power pervades every corner of the guild hall. Here, the boundary between the living and the dead is thin, and the dark arts are practiced with reverence and fear.

  While Tear and Talich busily construct a classroom and bed chamber within the ancient pyramid, Zavet roams its labyrinthine halls, eager to explore his surroundings. The pyramid is a vast, enigmatic structure filled with hidden chambers, secret passages, and relics from a bygone era. Each step he takes echoes through the dimly lit corridors, where the flickering torchlight casts long, eerie shadows on the walls adorned with hieroglyphs and ancient carvings.

  As he wanders, Zavet encounters various rooms filled with arcane artifacts and mysterious objects. One chamber holds shelves with dusty scrolls and tomes; their spines cracked with age. Another room contains a collection of alchemical equipment, with strange liquids bubbling in glass vials and beakers. The scent of incense and old parchment fills the air, mingling with the musty smell of the pyramid’s ancient stone.

  In one corner of the pyramid, Zavet finds a grand hall adorned with intricate murals depicting scenes of necromantic rituals and battles long past. The murals are vivid and almost lifelike, telling stories of the pyramid's history and the powerful necromancers who once ruled there. Zavet is particularly drawn to a mural showing a fierce battle between a dragon and a group of necromancers, the dragon’s scales shimmering with an otherworldly glow.

  As he explores further, Zavet stumbles upon a hidden door partially concealed behind a tapestry. Curious and adventurous, he pushes the door open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into the darkness below. He hesitates momentarily, then decides to venture down, his claws clicking softly on the stone steps.

  The staircase leads to an underground chamber, where the air is cool and damp. In the center of the room stands a large, ornate sarcophagus, its surface covered in intricate carvings and glowing runes. Zavet cautiously approaches it, feeling a strange pull as if something within the sarcophagus calls to him. He reaches out to touch one of the runes, and for a brief moment, he feels a surge of energy coursing through him.

  The sarcophagus opens with a creaking groan, releasing a thick green fog that fills the chamber. Zavet recognizes it immediately as raw necrotic magic and takes a cautious step back. The heavy lid of the sarcophagus crashes to the ground, sending a reverberating echo through the crypt. From within, an ancient bronze elf mummy adorned with an array of bright-colored gems, falls forward in a lifeless heap.

  Zavet, his curiosity piqued, cautiously approaches the mummy. He pokes it a few times, half-expecting it to react. When it remains motionless, he remembers the spell Talich had cast on the fairy when they first met. Taking a deep breath, he raises his hand and chants, “By the power of necromancy, I command you, spirit, serve my will.”

  The air grows colder as the spell takes hold. A ghostly figure begins to crawl out of the mummy, materializing before Zavet. The apparition bears a striking resemblance to Mah’nethotep, with an aura of ancient power. The ghost gazes at Zavet with an exasperated look and sighs, “I told you lot to stop summoning me back. I do not care, nor do I know any magic I can teach you.”

  Zavet, unfazed by the ghost’s irritation, smiles warmly. “Hi, I’m Zavet. Who are you?”

  The ghost sighs again, a hint of weariness in his ethereal voice. “My name is Nakht. Get along with it. What questions do you have?”

  Zavet’s smile broadens as he asks, “I don't know. Maybe, why are you and Mah’nethotep’s names so weird?”

  Nakht raises an ethereal eyebrow, his form flickering slightly. “Weird? Our names are relics of ancient times, carrying the weight of our histories and the magic that shaped our lives. Mah’nethotep was a powerful necromancer whose name reflects his lineage and the legacy he sought to uphold. As for me, Nakht it means ‘strength’ in the old tongue. Our names are not weird; they mark who we are and where we come from.”

  Zavet nods, intrigued by the explanation. “So, you were a necromancer too?”

  Nakht shakes his head, his spectral form shimmering. “No, I was a blacksmith and also studied the art of war. My talents lay in forging weapons and armor imbued with magic, and my strategic mind was honed on the battlefield. I was a craftsman and a warrior, not a wielder of dark arts.”

  Zavet's eyes widen with interest. “A blacksmith and a warrior? That sounds fascinating. What kind of weapons did you forge?”

  Nakht’s ghostly eyes glimmer with a hint of pride. “I crafted weapons of unparalleled strength and resilience, each a masterpiece imbued with enchantments. Swords that could cut through steel, armor that could withstand the mightiest of blows, and shields that could repel the strongest of magics. My creations were sought after by kings and warriors alike.”

  Zavet listens intently, captivated by Nakht’s tale. “And what about your knowledge of war?”

  Nakht nods, his expression serious. “I studied the art of war as diligently as I did my craft. Strategy, tactics, and the ways of battle were my domains. I led armies to victory, not through brute force, but through cunning and skill. War is an art, and I was its master.”

  Zavet let Nakht's ghost talk, telling him about the weapons he created and the wars he participated in.

  Meanwhile, back in the upper chambers, Tear and Talich work diligently. Tear arranges desks and chairs in the newly constructed classroom, setting out books and scrolls for Zavet’s lessons. He writes a detailed lesson plan on a large chalkboard, preparing to teach Zavet about the world, its history, and the art of reading and writing.

  Talich crafts a comfortable bed chamber for Zavet with his strength and care. He constructs a small rock cave, places soft furs and blankets, and arranges a small chest for Zavet’s belongings. He ensures the room is welcoming and cozy, where Zavet can rest and feel at home.

  As the day progresses, Zavet returns from the underground chamber, his mind buzzing with questions and the mysteries he has uncovered. He finds Tear and Talich waiting for him; their work is complete.

  Tear smiles, motioning to the classroom. “Welcome back, Zavet. I hope you’re ready to learn. We have much to cover.”

  Talich places a hand on Zavet’s shoulder. “And you’ll have a resting place when you finish your lessons. Come, I’ll show you your new bed chamber.”

  Zavet follows Talich eagerly to the tiny, cave-like chamber. Once inside, he’s overjoyed and quickly begins to explore, crawling in and out of the space with childlike glee. He even playfully grabs at Talich’s feet as if he's the monster under the bed.

  Talich, smiling at Zavet's enthusiasm, pulls out the bone dagger he took from Iscariot. He studies it thoughtfully before deciding to give it to Zavet.

  “Hey, I got something for you,” Talich says, holding out the dagger.

  Zavet emerges from his playful exploration and looks at the dagger with curiosity. “Oh, what’s that?”

  Talich hands it to him, his voice steady. “Iscariot was using it.”

  Zavet examines the dagger, a hint of surprise in his eyes. “When I see him, I’ll give it to him.”

  Talich shakes his head, his expression firm yet kind. “No, it’s yours now. I won it after you died. It’s mine to give you.”