Ian was highly skilled at forgery.
With magic, he had created a vast ruin overnight and laid a trap specifically for Voldemort, who had not noticed a thing.
Voldemort simply strode into the ruins with his head held high, ready to claim the treasures within.
He quickened his pace.
At the end of the passage stood a half-open stone door. The gap was narrow, allowing only one person to squeeze through sideways. Beyond it, there was no light and no sound, only an even stronger, suffocating stench of decay. Voldemort sidled through the crack and entered a small stone chamber.
At the center of the chamber stood a stone coffin.
The coffin was enormous—three meters long and two meters wide. Its surface was carved with dark-red runes that flickered endlessly, brightening and dimming as though something inside the coffin was struggling to break free. Its lid stood half-open, revealing a bottomless darkness within. Voldemort walked up to it and looked down into that darkness.
Something was moving within.
A faint sound, nearly inaudible—like fingernails scraping stone, like dry lips moving, like something imprisoned for countless millennia finally catching the scent of the living.
Voldemort did not retreat.
He merely stared into the darkness, cold light burning in his three scarlet eyes.
"Come out."
The Dark Lord feared nothing, so naturally he did not startle at the slightest thing. Instead, his voice was disdainful, hoarse, and proud as it echoed through the silent chamber. From within the darkness, the scratching stopped.
Then, a hand reached out of the coffin.
The hand had no skin, only dark-red muscle and ghastly white bones. Its nails were long and sharp, with strands of rotting flesh still clinging to them. It gripped the edge of the coffin and pulled sharply—a figure sat upright inside.
It