Chapter Text
For a crypt that had lain untouched for at least a thousand years, it was disappointingly empty.
All the work Morgan had put into unearthing it, all the booby traps they had parkoured their way through, all the puzzles they had solved, for what? A bare chamber with a nondescript, boxy sarcophagus in the middle of it? Morgan almost wondered if someone had gotten there before them, but it made no sense. A lack of treasure was one thing, but the complete lack of decorations was odd for such an important dead person. There was a carved skull symbol on the sealing slab, but that was it. Maybe this king had been widely disliked or otherwise undeserving of a better grave, but if that was the case it did not explain the difficulty of accessing it.
Well, there was nothing else to do but disrupt his slumber even further. Maybe Morgan wouldn’t have to leave empty handed - though they kept their expectations low as they shoved the heavy stone lid off with a grunt. Immediately the light from Morgan’s headband flashlight caught on something shiny inside. There, with ribcage bones spread like a starburst halo around it, gleaming through the dust and grime, lay a dagger.
“Well hello there, lovely,” Morgan said, picking it up.
It was small, but hefty. The dirt came away with ease, revealing an inscription in the blade - some kind of glyphs, maybe runes, nothing Morgan could immediately decipher. In the hilt of the dagger was a yellow gemstone, perfectly round. Citrine? Topaz? Opal? They could do a better appraisal at home, with better light, but for now they were thoroughly impressed with their find. It seemed to be in impeccable condition, even sharp. Experimentally, Morgan pressed the tip of the blade against their index finger - and recoiled with a hiss. They had barely touched the dagger, and already a bead of blood was forming, dripping down onto the blade.
<Finally.>
The sudden sound made Morgan drop the dagger in shock, looking around, heart beating frantically. They pointed their cone of light at every corner of the chamber, but nothing had changed. They were still alone. Had they just imagined a voice…?
<That was unnecessary.>
Morgan clamped a hand over their mouth to keep from yelping. The voice felt smooth, running through their head like music. If they had imagined that, they were losing their mind.
<Pick me up. The floor is disgusting.>
What?
Moving as little as possible, Morgan cast their gaze downwards. There was the dagger, reflecting the shaking light. The gem seemed different, somehow, but it wasn’t like Morgan trusted their senses at the moment.
Feeling more than a little delirious, they whispered, “are you the dagger?”
There was a silence, and Morgan felt like laughing. Yep, they had completely lost it. The oxygen flow must have gotten cut off by some trap they missed and now they were hallucinating.
<…A dagger? You dare- oh. It seems that I am a dagger, yes.>
Morgan’s laughter choked before it could even get out. “And you talk.”
<Of course I talk. How else would I tell you to give me more of your blood?>
“More of my -” Morgan started. “Nope, that’s it, I’m getting out of here.”
<Hey!>
They were not going to waste more precious oxygen talking to a knife. Making a wide berth around it, they exited the chamber.
Maybe they should have investigated the sarcophagus closer or picked up the dagger before leaving, but their heart was still hammering in their chest with terror, and right now the priority was making sure they could get out . They could come back later after they had cleared their head. They backtracked through the underground maze in a blur of adrenaline, and when they emerged to bright daylight filtering through trees… Morgan could not remember any point where the passage had been sealed off.
<That was rude. It’s almost like you don’t want power and glory.>
Morgan froze.
<All the riches you could dream of. Empires at your feet. Is that not why you sought me out?>
“I, think there’s been a misunderstanding.” With dawning horror, Morgan realised that their satchel felt heavier than before.
Oh no.
Taking a deep breath, Morgan opened their satchel. All their tools were still there, and, indeed… the dagger. Morgan could feel an eyeroll inside their head, and it was not theirs.
<What is there to misunderstand? Give me more blood.>
“Daggers don’t usually talk.”
<And I’m not usually a dagger.>
Slowly, carefully, Morgan reached into the bag, trying to grab its handle.
“Motherfucker, ” they swore as they cut themself on the blade instead.
<Yes, just like that!>
Sucking on the cut, Morgan upended the bag, spilling the contents on the forest floor.
<Must you do this?> The voice felt exasperated.
“Are you gonna let me pick you up?”
<I’ll allow it.>
Morgan crouched down and picked up the dagger with their uncut hand. Yes, the gem was different. There was a black stripe across it, giving it the appearance of a cat’s slit eye. If Morgan hadn’t known better, they could swear it was slightly glowing, too - oh, who were they kidding. It was definitely glowing. It was not the weirdest thing going on here.
“Okay,” Morgan said to it. “What’s your fucking deal.”
Morgan felt its soundless mirth in their bones. <Clearly I am a cursed blade. At your service, since you so kindly woke me from my slumber.>
“I don’t need a cursed dagger,” Morgan said, not entirely opposed to the idea of owning a cursed dagger.
<And yet you’ve bonded me to you.>
“I… didn’t?”
<Really? What’s that on your arm, then?>
On their arm…?
Morgan looked down at their arms, and on the inside of their left wrist… Well, they could not remember getting a complex circular pattern tattoo like that, so it was probably more curse bullshit. They frowned at it, and then at the dagger. The gem seemed to meet their eye. Morgan just knew that if it could smirk at them, it would.
“Explain.”
<Oh, what is there to say? You bound me to yourself by offering me your own blood of your own free will ->
“You have a twisted sense of what ‘free will’ means.”
<- and I will do your bidding in exchange for more blood. It does not have to be your own, mind you. Any blood is fine.>
“Uh huh. And how do I break the bond?”
<Why would you? I could make you a king.> The dagger hesitated. <…Or queen? Whichever royal title you prefer.>
“As generous as that offer is, it’s not a very tempting one.” Morgan leaned against a tree. “I’m sure monarchs were a big deal the last time you were awake, but now they're just celebrities that hold public speeches sometimes. I’m not doing that, and you’re not getting me into politics.”
<Hm. Why did you wake me, then?>
“I didn’t mean to! I was just doing some good old-fashioned plundering, I wasn’t looking for you specifically.”
The dagger seemed to contemplate this. Morgan raised an eyebrow at it.
<Tell me, my accidental thief. How… How long have I been asleep?>
“I’m not an archaeologist, but by my guess, a thousand years, maybe? Somewhere between a thousand and fifteen hundred? My name’s Morgan, by the way.”
<And the world has forgotten me already.> There was a biting wistfulness to its words.
“A shame, really. Imagine the price I could’ve sold you for.”
<You…! You can’t sell me!>
The dagger was a lot less scary now than it had seemed back in the crypt. “You sure? If you’re gonna reappear in my bag every time I try to get rid of you, I could make so much money.”
<Please.> Morgan wondered if the dagger was facepalming on the inside. <If it’s just money you want, there are better ways. Please let me help you, Morgan.>
Morgan grinned at it. “I guess I’ll find a use for you, then.”