He was looking for a piece of artwork that hadn’t been hung up in almost a century. Anything untouched that long was kept in this room, stored at the back with the coffin in the center point. The coffin’s creaking was so unexpected that it didn’t even register until it happened a second time. The lid was moving, slowly. Knox nearly dropped the painting he was holding, turning around to stare at the coffin as the lid slowly opened. He backed up, instinctually, even though he had no reason to be afraid. His voice became strangled in his throat. He couldn’t call for his brothers. He could do nothing but watch as Arthur slowly sat up, his features unchanged for a thousand years, his clothes preserved. He looked him right in the eye. Arthur, a thousand years asleep, was now, finally, awake. Both of them screamed. The scream echoed through the halls of the mansion, and it brought his brothers running. Brock came in first, the youngest of all of them, and still slightly faster and agile, despite the fact that he had been asleep 100 years and only recently wakened.
