On the twentieth night since his descent, Garfield returned to the mural's erased niche. His hand trembled slightly—not with fear, but anticipation.
The Being hovered, flickering, voice broken into static:
"DO. NOT. TOUCH. IT."
But Garfield pressed his palm anyway.
The stone cracked, and for the first time, sound filled the tomb—not whispers, but a cry. A cry of something ancient, something that had once been banished.
Symbols poured across the wall, a torrent of glyphs that even Garfield could not immediately parse. The Being screamed, glitching violently, fragments of its voice turning into human words for the first time:
"I WAS—ONE OF THEM—NO LONGER—FORGOTTEN—"
And then silence.
The chamber trembled, dust falling from the ceiling. Garfield withdrew his hand slowly, blood dripping from his fingertips.
The erased name glowed faintly now, though it remained unreadable. But he knew, beyond certainty, that it was the key.
He turned away, lips curling into a cold smile.
"Let them chase gods," he muttered. "I'll chase what gods erased."
And with that, Garfield began preparing. New experiments. New glyphs. New sacrifices.
The Tomb Maizel had opened its first true door. And Garfield intended to walk through it—no matter the cost.