Just after lunch, the mansion had barely settled into its usual quiet when Randell Belmont spoke.
"Ares. You're coming with me."
No preamble. No explanation. Just a decision already made.
Ares looked up from where he stood, his expression calm but attentive. "Where to, Grandpa?"
Randell's gaze shifted briefly toward the distant horizon beyond the glass windows—toward something unseen, something far older than the land they stood on.
"Isla."
The word carried weight.
It was about history and something dangerously close to obsession.
...
He hadn't left his estate in Southshire in years. Not for business. Not for family.
Not even for matters that would have shaken lesser men.
It was always his grandchildren who visited Southshire every year.
But this— this was different.
Because the moment the news reached him—the discovery of a royal mausoleum in Isla—something long buried within him stirred awake.
It was not only curiosity but recognition and with it…
A memory.
...
