Randell Belmont had trouble breathing the moment he stepped into the underground chamber.
It wasn't the long descent.
It wasn't the stale, enclosed air on the stairwell.
It was something far more unsettling—
A pull.
As if the chamber recognized him… and welcomed him home.
The temperature was cool, unnaturally so for a place meant to house the dead. Hidden vents whispered softly as conditioned air flowed through the mausoleum. Yet the lighting told a different story—warm, golden, almost reverent. It bathed the stone walls in a glow that felt less like illumination and more like… worship.
The task force assigned to the Mausoleum has made significant improvements over the last two weeks since the site was discovered.
Every surface was alive with detail.
The frescoes stretched across walls and ceilings, impossibly restored. No longer faded and cracked. Each stroke was vivid, deliberate—like time itself had been forbidden from touching them.
