Several minutes earlier—on the other side of the tomb.
A vast hall lay silent beneath layers of ancient stone. Its beauty was unmistakable: towering metal pillars, a central altar sculpted from radiant alloys, and twelve unique torches mounted on the walls.
Each flame burned with a steady blue-white glow, fed by runic crystals that hummed softly, illuminating the carved murals across the walls. Scenes of invention, battle, and triumph—each panel recounting the life of Randhall the Machinist, a legend whose mastery shaped an era.
This was his crypt. His final resting place.
But the quiet reverence of the chamber had been shattered.
In the center of the hall stood Julian, Poseidon, and six Nova Roma knights and specialists—surrounded on all sides. Weapons drawn. Muscles tense. Their breathing filled the space between pulses of glowing runes.
