The heavy doors groaned as they swung open, revealing a vast chamber beyond. Unlike the crumbling ruins they had traversed, this room was eerily intact. The walls bore no cracks, the ceiling remained uncollapsed, and the once-lavish carpet was not burned to ashes like in the other rooms—only coated in centuries of dust. The air inside was stale yet held an odd sense of preservation, as if untouched by time.

  Lucielle and Caelum’s Aetherforged swords flickered, their golden light illuminating the chamber. Shadows stretched across the floor, cast by an immense chandelier above. Though its candles had long since melted away, the structure itself remained firm, hanging from the ceiling like a relic of forgotten grandeur.

  A massive roundtable stood in the center of the chamber, surrounded by dust-covered chairs. Though the wood was aged, the craftsmanship was evident—each chair intricately carved, each bearing the sigils of gods long worshiped and long abandoned. Beyond the table, at the far end of the chamber, loomed a grand throne, untouched by decay.

  Caelum, Lucielle, and Varithra stepped cautiously inside, their footsteps muffled by the thick layer of dust. Their gazes flickered between the many details of the chamber, each of them drawn to different parts.

  “This place…” Varithra murmured, her voice tinged with unease. “It’s too well-preserved. Every other part of this ruin was destroyed—burned, collapsed, reduced to rubble. But here?” She gestured around. “It’s like time itself refused to touch this room.”

  “Or something else kept it untouched,” Caelum muttered, his violet eyes narrowing as he surveyed the chamber.

  Lucielle approached the roundtable, running her fingers along the surface, brushing aside the thick dust. “This table was used for meetings,” she stated with certainty. “A war council, perhaps. Or the ruling body of this place.” Her golden eyes flickered with recognition. “The craftsmanship is similar to the high councils in Luminara. I’ve seen tables like this before.”

  “Then this might’ve been a palace of someone influential,” Varithra concluded. “It would explain the scale.”

  “Perhaps.” Lucielle frowned. “But whose?”

  “I doubt this belonged to Luminara or Nyxara,” Caelum said, his gaze shifting toward the walls. “Both factions built their strongholds on their respective planets. There would be no reason to construct something like this in Abyssia.”

  “Unless someone else did,” Varithra added. “Or unless this was built before the war.”

  A heavy silence settled over them at that thought. The war between Luminara and Nyxara had raged for countless centuries, yet the origins of Abyssia itself were shrouded in mystery. Had this place existed before the war? And if so, who had built it?

  “Hey, look at this,” Varithra called, breaking the silence.

  Caelum and Lucielle moved toward her as she stood before a large portrait on the wall. It depicted a group of individuals standing together, their postures dignified, their expressions solemn.

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  However, one face had been completely erased.

  The damage was not from time or decay—it was deliberate. A deep gash marred the painting, slicing across where the man’s face should have been, leaving only a blank void where his identity had once been preserved. The rest of the figures remained untouched, their expressions frozen in time.

  “They don’t look like family,” Lucielle observed, studying their attire. “This wasn’t a royal portrait. They look more like… leaders, or a council.”

  “Whoever that man was,” Caelum muttered, “someone didn’t want him remembered.”

  Lucielle and Varithra exchanged glances before Caelum turned away, continuing down the chamber’s length. He traced his fingers along the stone walls, noting the consistency of the missing faces in other portraits. Whoever had erased that man had done so from every painting in the room.

  His steps eventually led him to the grand throne at the chamber’s end. It was unlike anything he had ever seen—ornate, regal, and imposing. Though the rest of the chamber was coated in thick dust, the seat of the throne was suspiciously clean, as if someone had only recently sat there.

  “Lucielle. Varithra,” he called.

  They joined him, their gazes falling upon the throne which oddly absent of dust specially at the seating spot.

  “I don’t like this,” Varithra said, her voice tight. “This room hasn’t been touched for centuries, but this… Someone’s been here.”

  Caelum glanced upward, his gaze locking onto the symbol carved into the stone above the throne. It was the sigil of Aureon—a massive sword with wings behind it. But what unsettled him was what flanked the symbol.

  On the left, the sun.

  On the right, the moon.

  Lucielle’s breath hitched. “This… doesn’t make sense.”

  Caelum crossed his arms. “I take it these aren’t symbols you recognize?”

  Lucielle hesitated. “The sword with wings is definitely Aureon’s, but the sun and moon… they’re not associated with any god we know. At least, not any that were officially worshiped in Luminara.”

  Caelum said. “You’re telling me neither of you ever read about them back at home?”

  Varithra scowled. “We don’t memorize every obscure relic from the past.”

  Caelum smirked. “Then both of your education was useless.”

  Lucielle raised a fist, prepared to deck him, but a thunderous crash stopped her.

  The chamber door had slammed shut.

  The three of them whirled around. Caelum rushed to the massive doors, slamming his palms against them and pushing with all his strength. The stone refused to budge. Lucielle tried next, but the doors remained unmoving. Even with Varithra joining in, nothing changed.

  “Damn it!” Lucielle slammed her fist against the stone, frustration evident in her golden eyes.

  Caelum exhaled sharply, glancing at Varithra. “Varithra?”

  She didn’t respond.

  He followed her gaze—and his blood ran cold.

  Varithra stood frozen, her pupils trembling, her breath shallow. Her gaze was fixed beyond them, toward the throne they had just inspected.

  Lucielle noticed too, and slowly, she turned.

  Caelum followed their line of sight.

  Someone was sitting on the throne.

  A man.

  They hadn’t heard him enter. Hadn’t sensed his presence. Hadn’t felt even the slightest disturbance in the air.

  Yet there he was.

  He sat upon the grand throne, as if he had always been there, as if he belonged. His features were obscured by the deep hood of his dark cloak, but beneath it, his eyes were visible.

  Violet eyes.

  They pierced through the dim chamber, locking onto them with an intensity that sent a shiver down Caelum’s spine. Those eyes did not hold curiosity, nor did they seem surprised by their presence.

  They simply watched.

  Unmoving. Unblinking.

  Lucielle tightened her grip on her sword. Varithra remained still, barely breathing. Caelum swallowed, his mind racing for an explanation—but none came.

  Silence choked the air, stretching endlessly.