Amara and Arthur moved cautiously through the darkened perimeter of the tomb, their steps echoing in the heavy silence that surrounded them. The air was thick with tension, and every instinct screamed at Amara that something was terribly wrong. The soft glow of the moon above barely filtered through the dense trees surrounding the tomb, casting long shadows over the ancient stonework. The entrance, now wide open, beckoned them closer.
Without speaking further, they pressed on, entering the darkened tomb. The faint scent of decay lingered in the air, and as they stepped inside, they could see the coffin in the distance. Ozarith’s body was sprawled out, lifeless but well-preserved, surrounded by the eerie stillness of the space. The sight of the ancient conqueror in such a state sent a chil
