The chamber was unlike anything Eric had ever stepped into.
The walls were carved smooth but heavy with history—covered in relics and scars of battles that refused to be forgotten. Broken dragon scales gleamed faintly under torchlight, trapped in iron frames like jewels ripped from a fallen crown. Shards of obsidian lined with faint etchings of dragon script rested on stone pedestals. The hilt of an ancient sword lay dulled with centuries of dust, its once-proud edge now nothing but memory.
Above all, murals sprawled across the stone walls—painted in broad strokes of char and ash. They told stories of a world long gone: guardians clashing against winged beasts, towers engulfed in fire, the sky itself tearing open in flame. The air carried the weight of grief and rage, preserved in stone.
