Zena and Kiran locked eyes. At last. At last, a true discovery. The weight of long frustration lifted, replaced by a spark of hope.

  Eamon felt a thrill shoot up his spine. His brows knit, sharp with focus.

  "This symbol—can you describe it?"

  Adam hesitated.

  "It looked... Estherian. I'm sure of it. A circle, with a kind of rosette inside."

  Zena frowned, skeptical.

  "What do you mean 'a kind of'? If you saw it, you can describe it."

  Adam's answer faltered.

  "Well... it vanished. When the door opened at my touch."

  A heavy silence followed—broken by Eamon's startled outburst.

  "What?! It opened?" His voice tightened, urgent. "Remember the rules, Adam! Don't touch anything. Don't interfere. Stay put and wait for us. Understood?"

  "Yes, Doc. I'll be here, waiting," Adam said before cutting the channel.

  He stowed the intercom, drank from his flask, then sat before the gaping entrance. His eyes never left the void, his mind caught between awe and fear. The darkness almost seemed to pulse, as though something might emerge.

  To the south, Kiran exploded with joy.

  "Finally! Yes!" he shouted, nearly leaping. "Come on—we can't waste a second. Let's get to Adam!"

  Eamon nodded firmly.

  "Gather your things. We'll reach him in about an hour. Move!"

  They set off at pace, dust rising in their wake. As they hurried beneath the blazing sun, Zena drew near the doctor.

  "May I ask you something?"

  He tilted his head in assent.

  "Why did you leave Adam alone?" Her tone held curiosity, not accusation.

  Eamon smiled faintly.

  "It wasn't punishment. Nor pushing him aside. Quite the opposite."

  Zena's brow creased.

  "Adam has a natural talent for archaeology," Eamon continued, pride threading his voice. "But I wanted him to realize it himself. Sometimes, being alone—left to instinct—creates a deeper connection to a site. That can lead to discoveries no group would ever make."

  Zena nodded slowly.

  "So it was a test, in a way."

  "Yes," Eamon said simply. "And more... Adam is the only one who's found an Estherian artifact so far. That can't be coincidence. I wanted to give him the chance to unlock his potential. And between us—I trusted him completely."

  Her gaze softened. She glanced at Kiran, bounding ahead in renewed excitement, then back at the doctor. A knowing smile touched her lips.

  "You were right. This proves it."

  Eamon's only reply was a nod, but his eyes gleamed. Despite everything, the expedition had found its purpose.

  When they arrived, the trio halted instinctively. Before them, Adam sat on his rock, staring at the colossal entrance carved into the cliff.

  Silence hung, as if confirming this was no mirage.

  Kiran broke first, racing toward him.

  "Adam! We're here!"

  Adam turned, relief breaking into a grin.

  "Kiran! Finally. I was starting to think you'd left me here forever, haha!"

  Eamon came next, laying a firm hand on his shoulder. No words—just pride and gratitude in the gesture—before striding to the door, drawn like a moth to flame.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  "Not even a word, Doctor?" Zena teased, eyebrow arched.

  Adam chuckled.

  "Let it go, Zena. He's been waiting years for this."

  Kiran crouched beside him, eager.

  "So? How'd you find it?"

  Adam scratched his neck, sheepish.

  "Honestly? Pure chance. I was angry, tossed a rock—and it rang. From there... I just followed the signs. It was here all along."

  Kiran laughed.

  "Can you imagine? If you hadn't thrown that stone, we'd still be digging rocks in the south! So—we can go in now, right?"

  Without waiting, he sprang up toward the opening.

  The others gathered near Eamon, who traced the wall's edges with trembling hands, eyes alight with wonder.

  "Doctor," Zena said, arms crossed, half amused, half impatient. "Planning to caress this door all day—or shall we go in? I bet the real discovery's inside."

  Eamon startled, adjusting his monocle.

  "Ah—yes. You're right. Forgive me, I was carried away. Let's enter."

  "Let's go!" Kiran cried, stepping forward.

  "No." Eamon's firm voice stopped him cold.

  Kiran spun back, baffled.

  "What do you mean no?"

  "Because it isn't ours to enter first," Eamon said calmly, but with authority that brooked no challenge.

  "Then whose?" Kiran demanded. "Koros? Who cares?"

  Eamon turned to Adam, a cryptic smile on his lips. Extending his arm in solemn invitation, he declared:

  "It's Adam's. He goes first."

  "Me?" Adam blinked.

  "Yes. Your discovery, your honor," Eamon affirmed.

  Kiran grinned.

  "Well then, hero of the day—it's yours."

  Adam drew a deep breath, the weight of expectation pressing on him—and a thrill rising with it.

  "All right then. If the honor's mine—let's do this."

  He stepped forward, lamp in hand, and lit its beam into the yawning dark. One last glance back met the silent encouragement of his friends. Then, steadying himself, he crossed the threshold and disappeared into the shadows.

  The corridor stretched ahead, metallic and silent. His light swept cautiously left and right, every nerve taut, every step echoing. The air was cold, stale, heavy with damp and metal—a tomb untouched for eons. Smooth walls bore no inscription, no decoration. This place was meant to hide—or to be forgotten.

  "Strange... very strange," Eamon murmured, running his fingers along the wall, recording notes in his holo-journal. "Nothing like anything we've seen of the Esthérians. Nothing."

  They pressed on, deeper, until the corridor opened into a vast oval chamber. Adam halted, breath caught.

  The walls were lined with a monumental fresco, but time had ravaged it. Much of it was gone, erased—or hidden. Only scattered fragments remained.

  Eamon approached reverently, trembling as he touched the faded lines.

  "A fresco... but why so damaged?"

  Kiran sighed heavily.

  "It's ruined. Did we come too late, Doc?"

  Eamon turned, eyes sparkling with optimism.

  "Too late? Of course, my boy. About 320,000 years too late. But that doesn't mean these fragments lack value."

  He gestured wide.

  "Even half-erased, they have much to teach us—if we look with the right eyes."

  Zena joined in, calm and steady.

  "Then let's study them. If we analyze carefully, we might find answers. Isn't that our job, Kiran?"

  He grumbled, then nodded.

  "Yeah. Worth a try."

  Adam, encouraged, stepped closer too. As he did, the atmosphere shifted—charged, as though the air itself trembled. Reaching out a hesitant hand, he brushed the wall.

  Instantly, the fresco lit up.

  Light surged across it like a living wave, lines and colors springing into being. Startled, Adam stumbled back.

  "What the—?!" But curiosity drove him forward again. Touching once more, he set the wall ablaze with luminous detail.

  "Everyone—look! It's glowing!"

  The others spun. Awe filled their faces as the fresco awakened, projecting images vivid as life itself.

  Scenes unfolded: majestic golden-bronze starships, soaring like celestial predators; towering silver-blue structures etched with impossible symbols; a thriving society alive with joy, knowledge, and discovery. Their expansion across the stars, their mastery of technology, their near-divine grandeur—all captured in radiant holograms.

  Then, the shift.

  Harmony shattered. Cities burned. Towers crumbled. Starships fell in flames. Worlds themselves cracked and boiled away. Apocalypse writ across the galaxy.

  And finally—the figures.

  Dark silhouettes emerged, humanoid but distorted, monstrous. Their eyes glowed, piercing even across time, malevolence dripping from their gaze. They weren't rivals or allies. They were predators—bringers of ruin.

  The fresco ended abruptly, plunging the chamber back into shadow, the lingering hum fading into silence.

  The air itself seemed heavier, as though the weight of that ancient terror still lingered.