The rest period stretched to nearly three hours, a rare oasis of calm inside the tomb.

The group had eaten their fill of dried rations, rehydrated with canteens, and patched wounds as best they could.

The dull ache of exhaustion had finally dulled, replaced by the grim determination etched across hardened faces.

Arthur rose first,he rolled the stiffness from his shoulders, adjusted the strap of his gear, and gave a single nod.

One by one, the others followed, commanders tugging straps, archaeologists collecting scattered notes and carefully securing scroll cases, soldiers checking magazines and blades.

Jace flexed the bandaged stump of his arm, the vial Arthur had given him earlier having stopped the bleeding entirely.

Dr. Ren helped him stand, though his face remained pale.

The mood was sober. Everyone knew the rest was temporary.

They gathered before the massive stone arch at the far end of the room.

The double doors carved into it bore no glyphs, no traps, no riddles,just the raw, oppressive weight of stone that had not moved in centuries.

Gunner stepped forward, gave the orders. Four soldiers planted themselves on either side of the doors, bracing their shoulders and pressing hard.

Groaning echoed through the room as the slabs shifted, dust raining down in thick clouds.

With a final heave, the ancient gateway yawned open.

Arthur and his group filed in and after a while they appeared in another hall but they immediately froze in place.

The hall beyond was vast, the ceiling lost somewhere in shadows.

Chains,thousands of them,dangled from above, heavy iron links disappearing into darkness.

They clinked faintly with every shift of air, creating an eerie, endless metallic chorus that made the skin crawl.

The floor, unlike the smooth-cut stone they had grown accustomed to, was divided into hundreds of plates.

The seams were barely visible, but Arthur's sharp eyes traced them. They were not ordinary. Each plate was a trigger.

"Careful," Arthur's voice carried through the hall. "The floor is alive."

As if on cue, one soldier made the mistake of testing too far ahead,his boot pressed down, the plate sank with a soft click.

BOOOOM!

A thunderous roar filled the chamber.

From the far end, chains whipped violently, and three massive spiked iron balls, each the size of a carriage wheel, swung down from the darkness.

BOOOM! CRACK!

The first slammed into the soldier directly, smashing him against the floor with a wet crunch.

Bones snapped like twigs, his scream silenced instantly.

The second swept low, catching two young archaeologists who had panicked and tried to run.

One was hurled backward with his chest caved in,the other's body split open midair, spraying blood across the tiles before he crumpled lifeless.

The group scattered, horror etching across every face.

"Form up!" Arthur barked. His voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

Gunner and the commanders snapped into action. "Shields front! Watch the plates!" Holt bellowed.

Ethan, pale but still moving, muttered through clenched teeth, "Great… from puzzles to swinging death toys. At this rate we'll need a vacation in a padded room."

His attempt at humor earned a grim chuckle from Mireille, though her eyes stayed sharp. She tugged Ethan back from another plate before he stepped on it.

Arthur studied the rhythm,the chains swung in patterns,deliberate, timed. The Azurians had designed it with cruel precision.

"Follow my timing," Arthur commanded, pointing ahead. "Move when I say. Hold when I say. Don't deviate."

The soldiers adjusted grips on their rifles, sweat dripping down temples despite the cold air.

The archaeologists clutched satchels to their chests, fear blinding their academic curiosity.

The first line advanced. Arthur lifted his hand. "Now...two steps!"

They obeyed, boots clattering against stone. Chains clinked overhead, but the spiked balls swung harmlessly past, inches from their heads.

Arthur waited, eyes fixed. He raised his hand again. "Hold,three breaths,now...forward!"

Step by step, they moved in formation, every man and woman tuned to his voice.

Ethan muttered, "If we survive this, I'm filing a complaint. With who, I don't know. But someone's getting an earful."

Stone grunted. "Shut your mouth before one of those things hears you."

Lyra snapped at both of them. "Focus."

Another swing roared past,the spikes scraped sparks against the stone floor, the air shaking with their passage.

The sheer force of the impact carved shallow grooves where they struck.

A soldier faltered. His boot scraped the wrong plate,a second click.

Arthur's eyes widened as he roared. "Down!"

The order came just in time. The entire group dropped to the ground as four new chains released.

Spiked balls thundered across the room in a deadly crisscross, shredding the air above where their heads had been.

The sound was deafening,metal tearing through air, stone splintering under the impact.

When the balls retracted, swinging back into the shadows, the survivors slowly pushed to their feet,their breathing came in ragged gasps.

Dr. Ren's hands trembled, his spectacles slipping down his nose. "This place… this place is madness."

Arthur's gaze was cold, steady. "No,it's design."

They pushed on.

Each trigger seemed positioned to punish hesitation or rashness.

Arthur used the ancient map, cross-checking the engravings with his own instincts, guiding them through like pieces on a battlefield.

Ethan, at one point, nearly stumbled into a plate,Mireille yanked him back by the collar.

"Careful!" she snapped.

"Easy, easy," Ethan coughed, still catching his breath. "I'm not trying to get turned into a meat kebab,my timing's flawless,my feet just disagree sometimes."

"Your mouth disagrees with common sense," Holt muttered.

But even that earned a faint laugh from Lyra, breaking the crushing tension for a moment.

They pressed forward, inch by inch, as the minutes stretched into hours.

Chains groaned above, always threatening, never ceasing,each step was calculated, each breath measured.

Finally, the last of the floor plates ended. With one final command from Arthur, they crossed the threshold and stumbled onto solid ground.

No one spoke for a long moment. Their hearts thundered, ears rang, sweat poured freely.

Three archaeologists lay dead behind them. The survivors knew there would be more to come.

But for now, they had endured.

Arthur turned, sweeping his gaze across the battered group.

His voice was calm, but sharp. "We move."

They obeyed, following him through the narrow passage ahead.

The corridor opened once more.

This time into a vast chamber.

The air shifted, colder, heavier. Carved murals stretched across the colossal walls, their details obscured by shadow.

Faces turned upward, eyes widening. Even the commanders, hardened as they were, faltered in awe.

The archaeologists' mouths fell open,their hands gripped notebooks reflexively, but no one dared to move closer.

The chamber was not ordinary. It radiated weight, history, blood.

Arthur's eyes narrowed as he studied the distant carvings,a faint, knowing light glimmered in them.

But he said nothing.

The group's eyes reflected the same thing, wonder, dread, disbelief.

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