The General's Daughter: The Mission-Chapter 134: The Lost Era 2

These were not symbolic burials.

These were the supreme leaders of a monarchy.

Distinct. Powerful. Dangerous even in death.

He turned slowly, stepped out of the dais, and counted under his breath.

"...three... four... five..."

"..fourteen."

Every sarcophagus bore unique regalia. Different weapons. Different crowns. Different emblems. No repetition. No subordinate hierarchy.

All sovereigns. All rulers.

All buried together.

"This must be the royal mausoleum." He shouted in excitement. "Everyone, go check the other coffins."

His mouth went dry.

"Could everyone buried here be the monarchs of a dynasty? Which dynasty was it?" He asked himself. His voice was loud enough that Lara approached him.

His gaze drifted back to the two coffins at the central dais.

Larger than the others.

Positioned not at the head... but at the heart of the formation.

The seat of supremacy.

The apex ruler.

And there, the two coffins lay side by side. The emperor and empress.

Philip Hardy could not believe that such a place existed. Looters have not come to the place. There were no drag marks. No collapsed sections. No signs of forced entry beyond the door they had opened.

Which meant that before him, an era in history remained untouched, undiscovered.

His stomach dropped in excitement.

A dynasty buried intact...

His flashlight beam drifted upward, illuminating the high ceiling. Carvings covered it — not decorative motifs, but scenes.

Battles. Cities burning. Figures kneeling.

And above them all, repeated again and again, a single symbol:

A crowned figure standing alone while others lay fallen at their feet.

Hardy’s throat tightened.

This isn’t just a royal tomb...

A terrible thought formed, slow and unwelcome.

This is a victory monument. A mausoleum for conquerors.

Behind him, one of the archaeologists whispered, voice trembling with awe and fear.

"How... how could an entire dynasty like this just disappear?"

Hardy didn’t answer.

Because for the first time in his career, the question forming in his mind was not academic.

It was primal.

What destroyed them? Why were there no record of them anywhere else?

His gaze slid once more to the two coffins on the central platform.

He suddenly felt that he was an unworthy subject before his majesties. And in a noble way, he bowed down before the two coffins.

...

Lara stopped breathing the moment she entered the chamber.

Not from awe but from recognition.

The air inside the chamber pressed against her lungs like an invisible hand, thick and stale and wrong — not merely old, but familiar.

Too familiar. Each inhale tasted of dust, iron, and something faintly sweet underneath... like dried blood sealed in stone.

Her pulse stuttered.

No...

Her eyes moved across the rows of coffins, not studying them the way the others did, not cataloging regalia or inscriptions. She was searching — with the dread certainty of someone who already knew what she would find.

The layout.

The spacing.

The crescent formation around the central dais.

Memory flickered — not clear images, but sensations.

Cold marble beneath her back.

Heavy fabric against her skin.

Voices chanting dirges that no longer existed.

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.

This isn’t possible.

Then her gaze reached the central platform.

And the world narrowed to a pinpoint.

Two sarcophagi stood there — not one, but two.

The larger one dominated the dais, carved from black obsidian that swallowed light instead of reflecting it. Its lid bore the figure of a man in imperial armor, crown forged into the sculpted helm, a sword resting over his chest like a promise of violence even in death.

Power radiated from it even now, suffocating and absolute.

The Emperor.

Her stomach twisted violently.

Beside it — slightly lower, slightly behind, yet unmistakably placed within the emperor’s personal sphere — stood another coffin.

Slender. Elegant. Lethal in its simplicity.

White marble stone veined with crimson, like frozen streams of blood beneath polished ice.

Her coffin.

The memory hit not as a vision, but as a physical sensation.

Weightless numbness.

Darkness pressed against closed eyelids that could not open.

The echo of her own heartbeat slowing... slowing... stopping.

Lara’s knees nearly buckled.

I was also buried here, beside my one and only love.

Not metaphorical death.

Not symbolic.

Her real body — the one that had worn gold dresses, red dresses, carried sword and spear, walked through blood without hesitation — had lain inside that stone bed.

Right there.

An invisible band tightened around her chest.

Air wouldn’t go in.

Her throat closed as if the chamber itself were trying to reclaim her, to push her back into the coffin that had once been hers.

Get out.

The instinct screamed through her nervous system — not as fear, but as survival.

Assassin reflex.

She felt a sense of danger. She felt trapped and there was no exit except the one behind.

Her eyes darted across the door automatically, then to the reliefs on the walls, to anything that would ground her in the present instead of the crushing pull of the past.

But her gaze kept snapping back to the white coffin. She felt drawn to it. Unable to look away.

Fragments surfaced.

A man’s hand, warm against her hair.

A voice — deep, controlled, soothingly gentle only for her.

"Sleep."

Not a command but a promise.

Her nails bit into her palms hard enough to hurt. Pain helped. Pain was real. Pain meant she was alive and standing and not sealed in darkness beneath tons of stone.

You’re not there anymore.

But another thought slithered in, cold and relentless.

Then why does it feel like you never left?

She could almost feel it — the oppressive lid inches above her face, the suffocating stillness, the endless silence of a tomb designed to outlast civilizations.

Her heart began to race, too fast, too loud. The sound roared in her ears, drowning out the murmurs of the archaeologists, the scrape of boots, even her own breathing.

If she stepped closer...

If she touched it...

Would she remember everything?

Or worse—

Would something inside remember her?

Ares moved somewhere to her right, his presence a steady, dangerous gravity she normally found grounding.

Now even that felt distant, muffled, as though she were already being sealed away from the living.

Her vision tunneled.

Cold sweat slid down her spine.

I can’t stay here.

But her feet wouldn’t move.