Jefferson's POV
Donovan's declaration hit me like a physical blow, creating a suffocating silence that seemed to stretch forever. My ribcage constricted, every instinct I possessed warning me that whatever revelation awaited would shatter my understanding of everything.
I said nothing as he led me further into the chamber. Our footsteps rang hollow against the merciless stone beneath us.
The atmosphere became oppressive, saturated with primordial energy that crushed down on my lungs. We halted before an enormous wall painting, its borders illuminated by an ethereal sapphire radiance that throbbed rhythmically. The artwork was elaborate and menacing, featuring a shrouded figure at its heart, its shape merging seamlessly with the surrounding turmoil.
"Here," Donovan started, his tone measured and somber, "is where the Harding bloodline's most sinister chapter begins."
I moved forward, examining the detailed engravings.
