The first thing that made Mikhailis stop was not fear.
It was greed.
Not his own. The room's.
The trove spread before them like the remains of a dead civilization that had forgotten how to stop shining. Even with dust over everything, even with half the chamber swallowed by shadow, the wealth inside it still pushed at the eyes. It did not glitter in one simple color either. It glowed in layers. Some surfaces reflected pale mineral light. Others held their own mana shimmer under the dust, as if age had failed to teach them how to go dull.
