The interior mirrored the neglect of the exterior. Cobwebs stretched across corners like faded curtains, dust lay thick on every surface, and the air itself felt heavy, as though untouched for decades. Footsteps stirred gray clouds from the floor, briefly revealing what the house might once have been before settling back into stillness. It was obvious no one had set foot here in a very long time.
Eliot began to search the mansion room by room. He wasn’t looking for riches or valuables—gold held little interest for him. Instead, he searched for things worth saving: books, notes, odd objects, anything a future owner might dismiss as junk without understanding its true value. Something forgotten. Something overlooked.
But room after room yielded nothing of note.
At last, he climbed to the top floor, where he found what must once have been his great-uncle’s study. The room felt more personal than the others—a place where someone had lived inside their thoughts. Eliot searched through cabinets and drawers, finding only small trinkets and curios. Interesting, perhaps, but nothing that truly held his attention.
