Chapter Thirty-Two: Beneath the Vault
The last echoes of battle faded, replaced by the rasping breaths of the wounded and the low, ominous hum of relic fragments scattered across the Vault chamber. The flickering lights from broken enchantments cast eerie shadows across the curved walls, distorting the faces of the living and the dead alike.
Elliott Fen wiped sweat and blood from his brow, his pulse still racing. The Relic Hunters were down—some unconscious, some bound, some sprawled unmoving on the cold floor. But their leader… she was gone.
Slipped into the shadows during the final clash, vanishing like smoke through some hidden passage.
"We'll see her again," Dorian muttered, cleaning his blade. "People like that always come back."
Elliott nodded, his eyes drifting across the Vault.
Fragments littered the floor—some glowing faintly, others pulsing with dormant malice. The air still tasted of magic, thick and heavy, like the storm wasn't truly over.
Assessing the Damage
Marlow crouched beside Elric, who was fussing over a singed sleeve and a bleeding lip.
"You alright?" she asked, nudging him gently.
"Mostly singed pride," Elric replied, wincing. "And… moderate existential dread."
Seraphine reappeared from the shadows, casually twirling a dagger. "Standard for this group, then."
Dorian examined the bodies of the fallen hunters. "Mercenaries, cultists, relic-worshippers. Dangerous, but disorganized. They weren't here by accident."
"They followed us," Elliott said quietly. "They've been following me since the Hollow King fell."
Seraphine arched an eyebrow. "That charming little stunt you pulled with the relic shards? Made you real popular."
Elliott's hand drifted to the pouch at his belt, where the broken golden fragments pulsed faintly. The shards seemed… restless, aware.
And below his feet, the Vault hummed.
The Lower Levels
It didn't take long to find the hidden passage the Relic Hunter leader had used. A faint trail of scuffed sand and disturbed dust led them to a stone platform etched with faded symbols.
Elric traced the markings, his eyes wide with awe.
"It's… ancient."
"Everything here is ancient," Marlow reminded him.
"No, I mean—this predates the Vault itself. A… substructure."
Elliott frowned. "Beneath the Vault?"
Dorian sighed. "Of course there's a basement."
With a low grinding of stone, the platform sank, revealing a spiral staircase descending into the dark.
Elliott led the way, the golden shards glowing faintly in his hand, casting fractured light along the ancient walls.
The Hidden Depths
The staircase wound down for what felt like hours.
The air grew colder, the walls smoother—less carved, more… grown, as if the stone itself had formed this place naturally, or unnaturally.
At the bottom, the corridor opened into a vast, subterranean chamber.
And in the center… a door.
No carvings. No symbols. Just seamless black stone, its surface pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.
Marlow frowned. "That doesn't look ominous at all."
Elric was already scribbling notes. "It's… sealed with pre-relic magic. Before the artifacts. Before the wars."
"Before recorded history," Elliott finished.
Dorian ran a hand along the edge of the door. "Whatever's behind here… they wanted it hidden."
The shards in Elliott's hand pulsed again—harder, hotter.
And the door responded.
The Door Opens
The black stone rippled like water.
The shards in Elliott's hand flared, and with a low groan, the door parted—revealing a vast, circular chamber beyond.
A single pedestal stood at the center.
And upon it… a relic.
Not shattered.
Not broken.
Whole.
It hovered above the pedestal, spinning slowly—its surface a flawless sphere of smoky crystal, within which faint constellations shifted like captured stars.
The others froze.
"Is that…" Elric began, but his voice failed him.
Elliott stepped closer, eyes wide.
A relic untouched by war. By time. By the Hollow King's corruption.
A relic no one knew existed.
Until now.
The Whisper Returns
The relic pulsed softly—calm, inviting.
And with it came a whisper—not harsh, like the Hollow King's. Not desperate, like the broken shards.
But ancient.
Steady.
Curious.
The whisper wasn't in words, but Elliott understood:
"Choose."
His heart pounded.
Behind him, the others watched silently—uncertain, wary.
Ahead, the relic hovered, waiting.
And all around, buried beneath sand, stone, and forgotten history… something stirred.
The game wasn't over.
It had barely begun.
End of Chapter Thirty-Two