The tunnel beneath the Vault did not descend. It fell.
There were no stairs, no carved paths—only a soft incline made of cracked plates and dark mosses that glowed faintly blue. The air changed the deeper they went. Cooler, yes, but also ancient in a way that clung to the bones, not just the skin. It felt like they were walking into a place that had been shut off from time, buried not just under earth, but under memory.
Riku led the way, his left hand brushing against the curved wall every few steps, steadying himself. The Vault-Heart Shard pulsed softly in his pack, as if reacting to proximity. Not threatening. Not inert. Just aware.
Sira moved beside him in silence. She hadn't spoken since they'd left the Vault. Her blade was drawn—not for battle, but out of instinct. Even she couldn't say why.
Behind them, Kael muttered to himself. "Pressure readings are uneven. Ambient energy is denser than it should be. Like breath held for too long."
Riku paused. "Anything alive?"
Kael blinked, rechecking the crystal loop on his wrist. "No... But the cave isn't empty either."
Sira's voice came out flat. "Ghosts?"
"No. Impressions. Maybe even echoes," Kael said. "This place... it remembers footsteps. Patterns. Maybe it's not haunted. Maybe it's just waiting."
They reached the bottom. Or what seemed like it.
A wide chamber opened up, circular and domed like the one above—but darker. No veins of glass lit the walls. Only scattered fragments of what might once have been armor or statues or something in-between. Fossilized faces—elongated, and partially grown into the stone—lined the perimeter, half-erased by time.
And in the center, a throne.
Not a seat. Not a symbol.
A throne in the truest sense. Black-stone with ridges shaped like ribs curling around its back, its legs twisted into roots and anchors. And seated upon it, unmoving, was a figure in petrified armor, ashen and cracked, yet unmistakably humanoid in form.
Riku took one step forward—and the entire chamber breathed.
A low, slow exhale. Not wind. Not air.
Recognition.
The figure on the throne didn't rise. Didn't shift.
But the pulse returned. Slow, thick, and resonant.
Then—words. Not spoken aloud, but received.
Kael stumbled back, nearly tripping. "Did anyone else hear—?"
"Yes," Riku said. His hand instinctively went to the Vault-Heart Shard.
Sira's grip on her sword tightened. "That voice… it wasn't threatening."
"No," Kael agreed. "It sounded… tired."
Riku approached the throne.
The figure's helm was fused to its skull, but something shimmered faintly inside—like coals beneath glass. And in its lap rested a relic—not a weapon, but a spindle-like core, shaped like a crown's spine, split at the ends. It resembled the internal coil of a once-living creature.
The voice returned.
Sira's jaw clenched. "It's a trap."
Kael shook his head. "No. It's an offer."
Riku stood before the throne.
He stared down at the core.
It didn't burn. Didn't pulse.
But his hand—when it reached—trembled.
He touched the relic.
And the chamber changed.
Everything shifted—not in space, but in time. A ripple shot out, not of force, but of knowing. Images flashed in Riku's mind: battles in a world before this one, beasts with no eyes screaming into the dark, other thrones shattering under weight too great to bear.
And a voice—not the same one—but closer.
He gritted his teeth.
His grip on the relic tightened.
A new line appeared beneath the system's whisper. Brief. Crisp. Emotionless.
[Vault-Sovereign Core Recognized – Compatibility: 91%][Relic Claimed: Sovereign Spindle – Uncoiled State][Effect: Constructs shaped in the bearer's vision may now retain echoes of command. Passive]
The chamber's breath stopped.
Then—without sound—the petrified figure on the throne cracked at the helm.
Just slightly.
Not enough to fall apart.
Just enough to blink.
Its eyes, or what was left of them, dimmed to black. Its voice no longer echoed.
It slept.
And in that silence, the Fold shimmered.
Not with duplication. Not with enhancement.
With witness.
Riku turned back to his companions.
"Let's go."
Sira hesitated. "You're not going to sit?"
"Not yet," he said quietly. "This one's not mine. Not fully."
Kael whispered, "Then whose was it?"
Riku glanced back once, just once, at the throne, where the petrified figure remained—unchanged, unmoving, but no longer watching.
"It belonged to the one who failed."
They left the chamber in silence.
But behind them, the Vault no longer breathed.
It remembered.