The descent into the Vault was colder than expected.
The spiral stairway was cut from black stone, veins of dull silver running through the walls like half-dead lightning. The further Raen, Nira, and Talin went, the heavier the air became—like breathing inside a tomb soaked in forgotten blood.
"No light beyond this point," Nira whispered, pressing her hand to a runic seal on the wall. Her palm glowed faintly blue, triggering a low hum from the ancient stone. "Anything too bright will stir the echoes."
Raen held his sword tighter. "That's comforting."
Talin chuckled behind them. "She means there are ghosts."
"Whispers," Nira corrected. "Old ones. Dead ones. Too many to count. And not all of them are passive."
They reached the final stair and stepped into the main chamber of the Broken Vault.
It was massive—an underground arena covered in shattered statues and crumbling sword racks. Pillars lay broken across the floor like fallen giants, and the air smelled like dust, oil, and old rust.
Raen stepped onto the cracked floor—and instantly felt it.
The pull.
A hum deep in the marrow. The whispers here weren't scattered. They were layered, dozens on top of dozens, all speaking at once like a choir of fractured minds.
Kavran's voice surged into his head:
"You are inside a grave that never buried the bodies. Be still."
Raen nodded.
Nira approached the central altar, where a massive iron gate stood sealed by five rune plates. She studied it, then frowned. "This was locked from the outside. Whatever's inside… wasn't meant to be released."
Talin leaned over her shoulder. "So of course the clan wants us to open it."
Raen's eyes drifted across the chamber, past the statues—then stopped.
There, wedged between two collapsed pillars, was a sheathed sword. Unlike the others, it was untouched by time. Its sheath was jet black, and a single red vein pulsed across its length like a heartbeat.
Raen stepped closer.
The whispers went dead silent.
Then one voice emerged, clear and cold:
"Who walks with borrowed memories?"
Raen froze. "You're… awake?"
The sword did not move, but its presence filled the air.
"You are not worthy."
Raen gritted his teeth. "Then test me."
He reached for the hilt.
The moment his fingers touched it, the entire chamber pulsed.
A spiritual wave exploded from the blade, hurling Raen backward across the room. He smashed into a pillar, coughing blood.
Talin shouted, running toward him. "Raen!"
The sword unsheathed itself.
Floating in the air, spinning slowly.
Its blade was black steel laced with crimson cracks that bled mist. The ground beneath it cracked.
Nira's seal failed. The runes on the door sparked and fizzled.
The Vault… was waking up.
Raen staggered to his feet.
Kavran's voice hissed in his head:
"That is the Ebon Vein Sword. A soul blade that drank its wielder and spat out his fear."
The sword turned toward Raen—not with movement, but with intent.
It knew him.
And it hated him.
Raen drew his own sword. It trembled in his grip.
Talin stepped beside him, drawing his curved saber with a smirk. "Well. Guess I finally get to see what all your whisper-talk's about."
Nira backed toward the wall, drawing a charm from her belt. "Disabling the anchor seal… now. Buy me a minute!"
Raen's breath steadied.
The whispers returned, just one this time—soft, like silk.
A step before… a strike after.
Raen flickered forward.
The duel had begun.