The morning sun was still just a memory behind the blackened ridgelines of the Ironwilds when Duncan stood at the edge of the Sentinel ruins. The stone arches, weathered by centuries of storms and forgotten war, still held the regal air of ancient strength. Vines coiled along broken walls, and moss obscured most of the sigils carved deep into the basalt. But beneath it all—he could feel it. The pulsing echo of leyfire far below the earth.
"They buried it here," Alra murmured beside him, her gloved hand brushing a fallen stone. "Whatever the Obsidian Vault awakened, the answer lies beneath this place."
Ashryn tightened the strap of her halberd across her back. "It's not just a vault. These were once command centers—ley-anchors used to stabilize Dominion warfronts. But most were buried after the Corpsefire Wars. This one is humming. Which means it's alive."
Duncan nodded, gesturing to the engineers. "Set charges. We go in before sunset."
A crack of thunder rolled across the sky—unnatural, given the clear skies overhead. Duncan frowned.
"That wasn't weather," he muttered.
As if on cue, the wind changed. It grew colder—carrying with it the scent of burning oil and something fouler. Gorran appeared from the treeline, armor scorched and brow slick with sweat.
"We've got movement—north side. Packbeasts. At least two dozen. No markings, but they're coordinated."
Alra narrowed her eyes. "Not bandits?"
"Too disciplined. One even had a flagpole. Looked ceremonial."
Duncan's gut twisted. "Raiders wouldn't approach a ley-vault. Not unless something—someone—is driving them."
The engineers lit the primer and stepped back. A low rumble followed. Stone cracked open like a scab. Dust surged into the air, revealing a narrow stairwell descending into blackness.
Duncan turned to Ashryn and Alra. "Form a perimeter. Gorran, come with me."
He took one final breath and stepped into the dark.
The stairwell led to a long hallway lined with aged silver sconces and wall runes—half extinguished, half still humming with dormant energy. The scent of old metal, dried blood, and dust filled the narrow space. Duncan's torch flickered wildly.
At the end of the corridor, a circular door stood closed. Carved into its face was the Dominion crest, surrounded by the Seven Vows.
Gorran traced the symbols with awe. "These are older than the war. Pre-Oath era, maybe."
Duncan placed his hand on the center sigil.
Nothing.
"Try this," Gorran said, stepping forward. He pressed the outer ring while Duncan pushed inward.
A series of deep clicks echoed through the chamber, followed by a grinding groan as the massive door shifted and rolled aside.
What lay beyond was not decay.
It was pristine.
An enormous chamber, circular and vast. Seven marble statues lined the perimeter, each depicting an armored Sentinel in a distinct pose—spear, shield, sword, bow, halberd, hammer, and staff. Their eyes glowed faintly with blue leyfire.
And in the center: a raised dais, upon which floated a crystalline orb, slowly rotating within a lattice of hovering glyphs.
Duncan stepped forward, awe mixing with caution. "This is a nexus…"
Gorran walked around the dais, his brow furrowed. "Not just a nexus. A seal. The glyphs aren't just floating—they're binding the orb."
"Binding what?"
As if in response, the orb pulsed—and the chamber grew colder.
A voice echoed from nowhere and everywhere.
"Who disturbs the echo of Oathfire?"
The torches flickered. Shadows lengthened.
Duncan gritted his teeth. "Duncan Caerwyn. Commander of the 7th Legion. Bearer of the Deep Oath."
The voice paused.
Then answered.
"Your blood bears the vow. Your soul carries the weight. You may enter."
The statues turned their heads. Just slightly. Enough to make Duncan's hand go to his blade.
The orb's light sharpened—rays of blue striking the ceiling and revealing a mural of a vast battlefield. Beasts unlike any Duncan had seen roamed among Dominion banners. Celestial wyrms and war giants fought side by side.
And in the center: a black sun, dripping shadow, devouring the sky.
Ashryn's voice rang through the chamber as she and Alra caught up. "We've got trouble topside. The raiders weren't just raiders."
Duncan turned. "What are they?"
Ashryn tossed a bloodied banner to the floor. The sigil—a clawed crown wreathed in bone flame—was unmistakable.
"The Scourged Path," she spat.
Alra swore. "I thought they were wiped out during the Tuskline purge."
"Apparently not."
Gorran knelt by the orb, inspecting the glyphs. "They've been trying to breach this vault for months. The ley-seal's integrity is weak. One more pulse from the Obsidian Vault and it might unravel."
Duncan stared at the mural, his mind spinning.
"They're after something ancient," he muttered. "This isn't about land or conquest. The Path believes there's a weapon buried in the Dominion's bones."
Ashryn looked around warily. "They might be right."
A sudden quake rocked the chamber.
The orb darkened. One glyph cracked.
Duncan reached for it instinctively. The moment his fingers brushed the crystal, a flood of visions assaulted him—
A tower of flame rising from the Corpsefire Sea.
A beast of shifting bones dragging chains across the ruins of Targan Hold.
A girl—eyes black with voidfire—holding an infant wrapped in banners of the fallen.
He stumbled back, panting.
Alra steadied him. "What did you see?"
"Memories. Warnings. Maybe… prophecy."
Another quake. Dust rained down. The statues' eyes now glowed bright blue.
The orb pulsed one last time, then dimmed entirely.
The glyphs shattered.
And from the depths beneath the dais, something moved.
A low groan echoed as an inner stairway unfurled, revealing a descent deeper than anything above.
Duncan turned to his companions. "Whatever the Dominion buried here, it's waking."
He took his first step down.
"Let's find out what they were so afraid of."