The vault wasn't what Ava expected.
When they arrived at the underground loading site—beneath Blackros' eastern citadel—the first thing that struck her wasn't the gold, or the enchanted steel doors, or even the arcane markings burned into the floor. It was the cold.
Not the kind of cold that touched skin. This cold crept under armor, past cloth, and into the bones. It whispered. It warned.
Something was wrong.
Ash noticed it too. His chains were humming quietly, reacting to the energy in the air. Nicholas's expression, usually cocky and half-lidded, had hardened into something closer to alert focus. Even Sil stood still, eyes narrowed at the glowing sigils that pulsed across the vault's surface.
The vault was massive—taller than three men, wide as a house, shaped like a monolith carved from obsidian. It shimmered faintly with protective wards, and twelve Gilded guards stood around it in silence, eyes hidden behind golden helms.
Ava approached, ignoring the chill biting her skin. Her fingers brushed the surface of the vault—and her vision snapped.
She saw fire. Screaming. A crown broken in half. A city swallowed whole. And through it all, a shadow moving like smoke, wearing a smile shaped like a scythe.
Avarielle…
Ava jerked back, breath sharp. The vision faded, but the echo remained.
Ash stepped forward. "What did you see?"
"Nothing I want to see again," she murmured.
Nicholas watched her carefully. "We don't have to take this job."
"Yes, we do," Ava said, recovering her voice. "Whatever's in that vault... it's waking something. And I need to know what."
---
They began the transport at nightfall.
The streets of Blackros were cleared by order of the Gild. The vault was mounted onto a massive, rune-bound wagon pulled by obsidian-armored drakes. Magic pulsed with every step they took. Sil and Adam rode at the flanks, while Nicholas and Ash stayed close to Ava, hands never straying far from their weapons.
And Ava—Ava walked beside the vault, her eyes never leaving its shadow.
---
They hadn't made it a mile before the first attack hit.
From the rooftops and alleyways, cloaked figures dropped like falling stars—assassins in mirror-black armor, faces hidden by masks shaped like weeping angels. They moved fast, blades coated in shadow, striking with terrifying precision.
Ava reacted instantly. Her sword leapt to her hand in a blur of dark flame, and she parried the first strike with a snarl. Sparks flew as steel met steel.
Ash shattered two with a single whip of his chains, eyes glowing crimson. Nicholas danced between shadows, a blur of knives and fire. Sil summoned barriers of light, protecting the drakes. Adam took flight, raining holy flame from above.
But more kept coming.
Ava reached out with her magic—and the ground around her ruptured. Black thorns erupted upward, impaling three attackers in an instant.
She looked to the vault. Still intact. But the air around it pulsed like a heartbeat now—faster, louder.
And then... a crack.
A thin line ran down the center of the vault. A hiss escaped it—like breath after centuries of silence.
"No," Ava whispered, eyes wide. "It's not supposed to open."
The attackers vanished just as quickly as they came, retreating into the night like smoke. Silence returned. But not peace.
The crack in the vault still glowed, pulsing with eerie blue light. From within, something moved. Something ancient.
Sil stepped forward. "What now?"
Ava's voice was quiet. "Now we find out what we're really delivering."