The vault let out a sigh.
That was the first thing Valentine noticed as she stepped across its threshold. Not air, not wind, but something older, deeper. As if the chamber itself was alive and aware of her presence.
The door sealed behind them with a final, resonant thud.
Stone walls curved inward, etched with layers of symbols that shifted slowly, rearranging themselves the longer she looked. Some glowed faintly. Others remained dark, dormant, waiting.
Luther felt it instantly. The pressure. The weight of something ancient pressing against his bones.
“This place hates me,” he muttered.
Eryx shook his head. “No. It remembers you.”
That was worse.
At the center of the chamber stood a circular dais carved from obsidian stone. Upon it rested thirteen stone thrones, each cracked, shatt
