Chapter 6: The Vault's Call
The stairs spiraled downward into the earth, each step a cold echo beneath Kael's boots, ringing sharp against the silence like a distant drumbeat, like a heartbeat trying to remember it still lived. Shadows clung to the stone, swallowing the light, but the shard in Kael's hand glowed with a faint, violet shimmer—an ember in the dark. Its light stretched along the walls, casting jagged silhouettes that danced across ancient stone etched with Weavers' runes—spirals and thread-lines that pulsed faintly, like veins beneath aged skin, whispering secrets from a time when gods still walked the world.
Behind him, Toren followed, his heavy boots thudding with each step, the haft of his hammer resting on his shoulder like a silent promise. The rhythmic clank was reassuring in its constancy, a sound that grounded them against the creeping chill. Lirien's small hand stayed clenched in his, her grip tight and trembling, fingers twitching with unspoken dread. Her eyes were wide, searching every shadow for something unseen.
Mara brought up the rear, her cane tapping in slower intervals now. It was as if even the wood hesitated to disturb the silence that wrapped around them like a shroud.
The air grew heavier as they descended—damp with the scent of earth long untouched, but beneath that, something older lingered. Not just decay, but power. Ancient. Dormant. Waiting. Magic that had steeped into the very bones of the place, old enough to remember its creators, and bitter enough to hate its solitude.
Kael shifted his shoulder, suppressing a wince. The wound from Jessa's dream still throbbed—a dull ache that reminded him dreams in this world could bleed into flesh. The vial's remnants still burned in his veins, a controlled fire that staved off the weariness pressing against his mind. The rift's whisper—Kael…—had faded as they'd descended, but in its place came something more ominous: a low hum, barely audible, yet vibrating through his bones like a tuning fork struck deep within his chest. It was a call—not from without, but from within.
"How far does this go?" Toren muttered, his voice thick with unease. The echo of his words returned warped, as if the stairwell itself didn't like the sound of them. "Feels like we're walking into a grave."
"It's a vault," Mara replied, though her voice lacked its usual sharpness. "Not a tomb." She paused, tapping the next step with more caution. "The Weavers built it to guard their relics. The Loom's here—along with the shadow that sleeps beside it."
Kael looked back, catching the shard's light as it brushed Mara's face. The strain in her eyes was unmistakable. Whatever strength had carried her down here, it wavered now beneath the weight of old memories. "The Sleeping Tyrant," he said quietly. "You sealed it. How?"
Her cane stopped mid-tap. She hesitated. "With blood. And runes." Her voice dropped, and for the first time, Kael heard something crack beneath it—shame, perhaps. "I was young. A priestess, sworn to the Weavers' lieutenants. When the Sundering hit, the vault cracked open—rifts split the fabric, and the Tyrant stirred in its prison. I used what power I had left to bind it, and wove it into the Loom's dream. I thought the dream would hold."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "Clearly it didn't."
Toren growled beside him, his grip tightening protectively around Lirien's hand. "And you didn't think to mention that before we came down here?"
"I didn't know it would wake!" Mara snapped, her voice rising with a brittle edge. It echoed back at her like an accusation. "The rifts were silent for centuries. Nothing moved—not a whisper, not a tremor—until now."
Kael's throat tightened as a realization dawned. He turned away, the shard's pulse flickering faintly. "Until I started cutting threads."
Mara said nothing. Her silence was its own confession, heavy and unforgiving.
The stairway flattened at last, opening into a chamber vast and cloaked in shadows. The ceiling vanished into gloom overhead, supported by pillars of blackened, twisted stone. Runes etched along their surfaces shimmered faintly as the shard's light passed, flickering like dying stars. At the far end stood a massive sealed door, carved from the same obsidian stone. It bore a tapestry of thread-lines and constellations, all converging on a single hollow at its center—shaped precisely for the shard in Kael's hand. It pulsed harder now, tugging toward it like a compass to true north.
"There," Mara said, her voice taut with urgency. She raised her cane, pointing at the door. "The vault's heart. The Loom lies beyond."
Kael took a step forward—but the ground trembled beneath his feet.
A sharp jolt sent dust cascading from the ceiling, and cracks splintered across the floor ahead. From one of them, a shape rose—humanoid, but wrong. Its form flickered like smoke and fire, woven from threads of shadow and light. Its eyes glowed with a hungry violet flame. It wasn't alive. It wasn't dead.
It was a Weaver echo—a remnant guardian of the old world, a sliver of forgotten power reawakened by their presence.
"Intruders," it hissed, its voice a chorus of whispers layered atop one another. It raised a clawed hand, and lunged.
"Back!" Kael shouted, throwing himself aside. The shard in his grip flared as he rolled, snapping a thread of light toward the echo's arm. It caught, yanking the claw just off course. The echo twisted unnaturally, its other hand slashing where Kael's neck had been a second before.
"Toren, get Lirien out of the open!" Kael shouted again, bracing as the shard vibrated with tension.
Toren shoved the girl behind a nearby pillar and swung his hammer in a brutal arc. It connected with the echo's chest, and the creature exploded into a cascade of starlight and mist, dissipating into the air.
But it wasn't over.
The floor cracked again. Then again. Shadows rose—two, three more echoes pulling themselves free from the stone like memories refusing to die.
"Kael…" they whispered. "Kael…"
"Damn it!" Toren roared, swinging his hammer to crush another echo mid-lunge. "They're after you!"
Kael snarled, binding one echo's legs with a snap of threads. It stumbled, glitching like a broken illusion, and he darted toward the sealed door. The shard in his hand pulsed with frantic urgency.
"Cover me!" he shouted. "I'll open it!"
Mara raised her cane and muttered in a tongue Kael didn't recognize. The words were old—twisted and sacred. Power oozed from them like sap from a wounded tree. A shimmer spread from her, a haze that caught the echoes like a net. Their motions slowed, as though struggling through thickened air.
"Quickly!" she gasped, her voice cracking with effort.
Kael reached the door and slammed the shard into its hollow. Runes flared across the stone, threadlines spiraling outward—but something shifted beneath the floor.
A trap.
The walls split open with a hiss, and spikes shot from the stone, razor-edged and gleaming in the shardlight.
"Move!" Kael cried, his mind racing. He lashed out with threads, deflecting one spike aimed at Toren. Another caught Mara across the arm. She cried out, her blood spattering the ground.
The door's runes spun like a puzzle—three spirals, one central knot. Kael traced the shard along the pattern, drawing breath and instinct together. The mechanism clicked. The final rune pulsed, and the stone groaned open.
A narrow passage stretched beyond, lit by floating motes of blue fire. They shimmered like fireflies in a cave—gentle and silent, but no less watchful.
"Go!" Kael yelled, turning as another echo lunged behind him.
Toren scooped Lirien into his arms and charged through the opening. Kael caught Mara's good arm and pulled her after them, just as a claw raked the stone behind them.
The door slammed shut, sealing the echoes behind. Their whispers pressed against the stone, still calling Kael's name, like the promise of a debt unpaid.
The passage was narrower now, the hum louder—more insistent. Kael could feel it in his chest, in his bones. It was no longer a summons. It was a heartbeat.
Mara stumbled. Kael steadied her. "You're bleeding."
"It's nothing," she said, teeth clenched, eyes burning with the same fire that had brought her here. "Keep moving."
Toren placed Lirien down, his hammer still raised. "Those things knew your name, lad. That's not nothing."
Kael's gaze didn't waver. "Because the Tyrant is waking."
Mara nodded grimly. "Not fully. But enough to sense you. The shard is cutting its threads. It's fighting back."
The shard's glow had dimmed. Kael could feel it draining, the threads within it strained near breaking.
They entered another chamber—smaller, stranger.
The floor was a mosaic of thread-lines, weaving together like a map of destiny. Alcoves lined the walls, each holding a relic ruined by time—a cracked anvil, a dagger with a serpent's hilt, a broken loom.
In the center stood a pedestal. Empty. But above it floated a rift—small, but alive. Its edges shimmered with violet energy. The heartbeat of the Tyrant.
Lirien pointed, her voice shaking. "That's where I saw it. In my dream. The shadow."
"It's not a dream," Mara murmured. She tapped her cane on the mosaic. "It's a gate. The Tyrant's prison. It's pulling the villagers through it."
Before Kael could speak, the rift pulsed.
A figure fell out.
Korrin. The baker. His apron was torn, his face pale with terror.
"Kael…" he gasped, collapsing to the ground. "It's… it's got them all…"
Kael knelt, catching him. "Korrin—what is it doing? What's inside?"
Korrin clutched at his sleeve, barely able to speak. "Watching… waiting… for you."
The rift pulsed again. A shadow loomed within—tall. Sharp. Its voice slithered through Kael's mind like a knife.
"Kael… come…"
Toren stepped between them, hammer raised. "Let it try."
"No," Kael said, gently lowering Korrin to the floor. His eyes locked on the rift. "It wants me. Then I'm going in."
Mara reached for him, desperation in her voice. "You're not ready. The Tyrant is Aetherial. It's not something you can—"
"I have no choice," Kael said, his voice resolute. "It's taking them because of me. I end it—now."
He pressed the shard to his chest. It flared—one final blaze of light—and Kael stepped into the rift.
The chamber vanished behind him.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
And beyond that darkness, something waited.
Something old.
Something awake.