The air inside the Vault was thicker than it should've been. It clung to their throats, humming faintly, as if filled with invisible dust motes vibrating on their own accord.
Raal's threads quivered the moment he stepped through. They didn't obey him—not fully. It was like the place itself had hands, tugging back.
"Careful," he muttered. "The air's not just air."
Mael said nothing. He was already listening—head slightly tilted, eyes scanning the faintly glowing runes carved into the corridor's walls. They pulsed at uneven intervals, almost like they were mimicking his heartbeat.
Lirra crouched low beside a broken pillar. "This isn't Guild work," she said. "Too old. Too…aware."
The twins exchanged glances. One flexed his remaining arm, the other reached for the hilt strapped to his back, Mirra flickering faintly around his fingers.
Then, the hum changed pitch.
It wasn't louder—it was closer.
They didn't see the first guardian until it was already half out of the wall—liquid metal folding out of the stone, twisting into shape. Not alive, not dead. The thing shimmered like oil and mirrored light, every reflection slightly off.
Raal reacted first. His threads lashed out—thick cords of woven Mirra snapping forward. They hit the creature's chest and stuck for a second before hissing apart like burned hair.
"It eats Mirra?" Lirra hissed, rolling aside as a blade of fluid metal sliced through where her shoulder had been.
Mael stepped forward, his voice even. "It doesn't eat. It copies."
He raised his hand. The Aethern Dial on his wrist began to turn—slow, deliberate rotations that made the air ripple. The creature hesitated, its face flickering through half a dozen unfinished shapes.
Then the hum deepened again. Three more shapes began pushing out of the wall.
Lirra cursed. "We're boxed in."
"Not yet."
Mael's words came out soft, almost kind. He flexed his fingers once—
—and the entire corridor snapped like glass under pressure.
The world folded. For a single second, every shadow in the Vault blinked in reverse. The creatures froze, light stuttering through their bodies. Then came a noise like wind rushing backward.
When the world realigned, the front guardian was gone. Melted into the floor, its reflection still rippling like a memory.
Raal stared, breath ragged. "You—didn't—"
"I didn't stop time," Mael said, finishing the thought for him. "I made it hesitate."
He turned his head slightly. The faint light in his eyes dimmed. "Keep moving. These walls remember."
They advanced in silence again. The runes above them pulsed in odd patterns now, responding to their Mirra with faint resonance. Each footstep echoed back too loud, like the Vault itself was learning their rhythm.
At the next turn, Lirra paused beside an engraving—an ancient emblem burned into the metal. She traced the outline with her glove. "You ever wonder who built this?"
Mael didn't answer immediately. His gaze lingered on the emblem, then drifted toward the far end of the hall, where the next door glowed faintly gold.
"Not who," he said finally. "What for."
The light flickered again, shadows stretching. For a moment, it almost looked like the walls were breathing.
The hum in the pipes returned, slow and low.
And from somewhere ahead, faint and distorted, came a voice—soft and mechanical.
"...recognition confirmed."
The door ahead began to open.
Mael smiled faintly. "We've been expected."
---