David

  The vault door hissed open with a mechanical exhale, releasing a breath of ancient air into the corridor. Cool. Dry. Stale, like a room that hadn’t been touched in centuries.

  Ava stepped aside. “The Vault, Master.”

  The space beyond swallowed sound. It stretched out farther than I could immediately comprehend, a vast chamber disappearing into shadow, its ceiling lost high above. Endless rows of wooden crates and metal chests filled the space from wall to wall, stacked with obsessive precision. Narrow aisles cut between them like corridors in a silent city, each path repeating until distance erased distinction.

  Every container was marked: stamped seals, etched numbers, and labels written in the Engineers’ sharp, angular script. Some crates were freshly reinforced with metal bands; others looked ancient, their wood darkened by time, corners worn smooth by hands long gone. Shelving units rose along the walls in regimented tiers, burdened with devices reduced to inventory.

  It was impossible to tell where one collection ended and another began. Everything the Engineers had chosen to save was here. I stood in the doorway for a long moment, simply staring, trying, and failing to grasp what might be contained within this single room.

  “We have completed loading the contents of the library and workshop, Master,” Allyson said quietly behind me.

  “Let’s start in here,” I replied at last, stepping forward. “We can’t take everything…”

  The air was thick with the scent of old wood, cold iron, and aged oil, a strange, comforting mixture. It smelled like work. Like patience. Like history pressed into crates and forgotten on purpose. Every step felt like walking deeper into someone else’s unfinished thoughts.

  “I feel like some ‘top men’ are going to step out at any moment,” I muttered as I moved farther inside.

  Allyson tilted her head. Ava, just behind her, paused.

  “…Top men?” Ava asked.

  “Never mind,” I said, smiling to myself. “Ancient joke.”

  Ava smiled faintly as I stopped in front of one section. “This was Ealhstan Bosques’s private reserve. He prepared it in case the Tower was ever cut off.”

  I laughed, “You have to have priorities.” With a flick of my wrist, I opened my dimensional storage and began absorbing crates one by one. Each vanished in a pulse of light and air, the room slowly emptying around me.

  Ava stared at the now-barren section, blinking as if unsure what she was seeing.

  “You have… dimensional storage, Master?” Her voice was low, reverent.

  I gave her a grin. “Among other things.”

  Ava folded her arms, still stunned. “I may need to reassess. Twelve wives might not be enough to support a man with that kind of inventory.”

  “I thought it was eight.”

  Allyson chimed in from behind, deadpan. “It was. Until just now.”

  “You’re storing all of it?” she asked.

  “Not everything,” I said, slowing as I passed a small iron chest bolted to the floor. No label. Just a series of etched runes I didn’t recognize.

  I crouched beside it. “This one?”

  Ava hesitated. “That… was never opened. Even by Ealhstan or any other engineer. Master Ealhstan left no notes on its contents.”

  My hand hovered over it for a moment, then withdrew. “Interesting. Let’s leave this one here for now. Maybe forever.”

  I stood and watched for a moment as the golems and some of the flight crew pulled crates and left the vault with them. Row by row, the sections began to empty.

  The air here was different. Thicker. As if the materials stored within still breathed.

  My attention snapped to two large crates nestled between two marked High-Risk Storage. The label read simply: Dragon Scales – Verified.

  With a flick of the latch, I unsealed the crate, and the lid groaned as I eased it back. Inside, glowing faintly with residual heat, were scales the color of fresh blood. Smooth, slightly translucent along the edges, each one looked forged rather than grown.

  I reached in and lifted a single scale. It was enormous, easily nine square feet, and impossibly light. A dull, metallic thrum vibrated up my arm as I tapped it with a knuckle. Theodore and Ajax leaned in.

  “Here,” I said, offering it to Ajax.

  He took it as if someone had handed him a relic of the gods.

  “It was labeled Dragon Scales,” I added, watching Ajax’s expression.

  He turned one over carefully, eyes wide. “You’re not exaggerating. This… this is a fortune.”

  Theodore let out a low whistle. “Just one of these could buy a city’s loyalty. And you said there are more?”

  “Counting this crate?” I closed my eyes, scanning the latest additions in my storage. “Twelve.”

  Ajax laughed, soft, almost disbelieving. “Our sister’s marrying into an empire.”

  I smiled but didn’t answer. Instead, I placed the scale back in the crate, sealed it, and stored it away with the rest.

  Then I paused at the next label and muttered, “Where would I even find dragons?”

  “To the east,” Theodore said, almost absently. “Across the sea. If the old tales are true, there’s a kingdom where they still live.”

  “Just a tale,” Ajax added, but his voice held a note of wonder, like he wasn’t quite sure.

  General Kitch stepped in beside me, arms crossed. “Where do you plan to put all this when we return?”

  “Still working on that,” I said, grinning as the last crate vanished. “Maybe have a huge yard sale? Do you think anyone would come?” Kitch snorted.

  The elongated box rested alone on the shelf, quiet and unassuming. Only a single line of faded script ran along one side: “Map of Legends.” No other markings. No symbols. No warnings.

  I pulled it free, and a soft cloud of dust drifted down, the weight of years thick on its surface. It hadn’t been touched in a long time, centuries, maybe longer.

  “This,” I said, turning the box over in my hands, “is most likely what I was meant to retrieve.”

  “You sure?” General Kitch asked, eyeing it warily.

  I shook my head. “Not completely. But so far, it’s the only map I’ve found. And it’s the only thing labeled as a map.” I didn’t open it. Not here. Not now. Whatever secrets it held could wait until we were back at the Tower, behind walls I understood and protections I trusted.

  “Good chances,” I added, tucking it away into my storage. “I’ll know more soon enough.”

  As I rounded into the second row, it mirrored the first in structure: tall, cavernous, lined with crates stacked in perfect geometric precision. The familiar angular script of the Engineers adorned each one, but as we walked deeper, the labels changed, and so did the feeling in my gut.

  “I swear,” I muttered, “this feels more and more like a Costco. I look at all of this and half expect someone giving out free samples.”

  No one laughed.

  “What’s a Costco?” Seraphina asked.

  “Well, imagine your family’s store, but gigantic, and everything is presented like this…” I said, holding my arms out wide. “Just in racks and large rows. They sell in bulk for less.” I smiled.

  The air was different here. Heavier. Not stale, but thick, like a butcher’s shop scrubbed clean a thousand times yet still unable to forget what it had once held. There was a faint metallic tang beneath the oil and wood, something coppery and old.

  The crates here were reinforced far more than the others. Thick iron bands wrapped their frames, layered with arcane seals that pulsed faintly as we passed. Some glyphs brightened for a heartbeat, responding to proximity or intent. Containment, not preservation.

  “What are these, David?” Bishop Varent asked, squinting at a label etched into the side of a crate beside him.

  I stepped closer, tilting the lid just enough to read the cramped Engineer script carved into the metal rim. “Let’s see… this one holds a mature dragon core.” I lifted the lid fully.

  Inside rested a dark gem the size of a clenched fist, suspended in a lattice of runes. It pulsed slowly, a deep crimson glow beating like a heart still stubbornly alive.

  Prince Ajax leaned in, breath catching. “Damn,” he muttered. “That’s priceless.”

  “Or catastrophic,” I replied, lowering the lid again. I glanced to another crate nearby, larger, heavier. Even sealed, I could feel the pressure rolling off it, a low thrum in my chest that set my teeth on edge.

  “What about that one?” I said, already reaching for it.

  Before anyone could object, I snapped it into storage. Then another. And another. “Let’s… think about examining those later,” I added, a little too casually.

  No one argued.

  When the golems rounded the corner, Allyson began directing them with crisp efficiency, prioritizing the most heavily warded crates first. One by one, the shelves were stripped bare, the dangerous heart of the row vanishing into controlled containment.

  And then the row opened up. Where crates had ended, armor began.

  Suits stood mounted on reinforced frames like silent sentinels, some shaped for humans, others for forms I didn’t recognize. Sleek, utilitarian designs stood beside baroque constructions layered with runes, crystals, and interlocking plates. Shields leaned in careful stacks nearby. Armor made of mithril, orichalcum, and at least half a dozen unfamiliar alloys and woven materials caught the ambient light in muted, predatory gleams.

  I felt the itch to analyze them, every piece whispering promise, danger, possibility, but there were too many. Far too many. I had the sudden, very real sense that trying to process it all at once would leave me with mental whiplash.

  So instead, I worked quickly.

  One by one, I began placing the armor into storage as the golems cleared the remaining racks. The row emptied with unsettling speed, the silence left behind feeling heavier than the contents that had filled it.

  Allira slowed, her hand drifting instinctively toward where a sword should have been. Her posture shifted, not from fear but from readiness. The kind born of too many battlefields and too many close calls.

  “Most of these aren’t ceremonial,” she said quietly, eyes scanning the suits one by one. “This is war gear. Some of it… ancient war gear.”

  General Kitch stepped closer to one of the human-sized frames, studying the articulation of the plates, the angles of the joints. He didn’t touch it. Veterans rarely did unless they had to.

  “This one,” he murmured, nodding toward a suit layered with overlapping scales of dull silver and crimson-veined crystal. “It’s designed to survive a killing blow. Look at the numerous scrapes and dents. This kept whoever was wearing it…” I watched him slowly look past the armor in front of him, down the row. I followed his gaze, then Allira’s. And then I felt it.

  At the far end of the row stood a single suit, isolated from the rest. No ornamentation. No visible runes. No shimmer of power or arcane resonance. It was vaguely humanoid, but only just, its proportions subtly off, as if designed for something that merely resembled a man.

  The armor was black. Not polished black. Not matte. Black like light didn’t bother trying to reflect. The air around it felt… thinner. Not cold. Not oppressive. Just absent. As if sound, heat, and magic quietly died a few inches from its surface.

  Allira stopped walking. “That one,” she said, voice tight. “I don’t like that one.”

  General Kitch stared at it for a long moment. “I agree. It just feels wrong,” he said slowly. “It’s meant to ensure the wearer survives no matter what is thrown at the wearer.”

  I took a step closer and stopped immediately. Nothing warned me. No HUD alert. No glyph flare. No spike of mana. Just the unmistakable sense that if I took another step, something would notice. Analyze didn’t trigger. Storage didn’t respond.

  It didn’t resist. It didn’t react. It simply… ignored me. I reached out and touched the chestplate. It was cold. Not the absence of heat, but the presence of something else.

  “That,” I said quietly, “is the first thing in this vault that makes me glad I don’t understand it.” I examined its construction and was genuinely impressed. A master made this. “Ava, can you have some crates brought here? I want to pack this up.”

  General Kitch came closer and tried to touch it also, but he jerked back. “Damn, I was shocked.”

  The golems, in the meantime, without instruction, avoided it entirely, giving the suit a respectful, almost fearful distance as they finished clearing the rest of the row. Several Golems brought a couple of crates and dropped them as close as they dared to come. I understand, there is something about this armor. I can’t leave it here.

  “I don’t know how you are touching that thing,” Kitch said as he was flexing his hand. “My hand still stings just from that touch…”

  Slowly, piece by piece, I disassembled the armor and placed it into the crates. “It feels cold to my touch. That’s about it.” With the first crate full and closed, I placed it into storage. In the end, it took two crates to package the entire armor set. When the last piece vanished into storage, the pressure lifted. The room felt larger. Warmer. Everyone, finally, breathed again.

  Ava led us down the third row, her steps slower now, measured, as if even she treated this section with caution. The canyon of crates and shelves mirrored the other aisles in size and structure, but the feel of this place was different. The air itself seemed heavier, faintly humming, as though the contents here remembered what they were meant to become.

  This row pulsed with mystery.

  The crates here were darker than the others, their thick wood reinforced with iron bands etched with faintly glowing glyphs that shifted as we passed. Some of the markings were unmistakable warnings, jagged symbols meant to draw and hold the eye. Others were classifications so old they bordered on myth, their meanings half-lost even to the Engineers who had cataloged them.

  As my eyes traced the labels, my breath caught.

  These crates weren’t filled with finished goods, weapons, or tools. They were raw stock. Bars of metal stacked with meticulous care. There were plenty I recognized: gold, silver, mithril, orichalcum, enough wealth to destabilize kingdoms if it ever reached the open market.

  But those weren’t what held my attention.

  I stepped closer and knelt, prying open one of the darker crates. Inside lay a single ingot of metal so black it seemed to absorb the light around it. It wasn’t reflective. It wasn’t dull. It was empty, like a hole cut into the world and shaped into a bar.

  I glanced back up at the crate’s lid. The label was simple. Almost understated.

  Voidsteel.

  My stomach tightened as I triggered my skill.

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  [Analyze Activated]

  The system’s overlay flared into view, harsher than usual, its text edged with warning glyphs.

  Voidsteel

  Type: Exotic Metal

  Origin: Between the Planes

  ? Nullifies magic on contact

  ? Drains life force if mishandled

  WARNING:

  Improper handling may result in severe injury or death.

  Recommended Skill: Arcane Blacksmith – Level 10

  I slowly let the crate’s lid fall closed. Arcane Blacksmith. Level ten. It seems that I have a new goal.

  As the golems unloaded the shelves, I noticed two crates in the back, covered in dust. Reaching for them, I found the containers felt just wrong. Still, I slid them forward to read the nearly faded labels on their sides. Aethersteel and Godglass. These weren’t materials you mined or smelted. They were substances that existed on the edge of reality, mentioned only in half-burned treatises and marginal notes by Engineers who had clearly pushed too far and paid for it. I had seen them referenced in theory, “if this, if that”-usually followed by words like “unstable,” “catastrophic,” or “do not attempt.”

  Forging them was likely impossible. At least for me. At least for now.

  I felt Seraphina step closer, her presence warm at my side. She didn’t touch anything, just leaned in slightly, eyes moving from crate to crate.

  “These feel…” she hesitated, searching for the word.

  “Dangerous,” Allira finished quietly from my other side. Her hand rested near the hilt of her sword, more out of instinct than intent.

  “That’s a good way to put it,” I said. “I did read about some of these metals… I am good at smithing, but these are beyond me.”

  “You’re too modest, dear,” Seraphina chuckled. “Beyond for now…” Allira also agreed.

  Ava and Allyson exchanged a silent look, then began issuing commands. One by one, golems moved in perfect coordination, lifting the reinforced crates with almost reverent care. As each was removed, it vanished into storage, leaving behind a space somehow darker for its absence.

  When the last crate was taken, the far wall was revealed. A weapons rack.

  It stood alone, polished and pristine, as though someone had ensured it would be the first thing seen once the materials were gone. The rack held a modest lineup: swords, spears, daggers, but every piece radiated purpose. These weren’t ceremonial. They didn’t look experimental. They were finished.

  I stepped forward and reached for the nearest blade. A mithril longsword.

  The moment my fingers closed around the hilt, I felt it: perfect balance, flawless weight distribution. The blade whispered free of its sheath, catching the overhead light in a clean silver-blue gleam. It was sharp. Not just honed, but precise, as if the edge existed exactly where it needed to and nowhere else.

  Allira let out a quiet breath behind me. “That’s beautiful,” she said, not as praise, but as recognition.

  I turned and held the sword out to General Kitch.

  He blinked. “What’s this for?”

  “If it fits your hand,” I said simply. “It’s yours.”

  His jaw tightened as he took it, testing the weight. “This would be worth millions,” he said. “I can’t just accept…”

  “Then don’t,” I interrupted. “Hold onto it for me until we get back. I already gave Ajax one.”

  Kitch hesitated, then glanced past me.

  Ajax stood a few steps away, now holding a massive two-handed sword, its blade etched with gold inlays and blood-red gems embedded along the crossguard, like captured embers. He had drawn it, and the instant the blade cleared its scabbard, a soft, collective gasp rippled through the room. Ajax ran a hand carefully along the flat of the blade, then looked at me as though I had just placed a crown in his hands.

  “No protests,” I said with a faint smile, already nodding to the golems as they moved to dismantle the rest of the rack before anyone else could object.

  Seraphina shook her head softly, amusement and disbelief mingling in her eyes. “You realize,” she said, “most people would build kingdoms with what you’re handing out.”

  I shrugged. “I’m too lazy.” Allira snorted quietly.

  As the last of the weapons were removed from the racks, I moved farther down the row and stopped short. Rack after rack stretched before me, clothes hanging in orderly lines, fabrics and colors filling the vault from one end to the other. For a brief, disorienting moment, I felt as if I’d been dropped back into Boston, wandering through the local Goodwill.

  I just stood there, staring. Why store clothes?

  “Ava,” I asked, turning to her, “why clothes?”

  “Master,” she replied calmly, “I stored what they gave me. Nothing more.” That didn’t help.

  Behind me, I noticed Seraphina and Allira already moving through the racks, lifting garments, examining stitching, exchanging quiet comments. Soon enough, everyone had joined in, hands pulling hangers aside, fabrics tested between fingers, soft murmurs of approval and disapproval filling the space.

  I chuckled and wandered away from the growing chaos, following the row to its end. There, standing alone, was a mannequin draped in a dark cloak.

  I stepped closer and ran my fingers over the fabric, then paused. This wasn’t cloth. It flowed like cloth, folded like cloth… but it was metal. Woven metal, fine enough to move like fabric. I triggered Analyze.

  [Engineer’s Cloak]

  A woven cloak of orichalcum and mithril designed for Engineers.

  Provides enhanced physical and magical protection.

  Includes multiple hidden storage pockets.

  Adaptive design allows for ceremonial flair or discreet wear.

  Primary Functions:

  ? Enhanced physical and magical protection

  ? Adaptive weight distribution (Engineer-only resonance)

  ? Multidimensional storage array (expanded capacity)

  Secondary Systems:

  ? Line-of-Sight Spatial Translation Circuit (inactive)

  ? Kinetic dispersion and mana absorption

  I exhaled, impressed. “Why was this left behind?” I asked. “Ava, why is this still here?” Most of all, why is a circuit inactive? Something to figure out later.

  “That cloak belonged to Ealhstan Bosques,” she replied. “He departed before I was put into service. Everything in this section belonged to him.”

  “But why didn’t anyone else take it?” I frowned. “This isn’t something you just… forget.”

  “No one was able to wear it,” Ava said.

  Allyson joined us then. “I heard of stories of that cloak, Master. It was too heavy,” she added.

  Heavy. I lifted the cloak from the mannequin and slipped it over my shoulders. The weight settled naturally, evenly, like a winter coat I’d worn a hundred times before. I felt a slight drain on my core, and that was it. The cloak felt amazingly light.

  “Well?” I asked, fastening the clasp. “How’s it look?”

  “It doesn’t feel heavy,” I added thoughtfully. “I know it’s there, but it’s comfortable.”

  Seraphina stepped behind me, her fingers brushing the material. She froze. “This isn’t cloth,” she said slowly.

  “Orichalcum, mithril, and something else,” I replied, turning. “But it looks good, right? Better than Doctor Strange, right?”

  She sighed, smiling despite herself. “The moment I think I understand you, you throw the book out and start a new one.” She glanced me up and down. “Yes. It looks good. Is this going to be… a thing now? While you were busy discovering fashion,” she continued, “we may have pulled out a few outfits… For you.”

  I blinked. “Me?”

  She cupped my cheek, affectionate and entirely too pleased. “We love you. But do you know how hard it is to coordinate our dresses when you only ever wear black?”

  “All black,” Allira added helpfully. “Sometimes darker black. If that was even possible.”

  Seraphina smiled sweetly. “Don’t worry. We’ll dress you properly.”

  There it was. That look. I sighed, already defeated, and shook my head. As I hugged Seraphina, I noticed a door. At first, I walked right by it, not even noticing it. I looked at the sectional wall that separated the room.

  “Ava, what’s behind that?”

  Ava hesitated before the nondescript door, her hand hovering just short of the locking mechanism. When she spoke, her voice was lower than I’d ever heard it.

  “What lies beyond is… special,” she said quietly, almost reverently. “No one should enter except for you and Miss Allyson. What lies inside is dangerous. Some of it… possibly deadly.”

  That silenced the room.

  Even Prince Ajax stopped fidgeting. General Kitch’s hand drifted closer to his sword without him realizing it. Curiosity hung thick in the air, sharp and electric.

  “Ava,” I said calmly, “open it. I’ll go alone.”

  She nodded once, sharply, as if relieved not to argue. The lock disengaged with a soft, layered click, and the door swung inward.

  Cold air rolled out, heavy with dust and stillness. Not the stale quiet of an unused room, but the deliberate silence of a place meant to stay closed.

  I stepped inside. This section dwarfed the others. Overhead lamps cast long, fractured beams of light across towering stacks of crates arranged in precise Engineer geometry. The rows formed a maze, order imposed on something that clearly resisted it.

  My footsteps echoed too loudly as I moved forward.

  The first stacks I passed were sealed tighter than anything we’d seen before. Heavy iron bands. Layered arcane shielding. Warning glyphs etched deep into the wood, some familiar, others archaic enough that even my HUD hesitated to translate them.

  Demon cores.

  Crate after crate. Some were labeled clearly. Others were so old that the markings had eroded into meaninglessness. I triggered Analyze more than once, but each time the result was the same.

  [Contents Shielded]

  [Access Restricted]

  That alone was unsettling. I moved on. At the far end of the vault, something else waited. Three figures stood apart from the crates, half-swallowed by shadow. Massive. Broad. Wrong.

  They weren’t armor. They were machines. Mech suits. The Engineers hadn’t just dreamed of war; they had tried to build gods for it.

  Each suit stood twice my height, humanoid in form yet brutally functional. Thick, plated limbs. Reinforced torsos. Exposed joint housings where cables and arcane conduits once ran. They were unfinished, with some panels missing and others crudely bolted into place, as if time or disaster had cut the project short.

  Behind them rested weapons scaled to match: tower shields taller than I was, and swords so long they bordered on absurd. Siege blades. Executioner’s tools.

  Warhammer, brought to life. I wasn’t a Warhammer player myself; I’d dabbled in a few games over the years, but my sons were the real devotees. I’d watched them pore over rulebooks and miniatures, argue about loadouts and chapters, paint armor plate by plate with almost religious focus. I didn’t know every rule, but I knew the factions. I knew the silhouettes. And these… these were unmistakable.

  The mech suits stood like gods of war, frozen mid-march. Towering. Broad-shouldered. Built less like armor and more like walking fortresses. The plating was thick, layered in overlapping slabs that could shrug off artillery fire, each section engineered to deflect force away from vital joints. The chestplates were massive, reinforced around the core, as if daring the universe to try to stop the thing inside.

  They weren’t sleek. They weren’t elegant. They were inevitable.

  I could almost see the giant within, an enhanced warrior sealed inside ceramite and steel, strength multiplied by pistons and servos, every step powered by roaring internal machinery. These weren’t meant to dodge. They were meant to advance. To take fire. To keep coming.

  Space Marines, if my memory served.

  Knights of an endless war. Soldiers forged into weapons, encased in armor so heavy a normal man would be crushed by its weight. Each suit looked like it could wade through demonfire, break a line of infantry by sheer mass, and still have the strength to tear a monster apart with its bare hands.

  Behind them stood the weapons sized to match, tower shields like mobile walls, and swords so large they were closer to slabs of sharpened metal than blades. Tools of extermination. Instruments of last resort. My sons would’ve lost their minds.

  I exhaled slowly and turned back toward the entrance. “Ava. Allyson.” As expected, when they came, the others followed. Curiosity outweighed caution every time.

  They stopped short when they saw me holding the sword I’d taken from a nearby rack, simple and unadorned, labeled only Ever-Sharp. I slid it into storage without comment. Some things didn’t need explaining yet. All eyes drifted back to the machines.

  “Ava,” I asked, “did these ever function?”

  “I am unsure, Master,” she replied. “They were brought here after the Great War. They have remained in this section ever since.”

  Prince Theodore stepped closer despite himself, reaching out to tap one of the chestplates. The metal rang dull and deep.

  “They’re too big,” he muttered. “What are these?”

  “They’re what is called mech suits,” I said.

  “Not armor?” Ajax asked, incredulous.

  “Well, they are sort of armor,” I replied. “Mechanical armor. Imagine a knight wearing this. He would be stronger than a troll, faster than a cavalry charge, able to tear down fortifications.” The room collectively stepped back.

  “Impossible,” someone whispered.

  “Not really,” I said. “I saw fragments of plans on the old workbenches. Theory pushed to its limits. These are the end result… or close to it.”

  I studied the machines again, feeling both awe and unease. “They went all in. Whatever war they were preparing for, they expected it to be final.”

  “You have to take these,” Theodore said, almost pleading. “You can’t leave them here.”

  “I wasn’t planning to,” I replied calmly. I pulled them into my storage along with their shields and swords. “Allyson, those cores over there, let’s take those. Leave the rest of that row.”

  “Yes, master.”

  Further in, I found more: magical weapons, enchanted armor, bizarre prototypes that defied classification. Allyson was instructing the steady stream of golems on what to take and what to leave.

  I found one crate set apart from the rest, perched alone on a reinforced shelf as if even the vault itself had decided it deserved distance. The markings on it were clean. Untouched. No warning glyphs. No containment runes. That alone was unsettling. I opened it carefully.

  Inside rested a sphere, perfectly smooth, no seams or joints, glowing faintly with a steady inner light, soft, patient, alive in a way no machine should be. The illumination wasn’t bright, but it felt deep, as though the light extended inward rather than outward.

  Along its base, etched in precise Engineer script, was a single designation.

  Tower Core.

  My breath caught. My heart skipped hard enough that I felt it in my throat. So it was real.

  All the half-referenced theories. The fragmented schematics. The passages I’d dismissed as metaphor or exaggeration. They hadn’t been stories at all, they’d been instructions. I gestured slowly toward the crate, never taking my eyes off the sphere.

  “Ava…” I said quietly. “Is that what I think it is?”

  She stepped closer, her expression uncharacteristically solemn. She looked at the core for a long moment before nodding once.

  “Yes, Master,” she said. “That is a Tower Core.” The reaction was immediate.

  Gasps rippled through the group. Someone swore under their breath. Even General Kitch stiffened, as if he’d just realized he was standing too close to a loaded weapon.

  “What’s a Tower Core?” Theresa asked, stepping up beside me, her voice careful. I didn’t answer right away. I was still staring at it.

  “That,” I said finally, “is how an Engineer’s tower is made.”

  I reached in just far enough to hover my hand above the sphere, not touching, not daring to. I could feel it, a faint pressure against my palm, like the promise of gravity that hadn’t fully formed yet.

  “Not built,” I continued. “Grown. It’s a seed. A creation engine. Older than any kingdom on this continent. Possibly older than the gods’ current order.” I swallowed. “I found references to them in the first tower. Mentions in old tomes. Diagrams that didn’t make sense until now. I didn’t understand what they were… not really. Not until I saw one.” I closed the crate gently, sealing the sphere away from sight. Then I placed it into my storage, with more care than I’d given anything else we’d recovered. “That one,” I added quietly, “needs to be handled very carefully.” No one argued.

  “I think,” I said after a moment, turning back to the group, “that’s about it.”

  “What about that box?” Bishop Varent asked, pointing toward a lone crate tucked into the far corner. I frowned. Somehow, I hadn’t noticed it until now.

  I walked toward it slowly, weaving past the stacks of crates and artifacts we’d already decided to leave behind. My fingers brushed the surface of the wood. There was no label. No designation. Only a sigil burned faintly into the grain, ancient, angular, and unmistakably deliberate.

  A warning. I cracked the lid.

  Inside rested a polished cylinder. Compact. Seamless. Almost elegant in its simplicity.

  My breath caught. I stepped back immediately. A nuclear device.

  The realization hit like a physical blow.

  The Engineers… they’d done it. They’d discovered the atom. Split it. Harnessed it. Weaponized it. And then, mercifully, they’d buried it here, sealed away so no one would ever stumble across it by accident.

  I closed the crate carefully. Reverently. And left it exactly where it was. If they had mech suits and airships, I was naive not to think they wouldn’t have those, too.

  “That,” I said flatly, “is something that should not exist. Ever.”

  The bishop took a cautious step closer. “But it does,” he said quietly. “Right there. What is it?”

  “You remember the old stories,” I said. “The white flash. The mountain that vanished. The land turned to glass.” He nodded slowly.

  “What’s in that crate is how that happened. It can level kingdoms. Kill the ground for centuries. It’s the end of everything.” Silence swallowed the room. Even the air seemed to stop moving.

  Seraphina stepped to my side and slipped her arm through mine, her grip firm, grounding. “You’re sure?” she whispered.

  “Yes,” I said without hesitation. “I’m sure.”

  Varent had gone pale. The princes stood frozen, staring at the crate as if it might open itself. Ajax was the first to find his voice.

  “But that kind of power,” he said carefully, “if we could control it—”

  “No,” I cut in, sharper than I meant to. “No one controls that. You don’t use it. You survive it. And if it’s ever used again, it won’t be a victory. It’ll be an extinction.”

  The words tasted familiar. Too familiar.

  For a split second, an old image surfaced in my mind: dust, ruins, a broken monument half-buried in sand. A man on his knees, screaming at the sky, realizing far too late what had been lost. An ending from an old Earth movie I’d seen once, where the horror wasn’t the weapon itself, but the realization that they had done it to themselves.

  You didn’t save the world, that memory whispered. You blew it up! Ah, damn you! God damn you all to hell!

  “But that kind of power,” he said carefully, “if we could control it…”

  “No,” I cut in sharply. “No one controls that. You don’t use it. You survive it. And if it’s ever used again, it won’t be a victory. It’ll be an extinction.” All that I could think about was Charlton Heston’s character, Taylor, or something like that, yelling, ‘You maniacs! You blew it up! Ah, damn you! God damn you all to hell!’ at the end of Planet of the Apes. You blew it up…

  Prince Theodore tried next. “But against the demons… surely…”

  “No!” I snapped, the word echoing off stone and steel. “That’s the line I can not cross. If we do, we become the very thing we’re trying to stop.”

  The room went quiet again. No more arguments. Only understanding. And fear.

  General Kitch met my gaze, his expression grim. “Earl… just one of those things. How bad?”

  “Bad enough to erase your capital,” I said. “Flatten your kingdom. Leave nothing but silence and shadows behind. My people fought wars just to avoid using weapons like that, and we knew exactly what the cost would be.”

  Kitch nodded once, slow and resolute. “Then I agree. Leave it.”

  I turned to Ava and Allyson. “If we’re done,” I said, “let’s leave this place and seal it.”

  The vault door groaned as it closed behind us, the sound heavy and final. Locks engaged one after another, deep and deliberate, like the ticking of a great clock counting down something that would now never come. That room would never open again.

  I sat on the dais at the center of the main chamber, the weight of what I’d seen settling into me like a stone sinking beneath still water. The vault doors were sealed now, silent and immovable, but the knowledge of what lay behind them pressed harder than any physical barrier ever could.

  Seraphina sat beside me, her hand warm in mine, a quiet, steady presence.

  “Are you okay?” she whispered.

  I glanced at her, then back toward the direction of the locked vault. When I spoke, my voice sounded distant, even to my own ears.

  “They did it,” I said softly. “They broke the bindings of the universe… and then walked away. Left their sins behind for someone else to stumble over.”

  Seraphina’s brows knit together, concern deepening. “You’re scaring me, David. All this talk about destroying mountains… laying waste to kingdoms…” She leaned into me, her voice dropping. “That’s the power of gods.” My other wives gathered closer without being asked, some standing behind us, others settling nearby. No one interrupted. They could feel it too.

  “Where I come from,” I said slowly, choosing my words with care, “we discovered that secret over a hundred years ago. The moment we did, everything changed. Just having that power made you a superpower. Entire nations learned to live with a gun pressed to their temples.”

  I lifted my gaze to the simulated stars shimmering across the dome overhead.

  “We used it twice. Only twice. And the world never recovered from the knowledge that we could do it again. The weapons weren’t just bombs; they were warnings. Threats made permanent.”

  Silence hung heavy as I continued.

  “Yes, incredible things came from that discovery. Clean energy. Medicine. Food that could last years instead of days. Technology that reshaped civilization.” I shook my head. “But the shadow of annihilation never lifted. We built laws. Systems. Doctrines. Entire philosophies just to keep ourselves from ending everything.”

  I exhaled slowly. “This world doesn’t have those safeguards. Not yet.”

  A voice cut through the quiet from the back of the chamber, Mage Woodwarde, calm but edged with challenge.

  “And who made you the arbiter of that choice, Lord Engineer? Shouldn’t such decisions rest with kings? With councils?”

  I met his gaze without anger, without hesitation.

  “Because it’s an engineer’s weapon,” I said evenly. “And as far as I know… I’m the last engineer.” The words landed harder than I intended.

  I turned back to Seraphina and gently rested my hand on her stomach, grounding myself in the simple, undeniable truth of her warmth beneath my palm. The chamber fell utterly silent, not because everyone agreed, but because everyone understood.

  The gods’ weapons would remain buried. Not used. Not awakened. Not tempted.

  Unless the world became desperate enough to beg for salvation at any cost.

  I laced my fingers with Seraphina’s, drawing strength from the quiet moment. “And because I won’t bring that destruction into a world where our child exists,” I said softly. “Where my family exists.” I stood, feeling the weight of the decision settle deep into my bones.

  “The choice is mine,” I said. “If anyone needs someone to blame…” I met every gaze in the chamber. “Blame me.”

  A pause.Then… Ding.

  The chime echoed in my mind as a pebble dropped into still water, shattering the moment.

  [New Quest]

  [Close the Rift]

  25,000 Class XP upon completion

  Rift? We have a rift?

  I spun on my heel. “General Kitch,” I barked, urgency seizing me. “We have a rift!”

  “Where?” Prince Theodore’s voice rang out behind me, sharp and immediate.

  “Ava!” I turned, eyes scanning for her through the crowd. “Find Ava, now!”

  The moment of calm was gone, replaced by the sick realization that whatever was sealed might not have been the only thing waiting to get out.