The Vault did not open like a door.
It yielded like a wound.
Stone groaned, not cracked. Runes bled light instead of shattering, the glow sinking inward as if swallowed. The air thickened, carrying the smell of cold iron and something older than dust. Aria felt it first. A pressure behind her eyes. A pull in her blood that answered the ancient call with unsettling familiarity.
Damien tightened his grip on her hand."You feel that too."
She nodded. "It recognizes me."
That was not comfort.
The seal parted just enough to allow passage, revealing a stair spiraling downward into shadow. No torches lined the descent. The light came from the markings themselves, etched deep into the walls, pulsing in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Like breath.
The Vault was alive.
Behind them, Captain Serel and six Crown Guards waited, tension wound tight in every line of their bodies.
"We proceed only until we confirm the chamber's integrity," Damien ordered. "No heroics."
