The Voice in the Vault
The iron door groaned as Adrian pushed it open, revealing a vast, circular room with a vaulted ceiling that seemed to stretch endlessly into the shadows. The air inside was colder, heavier, as if the chamber itself were holding its breath.
At the center of the room stood the relic: a jagged crystal embedded in an ornate pedestal of black stone. Its faint red glow pulsed like a heartbeat, casting eerie shadows that danced along the rune-covered walls.
Adrian approached cautiously, his sharp eyes scanning the intricate runes on the floor. “This is no ordinary relic,” he said, his voice low and tense. “It’s bound by magic older than anything even vampires remember.”
Eryon’s unease deepened as the energy from the relic washed over him. His wolf paced restlessly within, growling warnings he couldn’t ignore. “We need to hurry,” he said, his voice strained.
Adrian nodded, his movements precise as he knelt before the pedestal. “Stay back,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. “If this thing is warded, one wrong move could kill us all.”
Lyra and Eryon exchanged a tense glance but obeyed. They watched as Adrian began deciphering the runes, his fingers tracing their sharp lines.
The hum in the room grew louder as Adrian reached for the relic. The moment his hand brushed its surface, a force exploded outward, knocking him back against the wall with a bone-rattling thud.
“Adrian!” Lyra cried, rushing to his side.
“I’m fine,” he gritted out, though his face was pale and his breathing labored.
Before Lyra could say more, the crystal’s glow brightened, and a shadow began to form at the center of the chamber. The energy shifted, oppressive and cold, as the shadow coalesced into the shape of a tall woman.
Her silver eyes, sharp and unyielding, locked onto them as she stepped forward. Her movements were graceful, almost predatory, and her voice was smooth as silk.
“You’ve done well to make it this far,” she said, her tone carrying faint amusement. “I wasn’t sure you’d manage it. Especially not with him.” She gestured toward Adrian with a dismissive wave.
Lyra stepped forward, her blade trembling in her grip. “Who are you?”
The woman’s smile sharpened, her gaze lingering on Lyra before shifting to Eryon. “You don’t know me yet, child,” she said, her tone almost mocking. “But you will. Soon enough.”
Her eyes softened slightly as they rested on Eryon. “You’ve been clever, my son. But your time for hiding is over.”
Eryon’s heart stopped, his blood running cold. “Son?” he managed, his voice a whisper.
The woman inclined her head, her expression serene. “Yes, dear boy. I am Seraphine—your mother.”
