Chapter 100: Vault of Armors
"Garen!" Kyrsa waved him down before he’d even cleared the crowd. "Over here."
Aidan dropped into the open seat, Solenne and Beatrix crowding in on either side, and Isolde trailing a step behind them, looking distinctly out of her depth surrounded by this many Divine-rank auras at once.
"Everyone, Isolde." Aidan waved a hand between her and the table. "Isolde, everyone. She’s good people."
"Good people who could use a drink," Kyrsa said, already sliding a cup her way.
"I will not say no to that," Isolde said, and sat.
"And this," Aidan went on, nodding at Beatrix, "is Betty."
Beatrix didn’t even blink.
"Betty," Isolde repeated, shaking her hand. "Nice to meet you."
"Likewise," Beatrix said smoothly.
It was important to keep Beatrix’s identity safe. She and "Aidan" were both being hunted by the Desmeral family, and one loose name in a crowded hall was all it would take.
Kyrsa caught Aidan’s eye for half a second, said nothing, and topped off her cup instead.
"So." Isolde settled into the last open chair, glancing around the table. "Where’s Ouja? Figured he’d be here, since we’re the only Earth people around."
Aidan chuckled. "Didn’t invite him."
"Why not?"
"Ouja Sinclair." He shrugged, easy. "Let’s just say we’ve got a bit of enmity."
Isolde opened her mouth like she wanted more than that, took one look at his face, and decided against pushing.
Aidan glanced across the hall instead.
Ouja stood near a far table, leaning into an easy conversation with two Divine-rank figures Aidan recognized instantly, one wearing the coiled serpent crest, the other in Desmeral violet. Making friends. Making the right friends, specifically.
Desmeral and Nevelrot.
Ouja felt the look, turned his head, and smiled.
’Course you are.’ Aidan smiled right back, thin and unbothered. ’Course you’re already working the room.’
"Everyone." A new voice rolled through the hall, and it didn’t need to be loud to silence every conversation in it.
The pressure arrived a half second before the man did, and Aidan felt it hit like a wall.
He’d killed thirty Final Stage Divine-rank Terrors the day before without breaking a sweat. This was not that. This was heavier, older, wrong in a way his instincts flagged before his mind caught up. For one genuinely rare moment, something in his chest went cold with actual concern.
’Huh.’ He kept his face flat. ’Okay. So there’s more room above Final Stage than I thought.’
[Jovan: There is, my friend.]
’You could’ve mentioned that sooner.’
[Jovan: You never asked.]
The man crossing the hall wore no crown, no obvious mark of rank, just a plain dark coat that somehow made the pressure worse instead of better. One of the ten Throne Bearers, the leaders of the Alliance.
[Jovan: I was one of them once. Freshly ascended, right before everything went black.]
’You were a Throne Bearer.’ Aidan filed that away carefully. ’And you never got around to mentioning that either.’
[Jovan: It never came up. I never reached Singular Break, if that’s what you’re wondering. Colored King Black put me on that level anyway, even without it.]
’Your Cursed Vessel did that much on its own?’
[Jovan: Enough of it, yes. That, and I led the defense that broke a major Terror Breach before anyone else could turn the tide. The seat came from both together, not from checking every box the usual way.]
’So Throne Bearer doesn’t strictly mean Singular Break.’
[Jovan: Not by requirement, no. But look at him, my friend. Feel him. That is not a man who stopped where I did.]
Aidan looked again, and understood exactly what Jovan meant.
’That’s why he hits so much harder than you ever did.’ Something settled cold and clear in his chest. ’You earned the seat sideways. He earned it straight through, and kept climbing after.’
[Jovan: There’s a state past Final Stage. Achievable, and manifested, only once you’ve already hit it. Two parts to it. One is Domain Expansion, which Finn and I both carry.]
’And the other?’
[Jovan: Singular Break. Space and time bend around you in a small radius. Grants unlimited energy for a duration, and coats the body in that same energy as armor. Very hard to break. Combine that with a Domain, and you’ve got something dangerous to nearly anyone. Including you, unless you’re standing at the same level.]
’Cheerful.’ Aidan’s jaw tightened slightly. ’You and Finn got that too?’
[Finn: I DON’T! Q-Q]
[Jovan: Neither do I, unfortunately. I died before I got the chance to reach it. I know I was close. Perhaps I should start trying.]
’Add it to the list, buddy.’
The Throne Bearer reached the center of the hall, and every Divine-rank powerhouse in the room, Ordun and Kyrsa included, straightened without seeming to notice they’d done it.
He raised one hand, and badges appeared in the air above him, drifting down toward everyone.
"This badge is required to pass the formation guarding the Origin Tomb’s entrance. Don’t lose it." His voice carried no threat, only flat certainty. "The spacecraft departs from this location in twenty-four hours. Anyone not present at that time gets left behind."
He let that sit for a moment.
"There are dangers inside the Tomb you won’t see coming until they’re already in front of you. So." He gestured, and a vault door manifested out of thin air below him, vast and ancient and humming faintly. "Everyone gets a Divine-rank Armor."
A murmur ran through the hall.
"Five hundred armors inside. Some are masterpieces, recovered from previous expeditions. They have wills of their own, and they choose who wears them. You can’t force the match."
He folded his hands. "Unless destroyed, your armor returns when you exit. If you exit. There’s no device built that can pull someone out of the Tomb by force. Only the exit nodes inside get you home."
"Most of what’s in there is solid, ordinary Divine-rank gear. Good enough to keep you breathing." He paused. "Fewer than five sets in the whole vault are true masterpieces, old enough and strong enough to have wills of their own. Those choose their wearer. You won’t get a say, and you likely won’t find one at all."
A pause.
"Tomorrow, you’ll be briefed on the Tomb itself. For now." He nodded toward the vault. "Go pick your armor."
...
The vault swallowed sound the moment they crossed its threshold, replacing it with a low, layered hum, and armor stood arranged in endless rows under light that came from nowhere in particular.
"This is insane," Solenne breathed, drifting toward a rack of dark, feathered plate that shifted color as she passed.
"Try it on," Beatrix said. She was already three steps ahead, eyeing a set of heavy, wave-etched armor with open longing.
Isolde found hers first, a set of molten gold plate that sat solid and warm under her hands, well-made and clearly built for someone who liked to fight close to fire.
"Oh." She turned it over, testing the weight. "This’ll do nicely."
[Sunfall Plate. Divine-rank.]
Solenne pulled the dark feathered set down next, buckling it on piece by piece, wing-shaped pauldrons settling across her shoulders like they’d been sized for her.
"Not bad." She rolled one shoulder, testing the range. "I can work with this."
[Duskfeather Mail. Divine-rank.]
Beatrix hauled her chosen set off its rack with visible enthusiasm, wave-etched metal cool and heavy in her hands, and started strapping it on without waiting for anyone’s opinion.
"Yeah." Beatrix grinned, flexing one gauntlet. "This one."
[Tideguard Harness. Divine-rank.]
Ordun and the others peeled off toward their own corner of the vault, already trading easy insults about who’d pick the ugliest set, and Aidan let them go, wandering deeper instead.
’Fewer than five out of five hundred.’ He passed rack after rack of solid, unremarkable Divine-rank plate. ’Terrible odds. Good thing I’m patient.’
He passed gleaming silver plate, layered obsidian, a set wreathed permanently in storm-cloud, all of it ordinary no matter how good it looked.
’I want a masterpiece.’
Then as he walked, he arrived at a place, tucked into the vault’s furthest, dimmest corner, half-forgotten behind racks nobody else had checked, something old and patient sat waiting.
Aidan stopped walking.