Chapter 182: Vault below the bones
We traveled in silence.
Down the old western trail—one not charted on any modern map of the Academy.
Roderick led the way, torchlight casting jagged shadows against moss-slicked stones. Two guards from Internal Affairs trailed behind, clutching relic-class blades like prayer beads.
We passed beyond the barriers. I felt the pulse of severed runes—wards that had been chewed through, not dispelled.
Whatever breached this place didn’t bypass security.
It devoured it.
The tomb was not a structure.
It was a wound.
Carved into the cliffside like an open mouth, its entrance bled a dull, golden mist that smelled faintly of silver and vinegar.
The moment I crossed the threshold, the Grimoire in my coat burned against my ribs—eager, terrified, hungry.
Inside, the air changed.