The secondary vault waited in the belly of the earth like a sleeping beast, and Caelan was about to wake it.
He moved alone this time. Vesper's orders had been crystal clear: no team. No backup. No witnesses. If the Ironclad were closing in, the fewer who knew the plan, the fewer who could betray it. Or die for it.
The tunnel he followed now was older than the guild itself, a narrow vein carved by water and time long before thieves claimed the dark as their kingdom. The air grew colder with every step downward, thick with the smell of wet limestone and something older, something that remembered blood.
The fungi here glowed a deeper shade, almost indigo, casting long, bruised shadows that clung to him like doubts. His boots made no sound on the slick stone. His breathing stayed slow, controlled. The wound at his side pulled with every twist, a dull fire that kept him sharp.
Eros floated ahead, wings casting tiny golden sparks that died before they touched the ground.
"You're awfully quiet," the spirit observed. "Usually by now you'd be cursing my name, the Goddess, your entire bloodline, and possibly the concept of gravity."
Caelan didn't smile. "I'm thinking."
"Dangerous habit." Eros spun in a lazy spiral. "What about?"
"About how I'm supposed to seduce a man who wants me dead when I can't even look at him without my pulse trying to break my ribs."
Eros made a delighted sound, like wind chimes caught in a storm. "Progress! You're admitting there's chemistry. Violent, stabby chemistry, but chemistry nonetheless."
"It's not chemistry. It's adrenaline. Survival instinct. Nothing more."
"Sure, darling. Keep telling yourself that." Eros drifted closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But I felt it. That moment in the corridor when blades crossed and breaths mingled. The air between you two could have ignited torchwood."
Caelan's jaw tightened. He refused to answer.
The tunnel ended abruptly at a sheer drop. A rope bridge swayed over a chasm so deep the bottom vanished into black. On the far side: a massive stone door carved with spiraling runes that pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat slowed by centuries.
Caelan tested the first plank. It groaned but held.
He crossed quickly, hands light on the ropes, eyes fixed on the door. When he reached the other side, he pressed his palm to the stone. The runes flared under his touch, warm, welcoming, alive.
The door rumbled open.
Inside was a chamber that stole breath.
The ceiling arched high, lost in shadow. Pillars of black marble rose like the ribs of some ancient god. At the center stood a pedestal, and on it: a shard of the Heartstone no bigger than a fist. It glowed soft rose-gold, throwing light across the walls in slow, hypnotic waves. The air around it hummed, sweet and heavy, like the moment before a kiss.
Caelan felt it pull at him. Not greed. Not power.
Something deeper. Something that made his chest ache.
He took one step forward.
And the floor exploded.
A pressure plate he hadn't seen clicked under his boot. Stone tiles flipped. From the walls, iron spikes shot inward, fast enough to skewer a man in half.
Caelan dove sideways, shadow bursting around him like black wings. He hit the ground rolling, heart slamming against ribs. Spikes retracted with a metallic hiss, then shot out again in a different pattern.
He scrambled to his feet, daggers already in hand.
More traps triggered in sequence: darts whistling from hidden slits, floor sections dropping away into spiked pits, a low rumble that promised something worse if he lingered.
Eros zipped around him, laughing like a mad thing. "Oh, this is brilliant! Vaelthar's handiwork, no doubt. He does love his little games."
"Shut up and help!"
"I'm moral support! Not trap-disarming support!"
Caelan snarled, ducking another volley of darts. He scanned the chamber, eyes darting between the pedestal and the deadly rhythm of the spikes.
There.
A faint line of runes along the base of the nearest pillar, glowing slightly brighter than the rest. A pattern. A code.
He moved.
Dart. Dodge. Roll. Leap.
He reached the pillar, pressed his hand to the runes in the sequence his new memories supplied: top left, bottom right, center, spiral out.
The traps froze mid-motion. Spikes hung suspended. Darts hovered in the air like angry wasps.
Silence.
Caelan exhaled, shaky.
He approached the pedestal slowly. The Heartstone shard pulsed brighter as he neared, throwing warm light across his face. Up close, it wasn't just stone. Tiny veins of liquid light moved beneath the surface, slow and languid, like blood in a dreaming heart.
He reached for it.
And the chamber door slammed shut behind him.
Heavy. Final.
From the darkness beyond the pedestal, something moved.
A low growl rolled through the stone.
Caelan froze.
A juvenile wyrmbeast stepped into the light.
Smaller than the adults that haunted the upper skies, but still massive: scales the color of midnight oil, eyes glowing molten amber, wings folded tight against a back ridged with spines. Smoke curled from nostrils the size of fists.
It tilted its head, studying him.
Caelan's grip tightened on his daggers.
The wyrmbeast took one step forward.
Then another.
Its tail lashed, cracking a pillar.
Eros whispered, suddenly very close to Caelan's ear. "Don't run. It'll chase. And it's faster than you."
Caelan swallowed. "Any brilliant ideas?"
"Talk to it."
"Talk. To a wyrmbeast."
"They're intelligent. Mostly. And this one's young. Curious. Not yet trained to kill on sight."
Caelan stared at the creature. The wyrmbeast stared back.
Slowly, very slowly, he lowered his daggers.
The beast huffed, a sound like distant thunder.
Caelan took one careful step backward. Then another.
The wyrmbeast mirrored him, head lowered, eyes never leaving his face.
Then it snorted, a puff of warm smoke that smelled like sulfur and cinnamon.
And it sat.
Just… sat.
Wings folded. Tail curled around massive claws. Like a very large, very dangerous cat deciding the intruder wasn't worth the effort.
Caelan let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
He edged toward the pedestal again, keeping one eye on the beast.
It watched him, unblinking.
He reached the shard.
His fingers closed around it.
The moment he touched the Heartstone, warmth flooded him, sweet and overwhelming, like sunlight after endless winter. Not just heat. Emotion. Longing. Loneliness. Desire.
Images flickered behind his eyes: a man with auburn hair and blue eyes, standing in torchlight, sword lowered, face open in a way it never was in battle.
Caelan gasped.
The wyrmbeast rumbled, low and questioning.
He pulled his hand back. The images faded, but the ache remained.
He slipped the shard into his pouch beside the first fragment. They sang together, a quiet harmony that vibrated against his hip.
The wyrmbeast watched him the entire time.
When he stepped away from the pedestal, it rose, stretched, wings unfurling just enough to brush the ceiling.
Then it turned and padded back into the darkness, tail flicking once in what might have been farewell.
The chamber door ground open again.
Caelan stood there for a long moment, breathing hard, heart racing with something far more dangerous than fear.
Eros landed lightly on his shoulder.
"Well," the spirit said, voice soft with wonder. "That was unexpected."
Caelan didn't answer.
He was thinking about blue eyes.
About a sword lowered instead of raised.
About the way the Heartstone had shown him something he wasn't ready to see.
He turned and walked out of the vault, the fragments humming against his skin like secrets too big to keep.
Behind him, the wyrmbeast's eyes glowed once more in the dark.
Watching.
Waiting.
And somewhere far above, under the twin moons, Thorne Ironfist woke from a dream of shadows and green eyes, hand reaching for a sword that wasn't there.
The night felt suddenly smaller.
And the distance between them felt suddenly, dangerously, shorter.