Boo's war table had shed its disguise.
Gone were the wine glasses and idle gossip scrolls. In their place: cold light and colder truths. A spectral map of Serath'Kai's underbelly flickered above the carved obsidian surface, veins of arcane energy glowing with artificial urgency. The image shifted constantly—roads warping, tunnels breathing like lungs under pressure—but always, the lines spiraled inward toward one place.
The Vault.
Above it: the Maw Garden.
Beneath it: the fungal catacombs.
Nyxia stood just behind Perseus, arms crossed, shoulder brushing his. Her armor hadn't stopped humming since they burned the cart. It wasn't loud, but it was constant. Like breath. Like memory. Like something alive inside the threads, waiting. It had become more than clothing. It was a second skin—one with its own heartbeat. She found herself occasionally touching it without thinking, as if soothing an anxious animal pressed against her ribs.
Across from them, Boo traced a red-lit corridor through layers of rot and rock. Her hands were bare tonight, silver-tipped nails gleaming under the tactical light. Her voice was sharp, clipped with something rare: tension.
"We go in through the east breach," she said. "Old smuggling tunnel collapsed three years ago. That collapse opened a fissure in the lower city's foundation—a hollow shaft that used to be a druidic barrow."
"Used to be," Cipher muttered, tapping a data node strapped to his wrist. "Now it's a convergence zone. Spore-touched growth. Anomalous heat signatures. Motion pings where there shouldn't be anything moving."
Mirell exhaled softly, pale mist escaping her lips even in the warmed chamber. "We'll need full filtration masks. The spores don't kill, but they twist your perception. I've seen the damage they do. The victims stop blinking. Stop responding. Like their minds fell out the back of their skulls."
Nyxia's jaw tightened. "Ves'Sariel's influence?"
"Not directly," Boo replied. "She's a manipulator, not a gardener. This is Hollow territory. It spread like mold in moonlight. Ves just fed it blood and bad prayers."
Perseus's eyes narrowed. "What comes after the catacombs?"
Boo tapped the table again. The projection twisted downward, revealing a new level. What emerged wasn't architecture. It looked like bone. Twisted white spirals the size of siege towers jutted from the subterranean earth. Some fossil. Some disturbingly fresh.
"The Maw Garden," she said. "No maps. No logic. It doesn't behave like space. That section of the undercity was torn open by something ancient. The formations look like teeth. Feel like teeth. You don't enter it. You get swallowed."
Nyxia frowned. "You sent scouts?"
"Three." Boo kept her voice steady. "One never came back. The second returned muttering in a dialect even the archivists couldn't trace. The third slit a teammate's throat with a smile. Said it was a kindness. Said he saw what waited inside the walls."
Cipher shifted uncomfortably. "Geometry down there isn't stable. Light behaves wrong. Echoes loop. Some operatives reported seeing themselves in the walls. Aging. Dying. Smiling. Not illusions. Reflections."
"And Ves?" Perseus asked.
Boo's gaze sharpened. "We believe she's already inside the Vault. She's turned the Maw Garden and catacombs into a crucible. Anyone strong enough to reach her will already be fraying."
Talon chuckled darkly as he sharpened his blade. "My kind of party."
Boo gave a thin smile. "If she opens that Vault, everything changes. The thing buried inside—whatever it is—was sealed by the original architects of Serath'Kai. They paved over it with runes, stone, and stories. That seal is older than most cities. Ves wants it awake."
Nyxia shifted. "What's actually down there?"
Boo hesitated.
Cipher filled the gap. "The energy coming from the site doesn't match arcane, elemental, divine, or any hybrid of the three. It registers as negative resonance. Like it's echoing our attempts to scan it. Feeding off curiosity."
Mirell added, voice low: "It doesn't sound like something you use. It sounds like something that uses you."
Boo nodded. "That's why we go in with intent. Not fear." She looked to the group. "Talon and Mirell, you're with me. Cipher's topside. Nyxia, Perseus—you're our strike team."
Nyxia raised an eyebrow. "You're not coming with us?"
Boo smirked. "Someone needs to plan your extraction."
Perseus looked at the map, then at Boo. "Timeline?"
"We move at dawn. Pack. Rest. Bring charms, purifiers, backup stones, mind-wards. Everything you don't want to die without."
The Vault's image pulsed again. Slow. Rhythmic.
A heartbeat without a body.
"If she opens that door before we reach her," Boo said, "we shut it behind her."
Nyxia met her gaze. "And if it's already open?"
Boo didn't blink. "Then we break what comes through."
Silence followed. Cipher looked down, fists clenched tighter around his wrist pad. Mirell whispered something into a charm at her neck, a prayer or a memory. Talon just nodded, but slower this time.
No speeches followed. No rallying cries. Just nods. Just readiness. Just a group who had seen too many endings to fear another.
Their quarters were dim, lit only by ambient glow. The city's hum filtered through the walls like static breath. A low vibration passed through the floor every few minutes—evidence of the deep pulse of Serath'Kai, restless.
Nyxia sat on the edge of the bed, slowly unfastening her armor. The plates shimmered as they loosened, whispering against one another. They were still warm. Still pulsing. The runes at her waist glowed faintly, fading only when she stopped looking. She hesitated a moment before touching the chestplate—half-expecting it to shiver beneath her fingers.
Perseus tossed his tunic aside and leaned over a trunk of supplies, silent but alert. His frame moved like a soldier still in the field, every gesture efficient. He checked blade edges, vial caps, and signal charms with mechanical focus.
"You think Ves is already inside?" she asked.
He didn't look up. "I think she never left. Not really."
Nyxia exhaled. "The armor—it did something when that Hollow-touched woman lunged. It didn't defend me. It attacked. Like it hated her."
Perseus walked over and crouched. His fingers brushed the collar. The runes there flared for an instant.
"This was Skivv's prize," he said. "But Ves put her sigil in the thread. This isn't just stitched. It's marked."
Nyxia met his eyes. "I don't know if it's protecting me. Or learning me."
Perseus stood. "Either way, we go down. And if it turns on you—"
"Then you end it," she said. "Fast."
He paused. "That's not what I meant."
Silence stretched. Then she rose and stepped closer.
"Then promise me you won't let it take me."
Perseus looked at her like he was memorizing her face. "I promise," he said, voice like stone cracking. "But I plan to drag you back—screaming if I have to."
They gathered their gear together. Filter masks. Enchanted vials. Tether rings. Warding sigils. Blades with runes etched into the hilt. No piece of equipment was untouched by intent.
Nyxia paused beside Loque, who sat like a statue, spectral form coiled tight, his eyes glowing like twin moons.
She ran a hand down his spine. "You with me?"
The beast gave a low chuff and leaned into her touch.
Elsewhere in the city, Boo stood alone.
The tactical table had gone dark, the map fading into sleep. She stood on a high balcony overlooking the ruins of a broken lift track, the lights of Serath'Kai stuttering like wounded stars.
In her hand, a crystal pulsed with a thin vein of violet.
She closed her fingers around it.
"Come on, Ves," she whispered. "Let's see what you've become."
Below, the Vault pulsed.
Waiting.