Kaelen moved through the ruins like a shadow, his footsteps soundless against the cold, dust-covered stone. The air was heavy with old magic — not volatile, but patient. Watching. Waiting. It made his skin crawl in that particular way ancient things often did. He liked it.

The deeper he went, the more the corridor narrowed. Runes whispered along the walls, faint as breath, barely visible to mortal eyes. But his kind were not so easily blindfolded. He read them with idle interest, running a gloved hand along the grooves. Velhira’s mark, no doubt. Dragonborn influence, laced with something older. Something broken.

’Still trying to bind opposites, are you?’ he thought dryly. How poetic.

He stopped at a threshold — a high-arched entrance leading into a circular chamber lined with mirrors. Shattered glass glittered across the floor like fallen stars. In the center, a pedestal sat untouched, as though the dust feared it. Coiled on top of it was a chain — blackened, sleek, humming softly. Kaelen’s breath caught in his throat for the first time in years.

That was it. He could feel it — the pull. Not just magic. Something personal. Like a memory that didn’t belong to him. He stepped toward it—And froze. A second presence crossed into the vault.

Kaelen didn’t turn immediately. He listened. One footfall. Another. Measured. Light, but not afraid. Too confident to be a scavenger. Not one of the mainland treasure-hunters — no, this was something…purer. Sharper.

Mana bloomed faintly on the air — not like his. This was heat, fire-tinged, threaded with control. Familiar, in the way a blade is familiar to the throat.

Dragonborn. His jaw clenched, fangs pressing just behind his teeth.Of all the damn things to walk into this vault…He shifted slightly, enough to catch her reflection in a cracked shard of glass across the chamber. A figure in shadow, wrapped in traveling leathers and a high-collared cloak, the faint flicker of emberlight trailing in her wake. Kaelen smirked without warmth.