The Vault was silent. The hum of ancient power that had filled the air moments ago had dissipated, leaving behind a strange stillness. It was as if the very walls of the Vault had exhaled, waiting for the next movement, the next mistake.
Ilyan stood frozen for a moment, the feeling of his brush with the truth still clawing at his insides. The figure, the voice, the eyes that had burned through him—it was like a memory from a life he didn't want to remember. He couldn't shake the feeling that the world had tilted in ways he didn't fully understand.
Ashwen noticed his silence and gave him a sharp look. "What did you see?"
Ilyan didn't answer right away, not trusting his voice. His fingers were still trembling, the remnants of the vision lingering in his bones. "I—I don't know. Something… something dark. A ruined city. A figure. It said the truth would find me." His voice broke on the last part, as though the words themselves carried the weight of something heavier than he could explain.
Loup, who had been enjoying the scene from the sidelines with his usual amusement, grinned widely. "Ah, mon ami, you met the Bureaucratic Law of Truth! You're lucky, you know. I once had a similar encounter. Ended up with three unpaid debts, a ruined coat, and an unpaid parking ticket. Very inconvenient."
Ashwen shot him a warning look. "Now is not the time for your jokes."
"Jokes? Oh, I am deeply wounded, my dear Ashwen. I am serious," Loup said, pressing a hand to his heart as if he had been grievously injured. "But, I must admit, the truth is an old acquaintance of mine. A terrible one, but very honest."
Ilyan shook his head, trying to clear the fog from his thoughts. "This is getting too much," he muttered. "I'm supposed to be—"
"Saving the world? Yes, yes, we know." Loup rolled his eyes, tapping his foot in exaggerated impatience. "You, mon ami, are always so serious. You should try laughing more. I promise it's terrifyingly liberating."
Ilyan didn't have the strength to argue, so he simply let out a sigh. "Let's get out of here. We need to figure out what the relic wants."
As they made their way out of the Vault, Ilyan couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed. It wasn't just the relic. It was him, too. Something had shifted in his perspective, a crack in the foundation of his identity. The relic wasn't just a key—it was a mirror.
The trio left the Vault behind, stepping into the eerie twilight that blanketed the city. They walked down streets that curved at unnatural angles, the cityscape a labyrinth of winding alleys and impossible structures.
"Ilyan," Ashwen said softly, her voice drawing him out of his thoughts. "You should rest. Whatever that was—it's affecting you more than you realize."
He nodded but didn't answer. He didn't want to rest. There was no time for rest. The relic, the truth, the visions—it was all connected, and he couldn't afford to be anything but sharp. If there was one thing he'd learned in this strange, twisted journey, it was that the world didn't wait for anyone to catch up.
And yet, as they passed a dilapidated tavern on their way through the city's streets, Ilyan couldn't ignore the pull of exhaustion. His mind felt heavy, as though the weight of all the knowledge, all the truths, was pressing down on him from all directions.
Loup must have sensed it too, because he clapped Ilyan on the back with all the subtlety of a thousand-pound weight. "Ah, finally! A moment to rest! I am famously good at rest. I can rest like nobody else! In fact, it is my second-best skill. My first is... well, we can talk about that later."
Ilyan shot him an exasperated look. "Rest doesn't seem to be something I'm allowed, Loup."
"Rest is for the weak," Loup agreed cheerfully. "But you, mon ami, are not weak. Look at you! Still walking! Still surviving! That's resilience, no?"
Ashwen rolled her eyes but couldn't help a small smirk. "You're a lot of things, Loup, but insightful isn't one of them."
Ilyan smiled weakly, the humor of the moment lightening his mood, even if only for a second. He appreciated Ashwen's bluntness and Loup's antics, even if they both drove him mad at times. It was strange to find comfort in the chaos of their banter, but in this world, it was often the only thing that made any sense.
"I'm just saying," Loup continued, drawing attention back to himself, "we should go to the place, no? You'll learn more about the relic there. Maybe it will stop trying to eat you alive." He winked.
Ilyan raised an eyebrow. "What place?"
"The Shack of Forgotten Things," Loup said with an exaggerated flourish. "Where all the lost things go. And, mon ami, I must say—it's quite a place. You won't find anything like it."
Ashwen frowned. "That doesn't sound reassuring."
"Trust me, Ashwen. If I could get you a free tour, I would. But alas, I am not that generous. No, no, you must pay the toll. And the toll is interesting, to say the least."
Ilyan's thoughts immediately spiraled, the weight of the unknown settling back in. "Another place full of secrets, huh?"
"Secrets is my middle name," Loup said, snapping his fingers and grinning. "And, mon ami, you'll love it. You just need to—" He paused dramatically. "Go there. The rest will come to you."
Ilyan sighed. He wasn't sure what he was expecting anymore, but one thing was for certain: the road ahead wasn't getting any easier.
The trio continued through the city, heading toward the Shack of Forgotten Things. The streets grew quieter as they neared their destination, the shadows lengthening around them like tendrils. The air felt thick with a strange sort of anticipation.
When they finally arrived, the Shack was a ramshackle building, barely more than a collection of mismatched wooden planks and rusty metal. It looked like it had been abandoned for centuries, yet there was a faint glow from within. The door, crooked and warped, creaked open on its own as they approached.
Ilyan glanced at Ashwen and Loup before stepping inside, the air inside thick with dust and the scent of old paper. Strange artifacts lined the walls—odd trinkets, jars filled with forgotten memories, and books with pages that flickered in and out of existence.
A figure emerged from the shadows, a woman with hair the color of storm clouds and eyes that shimmered with an unsettling intensity.
"Well, well," she said, her voice low and soft. "I haven't had visitors in quite some time."