The door behind them clicked shut with an unsettling finality, sealing them inside.
It felt like they'd entered another dimension altogether. The Vault was not what any of them had expected. There was no gleaming treasure, no endless shelves of knowledge, no books stacked high with cryptic secrets. Instead, the space was vast, but eerily empty. The air smelled faintly of dust and forgotten promises.
And the walls? The walls were covered in what appeared to be shifting words, as though the very fabric of the Vault was in the midst of being written — or erased. They couldn't focus on any one word for long enough to decipher it; every time they tried, it changed.
Loup, who had been quiet up until now, took in a dramatic breath. "Mon Dieu, this place feels like someone forgot to turn off the metaphysical furnace."
Ilyan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Do you ever stop?"
"No. I'm an artist," Loup replied with an exaggerated wink. "It's my process."
Ashwen, who was visibly uncomfortable in the space, stepped cautiously forward. "So, what now? We just... look around until we find something?"
"We should be careful," Ilyan said, his voice lowered. "This place doesn't feel right. It's like it's watching us."
Loup, who had been spinning around dramatically like a child in a candy store, paused mid-turn. "Ah, I see! You are correct, my friend! The Vault is not a place, it is an observer. It watches us, it listens. Perhaps it understands us..."
Ilyan frowned, adjusting the relic in his satchel. "You're overthinking it."
"Overthinking?" Loup snorted. "No. I am simply attuned to the deeper currents of existence. I see what others cannot." He then struck a pose, one hand pressed dramatically to his forehead. "You should try it sometime, mon cher."
Ashwen groaned, looking around for any sign of direction. "Great. Now we have a metaphysical jester who believes he can read the air. Wonderful."
"Mon amie, don't be so harsh," Loup replied, twirling his baton again. "I promise you, the next big thing is always about perspective."
Ilyan turned his attention to the room, ignoring Loup's theatrics. There was a door on the far side of the Vault, though it was impossible to discern what lay beyond it. The air around it seemed to pulse with energy, as if it were the key to everything.
"I think that's our way out," Ilyan said, pointing to the door.
Ashwen nodded. "Let's get to it, then. No need to stand around with your metaphysical philosopher here."
The group approached the door, but as they got closer, Ilyan noticed something strange: the words on the walls began to shift faster. They were like inkblots running together, twisting into forms that looked almost like faces, staring at them with hollow, empty eyes. A low murmur seemed to rise from the walls, whispers that couldn't be fully understood.
And then, a figure appeared before them.
It was tall and thin, wrapped in tattered robes that swirled like smoke. Its face was hidden beneath a hood, but a cold, inhuman presence radiated from it.
"I've been waiting," it said, its voice hollow, like a wind passing through an empty room. "You shouldn't have come here."
Loup raised an eyebrow, clearly unperturbed. "Oh, please. Everybody says that. What are you, the Vault's landlord?"
The figure remained still, but the air seemed to grow colder.
"You are intruders," it said again, its voice echoing unnervingly. "The Vault does not allow those who do not understand the price of truth."
Ilyan stepped forward, the weight of the relic pressing against his side. "We're not here to steal anything. We only need information. A form. Something that will help us with… what we're doing."
The figure tilted its head, as though considering him. Then, with a sudden movement, it raised a bony hand. A cloud of dark mist gathered around it, swirling and twisting. From within that fog, a shape materialized: a small, crumpled parchment, floating gently towards them.
Ilyan's heart skipped a beat. That was the form they needed. Form 27b.
Before he could reach for it, the figure spoke again.
"You don't understand," it said, almost sorrowfully. "The form is merely a symbol. It is not what you think it is. You came here seeking truth, but truth is not free. It is a contract. And contracts come with a price."
Ilyan paused, his hand hovering over the form. Ashwen stepped forward, her eyes narrowed. "What kind of price are we talking about?"
The figure didn't answer immediately. Instead, the air around them seemed to darken, the whispers growing louder, more insistent. "The price is not one you can pay with words. It is a payment that will follow you. For every truth you uncover, there will be a lie waiting in the shadows. For every answer, there will be a question you cannot escape."
Loup clapped his hands together, grinning. "Well, that sounds like good fun! Let's make a deal then, oui?"
"Loup, don't…" Ilyan warned.
But Loup wasn't listening. With a wink, he turned back to the figure. "How about a wager, then? I offer you the world's finest jokes.In exchange for your truth."
The figure gave no visible response, but its aura seemed to intensify, swirling darker. "You are not ready."
"I am always ready," Loup declared, his tone light and carefree.
The figure tilted its head once more, then slowly extended a hand toward the floating form. "Then take it. But understand this: what you seek will not come without consequence. You will carry this price for the rest of your existence."
Ilyan glanced at Ashwen, who gave him a hesitant nod.
"Alright," Ilyan said, his voice steady as he stepped forward and took the form from the air. He felt a surge of cold as his fingers brushed against it, the weight of the relic suddenly heavier.
The figure stepped back, its form beginning to dissipate like smoke in a breeze. "You will see. You will understand soon enough."
And just like that, it was gone, leaving them alone once again.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then Loup broke it with his usual flair. "Voilà! That was easy! Now, who's up for some more laughs?"
Ashwen glared at him. "Not now, Loup."
Ilyan turned the form over in his hands, and wondered — for the first time — if they truly knew what they were about to unleash.