Ilyan stared at the form in his hands, feeling its weight grow heavier with each passing second. The air around them had taken on a certain thickness, like the world itself was holding its breath. The Vault, or whatever place this was, seemed to pulse with an energy that made his skin prickle.
Loup, ever the nonchalant observer, broke the silence with an exaggerated stretch. "Ah, the weight of responsibility. I can already feel it on my shoulders—just like I feel the weight of the unspoken truths around us." He grinned, obviously proud of his own insight.
Ashwen, still staring at the spot where the figure had vanished, didn't seem in the mood for his theatrics. "What was that thing? And what the hell was that about a price?"
"Price, price, always with the price," Loup muttered dramatically, walking in a circle around them. "But truth isn't free, is it? Everything comes at a cost, mon amie. Even this form you so eagerly snatched up from the smoke man's hands." He made finger quotes around 'smoke man' as if it was some trivial thing.
Ilyan ignored him for the moment. His mind was racing. The words of the figure echoed in his mind, each one heavier than the last. For every truth you uncover, there will be a lie waiting in the shadows. It felt like a warning, a truth wrapped in a question. But what did it mean? What kind of price could they be paying?
The form itself wasn't much to look at—just a crumpled piece of parchment, but there was something about it that felt… wrong. It didn't feel like it was a simple piece of paper, more like a conduit, something alive. He slowly unfurled it, his fingers brushing the edges. The text on it was written in an ink that shimmered, constantly shifting like the words were trying to escape. As he read, the words distorted before his eyes.
Form 27b
Claimant: Ilyan of the Recently Dead
Purpose: Verification of Metaphysical Status
Witness: Pending
Next of Kin: None
Conditions: Activation pending full payment.
Ilyan's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't expected it to be… alive. His hand trembled slightly as he stared at the words.
"It's not… it's not supposed to be like this," Ilyan murmured.
Ashwen glanced at him. "What do you mean?"
"It's… it's changing," Ilyan said, his voice growing more strained. "The words are… shifting. It's like it's adapting."
"Adaptation is a form of survival," Loup chimed in from his corner. "I mean, who can blame the paper for trying to protect itself?" He leaned against a wall dramatically, as though the mere act of leaning required some profound effort.
Ashwen clenched her fists, clearly more agitated than she let on. "Can we focus? What do we do now? What's the price? Did we just sign a contract with that thing?"
Ilyan's eyes were fixed on the form. It was still shifting. Words were cycling through in a steady rhythm, but none of them stayed long enough for him to fully comprehend.
"No," he said slowly. "We didn't sign anything. But it's clear that whatever we do next…"
The air around them suddenly grew colder, the words on the form beginning to blur into one long, impossibly long sentence that was both familiar and alien at the same time.
Ashwen's hand went to her sword hilt. "What now? Do we just wait for the consequences?"
Loup, ever the optimist, grinned. "Oh, I do enjoy a good bit of suspense! This is where the fun begins, oui? The best part of a game is always the twist at the end."
"Loup, seriously," Ashwen snapped, her patience thin. "This is not a game."
"Oh, but it is, mon cher! It always is. The universe may laugh, but we must always keep up with the humor. Otherwise, where would we be?" He glanced between Ashwen and Ilyan, who were both glaring at him now. "No, no, don't be like that. What is life without a little bit of irony?"
Ilyan let out a sharp breath. "Enough. Loup, do you know what's happening with this form? How are we supposed to get it—"
He stopped himself, his gaze returning to the words on the form, which had suddenly stopped moving. The text had solidified. The last line read:
Payment Required: A Truth Unspoken
Ilyan frowned. "What does that even mean?"
Loup stepped forward, eyeing the form with a far more serious expression than Ilyan had ever seen on his face. "Hmm. A truth unspoken, you say? That… that could be anything. Could be something hidden in your past, something you're reluctant to face." He shrugged. "Or maybe it's something about your future. Or perhaps… the relic itself knows your soul better than you do?"
Ilyan felt a chill run down his spine. The words lingered in the air like a curse, and he felt as though he was being drawn deeper into something he didn't fully understand. "I don't know if I can face whatever that truth is."
"Aha! There it is!" Loup clapped his hands with enthusiasm. "You've already spoken your truth. You dread it! You're already in the thick of it, mon ami."
"Loup—" Ashwen began, but Ilyan held up his hand, silencing her.
"I think…" Ilyan said slowly, almost to himself, "I think the price isn't something we can pay here."
Loup raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what makes you say that?"
Ilyan turned, walking toward the door, his mind racing. "The Vault isn't just a place. It's a test. We can't just walk in, grab a form, and leave. There's more to it. It has to be more."
Ashwen followed him, hand on her blade. "Then what now?"
Ilyan stopped in his tracks, looking back at her, then at Loup. "We need to find that truth… or it'll keep hunting us."
Loup grinned, his usual flair returning. "Oh, I do enjoy a good chase, don't you?"
Ashwen sighed but didn't protest. She knew they had no choice.
They would face the truth — and whatever price came with it — or be consumed by it.