The Vault Whispers

The forest thinned by late afternoon, revealing hills like hunched backs under a cloudy sky. The unnatural darkness that had clung to the Spiral of Bones gradually gave way to normal overcast gloom, though it still felt like something was pressing down on Abraham's shoulders.

The kind of pressure one feels when they've signed a rent without reading the fine print, except the landlord is a cosmic force of death. He couldn't shake the feeling that every tree branch they passed was silently judging him.

He sat atop the ant's head, cross-legged, fidgeting with the shattered remains of villager's sunburst pendant. It had turned brittle, like old chalk, and now left golden dust on his fingers. Every time he looked at it, something stirred in the back of his mind, a half-formed whisper, an incomplete riddle without context.

Behind him, Tess picked bits of bone from her tunic, grumbling under her breath. "We're going to talk about that, right?" she asked, breaking the silence.

Abraham glanced down at the pendant, then back at her. "Which part? The whisper from beyond, the necromantic bone-golems, or how the ant now answers to finger-snaps?"

"All of it. Starting with the part where you started glowing like a haunted Christmas tree."

"You have Christmas tree in this kind of world, huh? Sounds weird," he startled, "but okay." Abraham stretched and yawned dramatically. "Guess I leveled up."

Tess rolled her eyes. "You almost collapsed. That wasn't a level-up. That was a spiritual craziness chewed up your brain."

He cracked a tired grin. "I'll add that to my resume: Professional Necromancer. Special skills include fainting stylishly and communicating with aggressive bone furniture."

Despite the humor, Abraham could still feel the weight of the Spiral battle. He'd tapped into something raw and terrifying, and it had responded. The necrotic forces weren't just following him anymore. They were... waiting. Something like that.

They made camp under the arching roots of a fallen tree that night. Chop, the now semi-official name for the massive undead ant, stood sentinel a few meters away, mandibles twitching with eerie vigilance.

Abraham watched it for a long moment before returning to the fire. The glow of necrotic green flickered in the distance like a lighthouse for ghouls.

"So," Tess said as she passed him a canteen, "the Vault. What do you think it is?"

Abraham took a sip. "Storage unit for unspeakable horrors? Locked room full of plot development? Some suicide device, probably?"

Tess snorted. "You joke a lot for someone haunted by whispers."

"I'm coping. That's how I process the looming abyss. Or my fear, to be precise."

He leaned back, staring up through the roots and branches. "But seriously. That whisper, it wasn't just noise. It had intention. Like it was giving directions."

"Do you think it's another trap?" Tess asked. She was sharpening her sword, a nervous habit she'd picked up on.

"Maybe," Abraham admitted. "But it didn't feel hostile. It felt... familiar. Like something old that recognized me."

Tess's brow furrowed. "Recognized you?"

"I know. It's weird. It was like... it was expecting me. Like the magic I used at the Spiral unlocked a door only I could open."

She paused in her sharpening. "That's not comforting."

"No. But it is interesting for me."

They sat in silence. Chop made small clicking sounds in the distance, almost like snoring, if snoring could sound like a meat grinder idling.

"You need a name," Abraham said aloud, glancing at the ant. "Can't keep calling you 'giant creepy deathbug.' That's too many syllables and hurts your image."

Chop turned slightly, eyes glowing. Abraham took that as permission.

He rubbed his chin. "How about Crunch?"

Chop tilted its head.

"Too casual? Mandibrawl? Bone-cruncher? No, too much like a metal band. Ah! What about 'Chop'?"

The ant twitched one leg.

"Chop it is," he smiled brightly.

Tess muttered, "That's how we die. Killed by a giant insect named after a cooking verb."

The next morning brought weak light through the clouds, but the oppressive feeling from the Spiral hadn't entirely lifted. Abraham had spent the night dreaming in fragments: skeletal hands reaching, voices chanting, a throne made of vertebrae. Somewhere in those dreams, a door opened—and something stepped through.

But hey, it just a dream, right?

What could possibly gone wrong?

Well.

Everything, actually.

They traveled eastward through uneven terrain, and after two days of walking, they came upon a rocky gorge. The path ended at a cliff edge, and across a natural stone bridge, black stairs descended into a carved opening, nearly hidden by ivy and moss.

Tess squinted. "That's ominous."

Abraham felt the pull in his gut again, a magnetic force dragging his soul forward. "That's it. The Vault."

Chop stopped at the edge. Abraham patted its massive leg. "Stay here, buddy. Guard the entrance. If we don't come back by tomorrow... eat anyone who tries to get in."

Chop chittered in agreement. Abraham took that as an antish tongue for heroic oath.

The stairs were wide and ancient, carved with runes that had eroded over centuries. As they descended, torches lining the walls sparked to life with eerie green flame. The light cast their shadows long and distorted, like twisted marionettes.

"I'm sensing a theme with the lighting," Abraham murmured. "Ten out of ten on ambiance. Very 'spooky wizard tomb.'"

Tess rolled her eyes but didn't argue. Her hand never left the hilt of her sword.

The stairs opened into a vast underground chamber. The air inside was heavy, like the breath of a crypt. Green braziers flickered along the walls, casting everything in a ghostly pallor.

Rows of stone sarcophagi lined the floor, each carved with strange markings and symbols even Tess didn't recognize. They pulsed faintly with necromantic energy. Some were chained shut. Others bore claw marks on the inside.

At the center of the room stood a massive sarcophagus unlike the rest, black stone etched with golden veins, seated atop a raised dais.

A voice whispered in Abraham's mind again.

"Claim your legacy. The legacy of decay."

He froze. Tess looked at him.

"Did you hear—?"

"I did," he said.

They approached the dais. Abraham's heart pounded with each step.

Inscribed at the foot of the black sarcophagus were ancient runes. But as Abraham stared, the meaning revealed itself.

[Here lies the First Beastlord. The forgotten. The keeper of The Barren Death.]

The brazier flames flared, then dimmed, casting them into a deeper gloom.

"I don't like this," Tess said quietly.

"I know," Abraham whispered, eyes fixed on the sarcophagus.

He placed his hand on the stone.

The runes flared to life.

The Vault trembled.

And the coffin began to open.

A cold wind whooshed out from the sarcophagus, as if the stone itself exhaled. Dust spiraled into glowing motes. Inside, a skeleton rested—not lifeless, but in stasis. It was adorned in bone armor interlaced with obsidian and ancient leather. At its side, a staff carved with mini beast skulls.

Abraham reached in—and the moment his fingers brushed the staff, a surge of power hit him like lightning.

He saw visions:

Armies of beasts rising from the soil. Beastlings and beasts, the living and the undead, bowing to an awkward crowned man. A crown forged of antlers and gold-ish metal.

He staggered back.

The skeleton's head slowly turned to him.

Its jaw opened.

"Welcome, heir."

***