"What do you seek?"
The question hung in the air like a blade waiting to drop. Dex stood there, blood still drying on his clothes, exhaustion pulling at every muscle, and let the noble mask fall away completely.
"I want to know why the fuck Vaerin killed me." The words came out raw, five hundred years of confusion compressed into a single sentence. "Why my best friend put an arrow through my heart while crying. Why saving the world made me the villain and him the hero."
Balefire remained still, dignified even in his prison of armor. "And then?"
"Then?" Dex laughed, ugly and sharp. "Then I want some fucking revenge. Not the noble kind where you prove them wrong through goodness and virtue. The real kind. The kind where people who destroyed my name choke on the truth."
"Crude as ever," Balefire murmured, but there was approval in it. "Though I suppose pretty words would be more concerning from you. Very well. The vault accepts your answer. Enter and claim what you will."
Dex started forward, then paused. Something had been nagging at him since Balefire appeared — a piece that didn't fit.
"Wait. One more question."
"The test is complete. I cannot—"
"Not about the test. About after." Dex met that ancient gaze. "Where did all the Spirit Kings go? Fire, Water, Earth, Wind — I had contracts with half of them. They just... what, forgot about me?"
For the first time, Balefire's composure cracked. The spirit looked away, armor dimming.
"They disappeared."
"What do you mean disappeared?"
"When you died — when you truly died — every contract severed at once. The backlash..." Balefire's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "My King screamed for three days. When it ended, he was gone. Not dead, not ascended, simply... absent. All of them. Every Spirit King who'd bound themselves to you vanished in that moment."
What the fuck?
"The spirit world fell into chaos," Balefire continued. "Lesser spirits trying to fill the void, fighting for dominance. Five hundred years later, we still have no true Kings. No order. Just endless squabbling and diminished power."
"Because I died?"
"Because of how you died, perhaps. Or why. Or what came after." Balefire straightened, dignity reasserting itself. "But these are questions for another time. The vault awaits."
Dex nodded slowly, filing away this new piece of the puzzle. The Spirit Kings gone, the spirit world in chaos, all because of his death. Or because of what his death had been twisted into.
Another thing to add to the 'figure out what the fuck happened' list.
He stepped past Balefire into the vault proper, and the full scope of five centuries of hoarding hit him like a physical blow. The space was larger inside than physics should allow, shelves and pedestals extending into hazy distance. Each item radiated power — some subtle, some screaming their potential to anyone with senses to hear.
But what he needed wasn't here.
He searched methodically, ignoring legendary weapons that called out for wielding. Pushed past armor that promised invincibility. Barely glanced at artifacts that could reshape reality on a whim. What he wanted was simpler — information. Truth. A journal, a letter, anything from Vaerin explaining why.
Nothing.
Of course not. Too easy. Too clean. Can't have the villain finding redemption through convenient evidence.
"Fuck," he muttered, standing in the center of impossible wealth and feeling poorer than ever.
But he couldn't leave empty-handed. Not after everything. His eyes swept the collection again, this time looking for practical value rather than answers. Something to make him stronger, because strength was the only truth that mattered when everyone wanted you dead or forgotten.
There — tucked between a singing sword and a shield that ate light. A crystal the size of his head, swirling with colors that shouldn't exist together. An Aether Star Stone, if the texts were right. Crystallized power from where the material and spiritual worlds touched. Raw mana and aether compressed into solid form.
Perfect.
Most people would use it for enchanting or rituals. Dex had simpler plans — feed the mana to Fargrim, absorb the aether himself. Brute force empowerment, elegant as a brick to the face but effective.
He lifted the stone carefully, feeling power thrum through even casual contact. It was heavier than it looked, dense with possibility. This single item could jump his Aether Core by at least one tier, maybe two if he was lucky. Could wake Fargrim months ahead of schedule.
Not answers. But I'll take power as a consolation prize.
The return journey through the portal was easier, probably because the vault had judged him and found him... something. Worthy? Interesting? Hard to tell with semi-sentient architecture.
He emerged to find full night had claimed the summit. Aedric still waited, though Lysander had apparently gotten bored and was doing one-handed pushups while humming off-key.
"An Aether Star Stone," Aedric noted, eyeing his prize. "Practical. Most choose weapons or armor."
"Most people trust metal more than themselves," Dex replied, remembering to soften his tone back to Avian's politeness. "I prefer investments that can't be taken away."
"Wisdom." Aedric's gaze shifted to Fargrim's hilt, visible now that Dex's cloak had shifted. "Interesting blade you carry. May I?"
Shit.
But refusing would raise more questions. Dex drew Fargrim slowly, offering it hilt-first while every instinct screamed against letting another touch his blade.
Aedric accepted it with surprising reverence, examining the rust-covered length with senses that went beyond physical. His expression shifted through several complicated emotions.
"Fascinating. The construction is ancient — pre-Empire certainly. And there's something..." He paused, weighing words. "It feels demonic. Not corrupted, but crafted with techniques the Church would burn cities to suppress."
"It was in a blacksmith's shop," Dex offered, sticking to truth where possible. "Abandoned. I thought it might be worth restoring."
"Indeed it might." Aedric returned the blade carefully. "Fargrim is a worthy name for such a weapon. Take care of it — blades with that much history tend to remember their purpose at inconvenient times."
If you only knew.
Before Dex could respond, a commotion at the arch drew their attention. Someone had arrived — someone who'd apparently sprinted the last portion based on the wheezing.
Thane stumbled through, armor askew, sweat pouring down his face. He'd clearly pushed himself to the absolute limit and possibly beyond. His eyes found Dex immediately, widening with disbelief.
"How?" The word came out between desperate gasps for air. "What... there's no... no way you got here that fast!"
He doubled over, hands on knees, trying to force air into lungs that had clearly given up on the concept. The heir apparent, the acknowledged favorite, reduced to gasping confusion by the forgotten son's victory.
"Straight lines are faster than scenic routes," Dex offered mildly.
"But the forest... the creatures..."
"Were educational."
Thane's face cycled through several colors, none of them healthy. He'd trained his whole life for this moment, prepared to claim first position as his birthright. Instead, he found his forgotten cousin standing calm and collected, prize already claimed, looking like victory was inevitable rather than impossible.
"This isn't... you can't..."
"Breathe," Lysander suggested, having abandoned her pushups to watch the entertainment. "In through the nose, out through the mouth. Or keep gasping like a landed fish. Your choice."
"Lysander," Aedric warned, though his lips twitched slightly.
"What? I'm helping. See? Helpful advice. I'm practically a saint."
Thane finally managed to straighten, though his breathing remained ragged. His eyes fixed on the Aether Star Stone in Dex's hands, understanding dawning.
"You claimed first prize."
"Yes."
"But you're... you were..."
"Forgotten?" Dex let a small smile touch his lips. "Things change. Perhaps blood matters less than bleeding."
The words hit their mark. Thane flinched, probably remembering every time he'd dismissed his lesser cousin. Every assumption that birth determined worth.
"Second place is still admirable," Aedric said, though his attention remained on Dex. "The vault remains open for four more claims."
But Thane wasn't listening. He stared at Dex like he was seeing him for the first time — really seeing him. The blood, the exhaustion barely held in check, the casual way he held power that should have been impossible.
"This isn't over," he managed finally.
"Of course not," Dex agreed. "This was just the first trial. Plenty of opportunities left for you to prove breeding beats bleeding."
Or for me to grind your face in the truth until you choke on it.
But he kept that thought buried, maintaining Avian's mild expression. Around them, the night deepened, and somewhere below, other candidates struggled toward a summit already claimed.
The game had shifted again. And Thane was only beginning to realize he might not be the main player anymore.