Eminönü, Istanbul – 9:10 AM
The large stone door creaked open slowly, its sound like bones cracking under the weight of time. La Reyna stepped inside, her hands still bloody. Emir lit a torch, and the dim yellow light illuminated the underground space. The air was cool, damp, and thick with the scent of ancient dust that had long been sealed.
Inside the Vault was no ordinary chamber. It was sacred. Three smaller doors stood at the far end, each carved with symbols that whispered in silence. Between them, a stone table held a velvet cloth and an ancient scroll.
La Reyna stepped closer and gently unveiled the cloth.
"This is written in blood," Emir whispered. "Ancient script. Not everyone can read it."
La Reyna stared at the deep crimson symbols that ran like human veins across the parchment.
This wasn't just inheritance.
It was a test.
FLASHBACK
In her memory, she was just a child—maybe six or seven. La Reyna sat cross-legged on her mother's lap. The backyard of their Brera home in Milan was fragrant with white roses and wild rosemary. The evening breeze carried soft whispers, and golden light streaked across the neatly trimmed grass.
Her mother brushed her hair slowly, using a carved wooden comb bearing the El'Raez crest. Every stroke felt like a spell, calming and ancient.
Reyna leaned back, soothed by the rhythm of her mother's heartbeat. A sound more sacred than any prayer.
"If one day you face a difficult choice," her mother whispered, fixing a stray lock of hair, "remember this, my love: your blood will never lie to you."
Reyna looked up, eyes wide, searching the deep blue in her mother's gaze.
"Why?" she asked.
Her mother smiled, a smile burdened with secrets and wounds that never healed.
"Because our blood... is both key and sword."
Reyna frowned. "Key to what?"
"To what lies buried, unnamed beneath the earth. And sword... for when the world forgets who stands on the side of truth."
Her mother's hands paused. Her gaze drifted to the center of the garden, where an old stone pillar stood. Normally it was covered in white lace, a decorative remnant of colonial taste. But that day, the cloth swayed gently, revealing carvings beneath it—spirals of blood and a single eye etched into metal.
She kissed Reyna's forehead.
"Our blood carries a voice. One day, you will hear it calling."
"Who will call?"
"Vault," she whispered—a word lighter than breath.
"What is the Vault?"
There was no answer. Only silence.
The wind shifted. The air grew heavy. Birds fell quiet.
And that carved pillar...
It pulsed, as if it lived.
Reyna hugged her mother tightly.
Her mother returned the embrace—tighter.
As if she knew...
One day, this embrace would become a memory Reyna would chase in blood-soaked dreams.
Back to the Vault
The carved stone walls buzzed softly. Her blood dripped to the ground, soaking into grooves that drank like thirsty veins.
Then, silence. Not ordinary silence. A silence that rang in the ears—as if even the world stopped breathing.
A voice echoed.
"Choose wisely, Fathya El'Raez."
La Reyna spun around, guarding the key in her hand.
A man stood at the mouth of the corridor—hooded, cloaked in black, his aura shaking the room. His face was hidden, but he felt... ancient.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
The walls trembled as he spoke.
"I am the Keeper of this Vault. The keeper of time. Witness to all who chose wrong."
Emir tried to approach.
The man raised a hand.
Wind roared.
Emir was thrown across the chamber like a leaf in a storm.
"Emir!"
La Reyna stepped forward, but the Keeper spoke again.
"He will live. But he is not allowed to interfere."
Her grip on the key tightened.
"What do you mean by wrong choice? What must I choose?"
The Keeper stepped into the light. His eyes burned like embers. His skin cracked like desert soil.
"The Vault does not merely hold secrets. It is a mirror. And it punishes."
"Punishes what?"
"False hearts. Greedy heirs."
La Reyna stood still.
"You carry blood, yes. But blood alone grants nothing. Only courage... and sacrifice."
From the wall behind, three symbols lit up: a single eye, a serpent coiled around a key, and an open hand bleeding.
"One leads to the true Vault. The others... to doors that should never be opened."
"What happens if I choose wrong?"
The Keeper drew close. The air thickened around him.
"You will live. But lose everyone you love."
Her breath hitched.
The Keeper stepped back into the shadows.
"Choose, daughter of Raezmir. But remember... the Vault does not hold answers. It demands a price."
Lyon, France – Simultaneously
In the secret chamber of the Blood Council beneath the Basilica of Notre-Dame de Fourvière, a mirror of blood shimmered like molten lava. The air was thick with metal, incense, and dread.
Maeryss stood before it, eyes closed, jaw clenched.
"A door will open," she whispered.
Her fingers touched the glass. Not her reflection, but glimpses of the Vault—glowing symbols, a bleeding hand.
"And we will know... whether she is the Key. Or just a vessel."
The other Council members stood in silence. Their masked faces gave nothing away.
A voice emerged.
"If she chooses well, the Vault awakens. The legacy continues."
Another added:
"If she fails, the Vault becomes her tomb. And the world trembles."
Maeryss opened her eyes—blood-red.
She smiled.
"Let her choose. I want to see if her soul is hers...
...or already ours."
Vault – The Moment of Choice
La Reyna stood before three ancient doors.
Left: a blue light—soft, comforting.
Right: a red glow—wild, dangerous.
Middle: a faint white pulse—dull, forgotten.
Her breath was ragged. Her heart thundered.
Her mother's voice echoed:
"Your blood will never lie to you."
Raezmir's last letter:
"The Vault only opens to those willing to die for the truth."
Lucien's embrace, his last message:
Madrid is cold tonight. But my heart is colder because you're not here.
Her bloody hand trembled.
She stepped forward.
She chose the middle door.
She placed her palm on the stone.
Blood flowed.
Symbols ignited.
The El'Raez crest spun, twisted, shattered, and glowed.
The Vault began to open.
The Keeper vanished.
His voice lingered:
"Every choice has its price..."
The ground shook.
Ancient symbols lit up in the ceiling.
Screams.
Cries.
The roar of ancient sorrow.
A black wind coiled around the door—not to block it.
To welcome her.
La Reyna closed her eyes.
If I die here... at least I die with the truth in my hand.
She stepped inside.
Light consumed her.
But her steps never faltered.
Because truth does not wait.
Truth belongs to those who bleed for it.