Chapter 17: The Vault of Blood
Beneath Luther Keep, deeper than the catacombs and colder than the crypts, lay the sealed heart of the Clan's history—the Vault of Blood.
Carved into the mountain's roots, the Vault was sealed by seven ancestral locks, each bound to a bloodline oath and a portion of aura once offered by the founding swordsmen of the Clan. Even Charles Luther hadn't opened it in decades.
But Raven Luther had found a way.
She stood before the massive iron doors, her blade resting in her left hand, her right clutching a scroll etched in crimson—a stolen record from the Forbidden Library.
The hawk, Velin, landed silently on her shoulder.
"I am of Luther blood," Raven whispered, and as she sliced her palm and let her blood touch the stone, the runes across the Vault's doors pulsed awake, glowing with ancient recognition.
The earth shook.
The doors opened.
And darkness breathed.
---
Jean arrived minutes too late.
She stood at the threshold, Whitney beside her, both of them wary of the unnatural chill that poured from within. The hallway was pitch black, but Jean's aura lit the path.
"She's already inside," Freya said as she appeared, short of breath, a sword drawn. "She broke all seven seals. Alone."
"No," Jean replied. "She had help. Someone taught her how."
Ryan approached, reading the aura residue on the walls. "The energy here… it's not just aura. It's something older. Tainted."
Jean's voice was tight. "What lies beneath?"
Ryan hesitated. "If the records are right… the Vault was built to imprison the Black Fang Doctrine—a forbidden sword art Martin Luther sealed away after his duel with the Hollow King. It was never meant to be learned."
Whitney growled, fur raised.
"She's going to use it against us," Jean whispered. "Against Adam."
And worse—if Raven awakened the doctrine fully, she might become more than just a contender.
She might become a curse on the entire Clan.
---
Inside the Vault, Raven descended into a vast chamber of obsidian pillars and blood-red glyphs. At the center stood a stone shrine, atop which lay a sword without a name.
It was black as night. Its blade pulsed like it had a heartbeat.
As Raven stepped closer, voices filled the chamber—echoes of old warriors, screaming and laughing and weeping all at once.
She reached for the sword.
Velin screeched.
But Raven's hand closed around the hilt.
The moment she did, her aura vanished.
And in its place… something darker awakened.
---
Jean felt the surge like a storm bursting in her skull.
She turned to the others. "She did it."
Freya gripped her sword. "Do we go in?"
"No," Jean said, jaw clenched. "She has to leave on her own. If we follow her in now, we won't come out."
Ryan looked back toward the stairs. "Then we wait. And hope she doesn't emerge as something worse than a rival."
Jean's gaze lingered on the Vault entrance.
She wasn't afraid of fighting Raven.
She was afraid of what Raven might unleash.
---
Far below, Raven opened her eyes.
They no longer glowed violet.
They were black and gold—the mark of a cursed swordswoman.
And in her mind, a whisper echoed:
"Burn the blood. Claim the throne."
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