Vault Dweller นิยาย & เรื่องราว

"Victoria’s father. The architect of the Vanguard Syndicate. He was supposed to have died in the eighties." "He didn't die. He just moved into the basement of the world," Jade said. She turned back to her console, her enhanced mind diving back into the digital abyss. "He’s currently in a fortified bunker beneath the Swiss Alps, surrounded by the other eleven. They think they’re safe because they’ve frozen our assets. They think they’ve won because the world thinks we’re monsters." A cold, lethal smile touched Jade’s lips. "But Arthur Vane forgot one thing. He’s running his life-support and his global encryption on a Sterling-designed server. And I am a Sterling."

The rot Darius was spreading above bled into the vision, staining everything it touched. This was the Ancient Keeper’s Vault. A failsafe buried beneath the grove, meant to be used only when the surface world was already lost. Knowledge surged through me, ancient and overwhelming. I saw the ley lines threading through the grove, felt the pulse of the land itself. If I tapped into this place, I wouldn’t need a wolf’s strength or an Alpha’s command. I could move mountains; I could seal the rift with a thought but the cost was etched into the walls in a language of blood and shadow.

“The Dungeons of the Forgotten—sealed by the first Moon Queen millennia ago. The same dungeons that once housed the gods who defied balance. They’re opening.” A coldness unlike any I had ever known settled over the hall. KYLA’S POV Suddenly, the wooden doors burst open. A bloodied knight stumbled in, his armor scorched, cloak torn. One eye swollen shut, the other wide with panic. “They… ambushed us.” “Where?” Edric barked. “Ravensvilla,” he rasped. “A dozen witches… no, more. Shadows. Creatures not of this world. The trees moved. The ground screamed. We—”

--- Part I – Beneath the Ember Vault Deep beneath the volcanic caves of Mount Thirell, past centuries of collapsed corridors and rusted glyph walls, a hidden chamber pulsed with forgotten heat. Red light licked the stone like a flame caught in slow time. A lone figure knelt before a relic bound in iron and bone: the Ember Vault. Its surface shimmered with wards half-melted, once meant to never be disturbed. But they were failing. The figure, cloaked in ash-crimson robes, removed her mask. Her name was Calren Voss, exiled archivist of Venara, now rogue prophet of the Red Circle.

He wouldn't need to scrape for more, though exploiting online loan platforms would be trivial if he wanted. Instead, he drove across Volaris to Wyvern Security's headquarters, one of the nation's largest private firms. They were famous for protecting billionaires, celebrities, and sometimes government officials on sensitive trips. Cyrus chose them because he had heard they had built a billion-dollar doomsday fortress for the heir of a real estate empire in his past life. That man had survived comfortably through the apocalypse thanks to Wyvern. At the front desk, Cyrus stated his request. Within minutes, he was ushered into a lounge, and a receptionist brought him freshly ground coffee.

A long time ago, deep in the mountains of Dwermer, in the Valley of life, lies the most magnificent City of Dwarven called Dwertur. It's the large Dwarven city, a hub of industrialism, Human, Demi-Human, Beastmen, Elves visits the city every day, every year. Be it weapons, magical items, anything you desire you can get them in Dwertur. I was one of the residents of Dwertur, I came from a family of a carpenter, but unlike my parent and brothers, I was different. Building things never brought me joy, what fuels my passions was entertaining.

Jack asked. "In the complex itself? Approximately two hundred. Most are young—turned within the last century. But there are a few elders down there, including..." She pulled up a file. "Lord Vladislov. Seventh-century Slavic noble, turned during the Byzantine era. He's the Vault's primary guardian, and he hasn't left the complex in four hundred years." "What are his capabilities?" "Unknown. Nobody who's fought him has survived to file a report." Haley paused. "Which, you know, isn't great for our tactical planning."

He crawled and opened some secret stone walls that opened onto secret passages. When Bowen opened the last door, his face and hair were matted and dirty with dust all the way. Bowen's tears filled his eyes when he saw that the Dwarven mining workers' village was still around even though hundreds of years had passed. He sat limp and then sobbed with a feeling of emotion that was overflowing in his chest.

The old seal vanished. Then Althea stepped out of the ruined hall and into the living heart of Dawlya territory, where the builders worked in quiet lines and the watchers pretended not to watch her. They watched anyway. They always did. The Dawlya sanctuary was not a city. It was a layered maze of stone terraces and half-hidden courtyards tucked into black mountains, where mist clung to cliff faces like a veil that never lifted. The dragons called it “the cave-world.” The Dawlya called it home.

Davien, a man of few words, nodded, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. In the heart of a dense, untamed jungle, Anya and her intrepid group of adventurers stood before the fabled ancient relic. The air was thick with anticipation as they marvelled at the artifact's intricate carvings and weathered surface, evidence of the countless years it had spent hidden from the world. Though, their joy was short-lived, for as they reached out to claim their prize, unexpected challenges began to emerge from the shadows.