Vrastus descended the cold, black staircase one step at a time in perfect rhythm. There were no lights in the stairwell, but the darkness did not bother him. He was accustomed to darkness. His bloodline afforded him a set of eyes that were exceptionally keen, and in this gloom they glittered like a pair of silver coins. But he was not simply accustomed to the dark— he reveled in it. He was a creature who had spent his life creeping in the shadowed and forgotten places of the world: listening, waiting, and watching. The coolness of the subterranean air was like a familiar blanket on his skin. The unending stillness brought him as close to a sense of inner peace as was possible for him. And if he embraced the darkness, took it into his heart and let it seep into every pore and crevice, he just might hear that voice again.

Calling out to him…

Vrastus brought his boots together as he reached the heavy metal door at the bottom of the stairs. He casually lifted his hand and knocked a playful melody in quick succession.

An unamused voice called from beyond the door.

“You may enter.”

Vrastus pushed the door open and was met with the familiar faces of Allan Munzhaler and Zorren Zalphineas XI. They stood several feet away, at the edge of a circular room, carved from the same black stone as the staircase. Vrastus walked toward Zorren and Allan, listening to his own footsteps echoing below with each impact of his boot heel on the hard wooden floor.

Metal had been hammered into flat strips that traversed the walls of the dome, each set with their own sconce, and ran from the ceiling until they encountered the floor. But as Vrastus looked closer, he smiled at the realization that the metal striping actually continued passed the floor and into the space below.

This entire room wasn’t a dome; rather, it was a sphere. A sphere with a wooden floor constructed halfway to give the appearance and function of domed space. A sphere made of dark, ancient stone lined with an unforgiving metal— iron to be specific.

There was no doubt about it.

Even as Vrastus walked he could feel an occasional, painful burning sensation in his fingertips and the soles of his feet. This room had been built with a single-minded purpose— to contain any and all forms of magic.

“I surely hope you don’t plan to ambush me here.”

Zorren did not seem amused by the notion.

“You’ve sensed it then? What this room truly is?”

“It’s quite impressive,” Vrastus admitted, “Your design is so simplistic it reeks of Luminarcan influence, but your execution is superb nonetheless.” Vrastus folded his arms. “Tell me, how did you manage to acquire so much obsidian?”

Zorren walked toward the wall and placed a hand on its smooth, glassy surface.

“We did not acquire it, as such. This room was carved from a large deposit which already existed, buried beneath the earth. There are countless deposits such as these all throughout Omnirius and as far south as Auborn.”

“Oh? That is certainly unusual.”

“We have only observed one way in which obsidian forms. It requires intense heat from molten rock that is freed from beneath the earth.”

“I see no volcanoes in Omnirius?”

Zorren stared listlessly into the gloom of the ceiling as he continued.

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“Certain texts tell of a great battle in the ancient past, when titanic beings of flesh and fire ruled over this land. They commanded flames from the earth to wage their war. It was our ancestor, Helmund Omnir, who was first to drive them away with a certain weapon, freeing the human slaves and founding Omnirius.”

“And you believe the stories?”

“Enough!” Allan cut in, “We did not call you here for a history lesson.”

“Mind your temper,” Vrastus chastised. “Alright then,” he said with a clap of his hands, “I presume the object is here? Why else should such a room exist?”

Zorren made his way to the wall exactly opposite the door. A three-foot by three-foot square was carved out of the obsidian. It reached back a foot in depth and contained within it a small wooden chest.

Vrastus’ interest was piqued. He walked swiftly over to the other end of the room and stood beside Zorren. The dim glow from the candled sconces provided little in the way of light, especially as the two men hovered over the chest.

“I see it’s smaller than a bread box,” Vrastus said with a wry grin.

Zorren ignored him. He instead pulled a key from his robe, slid it into the keyhole on the face of the chest, and turned it clockwise until he heard a click. Zorren then returned the key to his pocket and stepped away.

“Please.”

Vrastus stood in front of the chest, placed both hands on the lid and lifted it slowly to look inside.

“How inconsiderate of you,” he said through a sinister grin.

“I was not the one who chose the object,” Zorren answered.

Vrastus lifted the object out of the box, scooping his index finger under the rim, and letting it dangle there.

“Aren’t you being a little too casual?” Allan blurted out.

“Am I?” Vrastus asked with genuine shock. “You are the ones who wish it to be destroyed, are you not?”

“Well then?” Zorren pressed him, “Is it something you can do?”

Vrastus stared down at the golden ring, which encircled finely embroidered purple and maroon silk, and was adorned with various gemstones. The Rhoden family crest, woven with gold filaments onto the rim, captured the candlelight and reflected it back into his eyes.

Vrastus let out a sigh as he lifted the crown with his finger and spun it around.

“Probably.”

Allan leaned forward to say something, but Zorren spoke before he could get out his words.

“Probably?” he asked. “What keeps you from certainty?”

“This room,” Vrastus declared plainly. “It is good for preventing anyone from using magic to locate this object. And it would also be good enough to suppress whatever enchantment has been placed on it. But because of that, I cannot accurately perceive its nature.”

“The object will remain here!” Allan shouted. “We do not trust you to take it!”

“Then how do you expect me to be able to do as you ask?” Vrastus asked mockingly. “A spell will be required to break this enchantment, probably destroying it in the process. How do you expect me to cast a spell in a room designed to suppress magic?”

Allan had no response.

“We will let you take the object from here.”

“Zorren!”

“Thank yo—”

“On one condition.”

Vrastus sighed.

“There is always a condition with you…”

“You must first guarantee your success. Acquire all that you need. Only then will we be willing to part with it.”

Vrastus let the crown slip from his finger and plop back into the chest, landing on its side.

“You expect a great deal, Zorren. I am flattered you believe I am capable of undoing spellwork about which I have no knowledge.”

“Fair enough,” Zorren said, “I do not expect you to read my mind.”

Vrastus smiled politely.

“I will tell you all I know of the enchantment,” Zorren continued. “After that, I believe you should have all the information you need to devise your spell.”

“And if I should need materials? Will you bankroll this little endeavor of ours, Zorren?”

Zorren placed his hands behind his back.

“Make your decision after you have heard what I have to say. Beyond that, if there is anything else you should desire,” Zorren added with a small grin, “I believe I know a place where you can find all that you would need, for a very reasonable price.”