Oria fascinated Clara. As she walked the sandy streets with Russell, she drank it all in. The only thing she could compare it to was Arcadia, if the ruins were to suddenly be teaming with life once more. Wherever she looked, people were offering all sorts of trinkets and strange fruits to passersby. If it hadn’t been for Russell half pulling her along, it would have taken them hours to make their way through the city, with her stopping to look at all the new things.

The trinkets peddled by people on the streets were firmly pushed from her mind as they emerged into the centre of the city. An enormous plaza of white stone that surrounded the towering pyramid. No doubt sustained by the Precursor artefact that Russell had mentioned, there were borders of luscious green grass and towering trees, the foliage granting a small amount of swaying shade.

Almost overhead now, the sun was beating down intently on the city. A lot of the people had begun to retreat to their cool houses out of the midday heat. ‘Pretty impressive, isn’t it?’ Russell said. She glanced at him to see that he was watching her take in the sight before her.

The main avenue towards the base of the pyramid was lined by white marble columns with dark green streaks running through them like veins. They almost seemed to glow in the sunlight. Still, her eyes found themselves drawn to the pyramid. White like the pillars, it was, however, speckled with gold rather than green. It almost sparkled under the sun.

‘The Vault of Oria is said to hold some of the most valuable items in the world along with relics from the Precursor Era and even before,’ Russell said as he led her forward. ‘It also holds a copy of every single prophecy ever made deep in its archive.’

‘How could it possibly have a copy of every prophecy?’ Clara asked. Surely there must be at least one prophecy out there that hadn’t been heard or written down when it was made.

‘The Ever-Scratching Quill,’ he said simply, as if it should be obvious. 'Once the emergence of Seer Precursors became more prominent, they were often highly sought after, especially during times of war. You might think you know your enemy, but with a Seer precursor, you could effectively see different potential outcomes to scenarios, always managing to stay one step ahead.’

‘It was deep into the Precursor War when Seer Precursors began to go missing. A Precursor by the name of Arden Vandemark created the Ever-Scratching Quill as a means of protection to allow the six seer sisters to hide from his enemies elsewhere while allowing him to still know about any prophecies.’

‘He left the quill here in the war?’ she asked. Back home, history wasn’t a particularly big topic, let alone the knowledge of Precursors, which she had only found out about since meeting Russell.

‘No, it was given to the vault shortly after Arden’s death,’ Russell said. ‘The ruins of the city near your village, Arcadia, were the original home of the precursors. As with everything, there were disagreements over how things should be done. A small faction broke away and settled across the ocean, and Arden became king.

‘I don’t know a huge amount about the end of the Precursor War; no one does, but Arden went to Arcadia and never returned. The ruins are all that are left of whatever happened there. His family found a prophecy that suggested it had been the influence of his decision and decided that the quill should be placed in the vault. They say knowledge is power; too much can be the root of more destruction than good.’

‘What happened to the rest of his family?’ Clara asked as they approached the pyramid. On either side of a dark green glass door were two guards. Both men were clad in pearly white armour trimmed with gold, their arms crossed. Russell nodded, and the left-hand guard opened the door for them.

‘I don’t really know the intricacies of the family,’ Russell said as they stepped inside the pyramid. ‘I did meet Arden’s great, great grandson recently, though.’

Clara wasn’t sure which had floored her more: Russell's casual mention of having met Arden’s great, great grandson or the stunning interior of the pyramid.

The floor was a sparkling expanse of white marble. Ornately carved pillars decorated with gold leaf supported an arched ceiling painted with a vast night sky that seemed to move ever so slowly. Hanging from it are dozens of chandeliers made almost entirely from thousands of pieces of green glass.

‘Excuse me,’ a woman muttered, edging past Clara as she realised that she had stopped dead in her tracks just inside the door to marvel at the room.

‘Sorry,’ she said, moving aside quickly, but the woman didn’t look back or acknowledge her.

‘Pretty spectacular, huh?’ Russell laughed. Clara saw him watching her closely as she stared up at the ceiling.

Lost for words, Clara nodded, captivated by the starry sky painted on the ceiling. It must have taken hundreds of hours to create. She felt an elbow nudge her in the ribs and looked away to see Russell looking at her. Without noticing, they had crossed the huge hall and now stood behind the woman who had pushed past her, a short distance between them and a long desk made of green marble. Idly, she fiddled with the necklace, the supposed key to the vault that held all the answers. After weeks, here she was, so close at last.

‘Next,’ a gruff voice called. Clara looked down at the desk to see an old, dark-skinned man with white hair leaning forward, beckoning her and Russell over. ‘Welcome to The Vault of Oria; how can I help?’ he asked sceptically, eyeing them both curiously. Compared to the rest of the people around them, it was no surprise.

‘I’ve come to retrieve something from my family vault, she said, glancing at Russell quickly. ‘My name is Clara Lowe; my mother was...

‘Maryam Bridwell-Lowe,’ he said with a nod.

‘You know her name?’ Clara asked in surprise, taken somewhat aback by the use of her mother’s maiden name, Bridwell.

‘A Vault Keeper does not forget the vaults they have overseen,’ he replied. ‘You have your key, I see,’ he added, nodding to her necklace as she fiddled with it absently.

‘Yes,’ she said quickly, unclipping the necklace and holding it out.

He examined it for a moment as it swung on the chain between them, his eyes flicking in Russell’s direction. ‘Excellent, if you would like to follow me, I will take you to your vault.’

‘I’ll meet you back here shortly,’ Russell said with a nod. ‘I have some of my own business to attend to while we’re here.’

With a meek wave to Russell, Clara followed the Vault Keeper, Aamir, whom she gathered from his golden name badge. ‘This is your first time visiting the vaults, I presume,’ he said, guiding her through one of the large green glass doors that was gilded with gold.

‘It is. It’s far more impressive than the stories give it credit for,’ she replied.

‘There is nowhere else like it in the world, I assure you. It's the most secure place out there as well, so you need not fret about what you leave within these walls,’ Aamir said, as if he sensed how uncomfortable she felt without Russell by her side. ‘Have you travelled far to be here?’

‘A little way north of Morlock,’ she said as they reached the end of the corridor. On the wall before them, a series of golden plaques sat embedded in the stonework.

‘That’s a fair distance to cover,’ he said, running his fingers down the plaques. ‘Let’s see, Bridwell-Lowe is vault seventeen-zero-twenty-three; that’s floor seventeen,’ he muttered to himself as he pressed one of the golden plaques. It sank into the stone, a soft ‘ding’ echoing around them.

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There was a hissing sound behind them, and Clara turned to see two green glass doors slide shut. Once they had sealed the section of the corridor where they stood, they began to descend. Aamir laughed. ‘It surprises everyone when the lift goes down instead of up.’

‘What is on the upper floors?’ she asked curiously.

‘I’m afraid I can’t divulge that,’ he replied. His tone wasn’t threatening, but it was clear that she shouldn’t pursue it any further.

‘Sorry,’ she muttered quickly.

‘Not a problem; many curious minds have wondered what is contained within these walls before, and many will do so long after you. Even I do not know what is held in some of these vaults.

‘The friend I was with told me a little about the vaults,’ she said as the lift came to a stop, the glass doors sliding open once more.

‘Right this way,’ Aamir said, beckoning her after him.

Silently, Clara followed him into the dark corridor. It was twenty or so feet before it opened out, brightening considerably. As they stepped out, Clara once again found herself gawking at what surrounded her.

She had no idea how far underground they had travelled, but as far as she could see, there were networks of pathways crisscrossing overhead in a cavernous room. Moving over to the glass rail, she looked down, pathways disappearing into the darkness that must be at least two hundred feet below them.

‘It’s good to know you aren’t afraid of heights,’ Aamir laughed, allowing her a moment to take everything in before gesturing for her to continue following him.

‘This place is incredible!’ Clara said, trying to take it all in. In the distance, she could see a couple of people walking along another one of the pathways in the opposite direction.

‘It is quite magnificent, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘So, legend goes, it was once a part of a great palace in the Brecian Empire. They’ve tried many times over the years to explore beyond the walls of the vaults and find other parts of a palace, but to no avail.’

He must have seen the look on her face at the mention of the palace. If it had not been for the contents of her mother’s vault, which, after all, was why she was here, she would have loved to have stayed in Oria and explored some of the culture and the old empire. For as long as she could remember, she had been fascinated by Arcadia and the mysteries that must lurk within the ruins.

‘What’s that?’ she asked, pointing down over the other side to a large archway that was about thirty feet tall. Beyond it, she could see what looked like shelves filled with thousands of scrolls.

‘That’s The Archive,’ Aamir said, glancing down at it. ‘The Archive is home to all sorts of records from across the world. History, botanical records and samples, and maps. If you can’t find the information you want in there, then it probably doesn’t exist.’

‘Is that where all the prophecies are kept?’ she asked, pausing a moment to peer through the archway at the room.

‘Yes,’ Aamir said stiffly. ‘The prophecies are not for public access, though. They can only be studied by those who have been granted access by the Arcanist’s Congress.’

‘Who are they?’

‘They are an elite group of historians who have been trying to unearth the secrets of old empires for decades. I can’t remember the last time someone was allowed into that section of The Archive,’ he replied. ‘Anyway, here we are.’

Just past the archway, he came to a stop, gesturing to a dark green door with golden gilding. In the centre was a diamond-shaped golden plaque that was inscribed with the vault number and had a small indentation beneath it. Reaching for the necklace, she removed it from around her neck. Carefully, she offered the charm up to the indentation.

Beneath it, the golden plaque glowed for a moment as the doors hissed apart to reveal a dark room beyond. ‘I will wait for you out here,’ Aamir said, stepping back from the entrance to the vault.

Taking a deep breath, Clara stepped into the vault, the doors sliding shut silently behind her as a light above her began to glow. It was only now that it dawned on her that she had no idea what she was actually looking for. Her mother had said there would be something that would explain everything. Perhaps a book or letter?

With each step, another ball of light appeared above her, lighting the room. It was small—smaller than she had expected based on what she had seen from the rest of the vaults so far. It was about ten feet from the doorway to the main chamber of the vault.

The walls regressed; several shelves carved into the stone sat empty for the most part. In the centre of the shelf at the back of the room sat what looked like a small black jewellery box. That must be what her mother had been talking about; there was nothing else here by the looks of it. Until a few weeks ago, she had never even considered that she might have family elsewhere. Now, all the answers sat right here, just a handful of steps away from her.

Pulling the box forward on the shelf to examine it, she saw a lock on the front with an identical indentation to the one on the door. With the necklace still in her hand, she offered it up.

A soft click broke the silence as the lid clicked open. Taking it from the shelf and into the light, Clara sat down on the floor with the box, opening it fully. In the centre of the box was a single, folded piece of paper. Was this it? Who knew how many miles she had walked to get here for a single piece of paper? Somewhat bitterly, she opened it.

The letter must have been here for some time, she thought as she held it up to the light. In places, the ink had begun to fade, but it was still legible enough to piece the faded words together.

Clara,

If you’re reading this, then I can only assume that our past has caught up with us and we weren’t able to tell you everything that we should have done. I hope you can understand that we only kept things from you to try to protect you.

Ever since the birth of your brother and sister, we have been hiding out, laying low in the hopes that your sisters’ gift would go unnoticed. Despite what they say, not all the Precursors in Arcadia died in the war. Some remain, and to them, the thought of a Seer Precursor will drive them to do anything.

It has become harder to hide Emily and her abilities from the world, so we have placed her in the care of Sebastian Vandemark along with your brother Arthur. As long as he sits on the throne, they will be safe. If there is anywhere in this world that those who survived the Precursor War fear more than anything, it is Tristan, the home of the one who brought Arcadia to ruins.

I fear that one day that may change. On that day, they will begin searching for Emily. There are whispers of ‘The Old One’. What they plan to do, I’m yet to find out; hopefully the next few days will shed some light on that.

All my love,

Dad

Clara stood there in disbelief.

Had he known that he wasn’t going to come back when he wrote this? She examined the letter again, looking for any sort of clue that might give her more insight into the man who had been her father.

There was nothing else there, though. The only thing she noticed was the different handwriting used for her name—her mother’s. She must have had the letter delivered to the vault after she was born.

It was overwhelming. Despite the shortness of the letter, there were so many questions running through her mind. Who was ‘The Old One’? How on earth was she going to get to Tristan? How long would it take?

Folding the letter once more, she pushed it deep into her bag, burying it at the bottom, just in case someone decided to go through it. As she picked up the box to return it to the shelf, there was a clink. Looking inside, she saw tucked into one corner a small piece of metal. It glinted in the low light, a jagged golden half-moon. Scooping it out, she held it up to the light. It looked like the other half of the charm on her necklace. Sure enough, when I offered it up, it matched, snapping against the other piece like a magnet.

She closed the box and placed it back on the shelf. After fastening her now complete necklace and tucking it out of sight, she moved towards the door, pausing as it slid open to reveal the cavernous chamber once more. Aamir was leaning against the rail a few feet away, waiting patiently for her.

‘Everything is in order, I presume?’ he asked, straightening up as the door slid closed behind her.

‘Yes, I got what I needed, thank you.’

‘Very good; we shall return to the surface in that case,’ he replied, gesturing for her to go ahead.

For the most part, their journey back to the surface went by in silence, with Aamir seemingly more interested in watching the vaults go by than engaging in discussion this time. Clara only broke the silence as they passed The Archive, enquiring about how to get access to the public portion of the library.

‘You would have to make a reservation with the librarian in the main entrance hall,’ he explained. ‘They like to keep a close regulation on the number of people in the library, so you would have to reserve a time slot.’

Mentally making a note to ask Russell if they could come back to the library, she spent the rest of the time drinking in her surroundings before they returned to the lift and then the surface.

She had no idea how long they had spent in the vaults, but as they emerged back into the main entrance hall, there was no sign of Russell. Aamir gave her a nod as he moved back behind the counter, waving down the man who was next in line. Unsure where to wait, Clara wandered back towards the middle of the hall. Surely Russell hadn’t abandoned her here, had he?

The vaults were far quieter than they had been when they had entered. Now there were only a handful of people waiting behind the counter for customers; the man who Aamir had called over had disappeared along with him. For a moment, bright light filled the entrance hall as the doors that led outside opened.

Squinting, it wasn’t until the doors had swung shut again that Clara saw two men in dark leathers walking purposefully towards her and the counter. Moving to one side so as not to get in their way, Clara saw one of them mutter something, their direction changing towards her instead of the counter. Why were they coming over to her? She panicked.

Behind her, there was a crash and a shout. ‘Clara! Run!’