NOVEL NEXT Vol 2. Chapter 76: Vault 56
Lukas picked up the pace as he hurried down the spiraling stone stairwell, his footsteps echoing off the cold walls like impatient whispers urging him forward. He did not know what the High Septon meant when she warned that he didn't have much time left, but he wasn't going to wait around to find out.
The sooner Lukas reached the vault, the faster he could leave this place and begin to examine whatever secrets Varian had left behind. With the High Septon's help, he need not waste time figuring out which floor it was on—she had already told him; it was on the fifth level, the deepest of the underground floors that lay beneath the Church.
It took longer than Lukas would have liked, but when he finally reached the heavy wooden doors marked with an iron 'V' for the vault floor, he found that metal chains had been wrapped tightly around the handles and securely locked.
Without hesitation, Lukas raised his leg and kicked the door open with a sharp crack that echoed like a gunshot through the dark stairwell; the force sending the door flying off its hinges.
Immediately, a wave of stale air and dust rushed out to greet him—thick, dry, suffocating. Lukas almost gagged as he recoiled slightly, quickly covering his nose with his sleeve as he stepped in.
No one had been down here in years, that much was obvious.
Complete darkness engulfed the hallway ahead, and the only thing keeping it at bay was the lamp the High Septon had handed him before she left. Its bright light cast long shadows that danced along the damp stone walls, flickering each time he moved.
Lukas pressed forward, careful with his steps, his boots crunching over debris and fallen plaster.
A row of vaults appeared in the gloom—thick iron doors with corroded hinges and fading numbers etched into their surfaces. He moved quickly down the line, brushing away cobwebs, dust thick enough to smear like ash across his gloves.
Despite himself, a chill crept along his spine. Lukas wasn't someone who frightened easily, but there was something unsettling about this place—its silence too heavy, its air too still. Every few seconds, he glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to see a figure standing just beyond the edge of the light.
But there was nothing. Lukas was probably just a bit on edge after the High Septon had sneaked up behind him.
He had no desire to linger here longer than necessary, so he searched through the numbers with an almost frantic speed.
Finally, Lukas found it: Vault 56.
Unlike the others, it was almost untouched by dust and grime. The surface was still weathered, but the difference was noticeable. The cobwebs had been cleared around it and the layer of dust that had gathered seem thinner than the rest.
It was as clean as anything could possibly be down here.
Lukas inhaled sharply, setting the lamp down on the floor beside him. Its light spilled upward, casting his shadow high across the iron door. Then, he reached into his coat and pulled out the key—the one he'd found hidden in that old bottle of bunyip ashes. The metal key felt strangely warm in his hand.
This was it.
Sliding the key into the lock, Lukas turned.
There was a satisfying click.
The mechanism shifted, ancient gears groaning awake after years of slumber.
Lukas braced himself and pulled the vault door open. The door creaked wide, revealing the long-forgotten truth Varian had hidden here—answers left beyond the grave, buried in dust and darkness. Within it were records that even the High Septon claimed would answer many of his questions.
And now, they were his.
Before Lukas' eyes sat an already opened chest, its iron hinges strained from age and its insides filled to the brim with weathered notebooks—dozens, maybe even hundreds of them. Each one leather-bound and swollen from use, packed with words that seemed to hum with anticipation, as though they had been waiting for years to be read.
Lukas crouched low, the lamplight flickering across the mess of parchment and bindings, and let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. There was more than just notebooks here—tucked between volumes were files, arcane trinkets, a few small glass vials sealed with red wax, and the unmistakable glow of enchanted paper.
Each item placed here with intention.
Varian had known. The Archmage had known this chest would one day be found.
But Lukas' eyes fell on something else, a single letter resting at the top of the pile.
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
His breath caught.
The seal was familiar—red wax, stamped with the same insignia as the final letter Varian had sent him before his death.
It didn't look like much. The paper was yellowed, the edges curled. But it meant everything to Lukas.
With trembling hands, he reached for it, broke the seal carefully, and unfolded the letter.
Then Lukas began to read:
'If you are reading this then it means that I, Varian, am likely dead. And I know that you have the power to make a difference—power that a coward like me never possessed.'
The opening line hit him like a stone to the chest.
'And if you are reading this, I do believe I have found someone worthy. Someone strong enough to carry what I could not—knowledge, evidence, records that I have risked everything to collect.'
Lukas glanced again towards the open chest that was filled with Varian's findings.
'Let it be known. I, Varian, am no innocent man. Many of the events documented in these pages were only possible is because I allowed them to happen. I enabled them. I rationalized my silence with fear, with survival and with politics. But I can no longer live in a world where such evil goes unchallenged. Not when the fate of Hiraeth and its inhabitants hang in the balance.'
Lukas' eyes moved down the page, slower now, his heart pounding.
'The people are being lied to. The Church—the very institution we are taught to trust—is the mouthpiece of a god who has remained silent since the end of the Great War. Oceanus, the immortal who shaped this world…I no longer believe he is watching. If he ever did exist, he has abandoned us. But there is someone who wishes to be worshipped in his place. Someone who seeks to rule Hiraeth as a god, with the people on their knees and the world bowing to his will.'
Lukas felt his fingers curl tighter around the page.
'Inside this chest is everything I have gathered on Daerion Ittriki—the King of Nozar. And more importantly, on his two champions: The Hero from Another World, a man who many think has perished long ago. And Celina, the Divine Knight of the Church, the youngest of all the holy warriors who have come before her.
Both of them are victims in their own right.
Their minds have been twisted, manipulated into believing that Daerion's words are divine. That his orders are Oceanus' will. But they are not. Daerion will stop at nothing to bring his dream to life.'
The silence in the vault deepened, heavy with dust and grief.
'Forgive me. Forgive me for not having the strength to stop him myself. Forgive me for burdening you with this. Forgive me…because whether you like it or not, you are the only one left with the power to stop what is coming. Please put an end to this, to all of it. Before it's too late.'
Lukas read the letter again.
Then again.
And again.
Lukas should not have forgiven Varian. The Archmage could have done something, he could have done anything. Varian could have spoken up, there were still people he could have gone to for help.
Instead, Varian had waited. Varian had watched. And Varian had simply compiled evidence in silence while the world they lived in carried on in ignorance and rot.
Lukas wanted to be angry—he wanted to hate him for the cowardice he admitted so freely.
But the only thing Lukas felt was sadness. A deep, bitter kind of sorrow that settled in the chest like stone. Not just for the man Varian had been, but for the one Varian had hoped to become and never got the chance to be. The Archmage had died without knowing if the one he trusted with everything would succeed—without knowing if any of it would matter in the end.
Lukas stared at the letter one last time, tracing the faded ink with his eyes. The letter trembled in Lukas' hand. He stared at the last line, rereading it, feeling each word settle like ash in his chest.
This wasn't just a warning.
It was a passing of the torch. It was a final, desperate plea from a man who had spent his life in the shadows, hoping someone else would come along to bring light.
And now that someone was him.
There was no turning back now.
Lukas folded it carefully and placed it back atop the pile.
With a hollow clank, he shut the chest and sealed it with a firm snap of its latches. He had spent enough time down here. He couldn't sit in this darkness and grieve for a man already gone. Not now.
Lukas wrapped one arm tightly around the chest, its weight grounding him as he rose to his feet. With the other hand, he reached down and lifted the lantern from the floor. The flickering light cast golden shadows along the vault walls, illuminating the path behind him—one he would not walk again.
As he stood before Vault 56, Lukas took a final breath.
Then, with quiet resolve, he let the key fall from his hand. It struck the stone floor with a soft clink before sliding into the dust near the door, where it would remain—where this chapter would end.
"Goodbye, Varian," Lukas murmured for the final time.
With that, Lukas turned and left the fifth floor behind him, holding the High Septon's lamp in one hand and the weight of a man's failures and the burden of a world's salvation in the other.