Ren had made a lot of bad decisions in his life.

Stealing Master Taldren’s best bottle of wine? Bad decision.

Trying to flirt with the blacksmith’s daughter while standing near molten metal? Very bad decision.

Following a suspicious, nameless woman into an ancient underground vault that was definitely cursed?

Possibly the worst decision of his entire existence.

The door had slammed shut behind them with a finality that made Ren’s stomach twist. The golden symbols along the walls pulsed once—like the vault had just taken a breath—then dimmed, leaving only the faint glow from his pocket watch.

He turned to the woman. "You wanna tell me why the door just locked us in?"

She didn’t look concerned. "Security measure."

Ren threw up his hands. "Great! Fantastic! A security measure! And how, exactly, do we un-measure the security?"

She ignored him, stepping forward into the darkness. Ren hesitated, then hurried after her—because while she might be a walking bad idea, being alone in a cursed vault seemed infinitely worse.

The chamber stretched wide, the ceiling lost in shadow. Strange mechanisms lined the walls—gears, pendulums, towering glass tubes filled with swirling silver mist. Ren didn’t know much about ancient magic, but if he had to guess, this was where time itself had once been tinkered with.

Which meant: danger.

"Alright," he said, keeping his voice low. "So what are we looking for?"

"The Ledger," the woman said. "The last record of the Timekeepers."

Ren frowned. "A book?"

"Not just any book. It tracks every Valtheris who has ever lived."

Ren stopped walking. "Excuse me?"

The woman finally turned to face him. "Your family’s bloodline is woven into time itself, Ren. The Timekeepers weren’t just historians. They were… architects."

Ren folded his arms. "And you’re telling me I come from a long line of time-architects?"

"Yes."

"And they just—what? Built clocks? Gave dramatic speeches about the flow of fate?"

She exhaled. "They could shape time. Rewrite it."

Ren blinked. "Oh." He considered this. Then: "...Yeah, that sounds a lot cooler."

The woman shook her head. "The Ledger should be in the heart of the vault. We need to—"

A deep clunk echoed through the chamber.

Ren stiffened. "That… didn’t sound friendly."

The woman’s expression darkened. "We’re not alone."

A metallic scraping filled the air. Ren turned slowly—just in time to see one of the towering glass tubes crack.

Then another.

Then another.

The mist inside them began to leak out, swirling unnaturally. Ren watched, horror crawling up his spine, as the mist solidified—forming into shifting, half-human figures with empty, hollow eyes.

The woman grabbed his arm. "Run."

Ren didn’t need to be told twice.

They bolted as the figures lunged, mist-like arms stretching unnaturally toward them. The chamber blurred around Ren as he sprinted—dodging gears, leaping over broken tiles, definitely not screaming (he would deny it later).

Ahead, a massive archway loomed, lined with even more golden inscriptions. The woman skidded to a stop in front of it, tracing one of the symbols with her fingers.

"Okay," Ren panted. "Please tell me this is a secret exit and not just another terrifying door."

"It’s a threshold," she muttered. "It’ll take us deeper into the vault."

"Deeper?!" Ren gestured wildly at the mist-monsters gaining on them. "That is literally the opposite direction I want to go!"

"Do you want to die here?"

Ren sighed. "Ugh, fine. But if there’s another magical death trap waiting, I’m putting it on your tab."

She pressed her hand to the symbol. The archway flared—and suddenly, the floor beneath them vanished.

Ren had exactly half a second to regret everything before they plummeted into darkness.