The mine had grown quiet in a way Kael didn't trust.
Not the kind of quiet you earned through stillness, but the kind that slithered in after something had fled. The fire crackled faintly behind him, but even that seemed subdued—like it too knew not to draw attention.
Kael knelt in the ash near the pit, absentmindedly tracing invisible lines with the flat of his palm. His fingers no longer sought chalk. The glyphs lived behind his eyes now. They stirred when he closed them, whispering in rhythm to his thoughts.
He was changing. Slower than he'd expected, and faster than he wanted.
Renn dropped down onto the stone beside him with a grunt and folded his arms across his knees.
"You've been sitting like that for an hour," he said, not unkindly. "Meditating, or waiting to implode?"
Kael glanced at him, dry. "You'd hear it if I imploded."
Renn cracked a grin. "I'd feel it first. You explode and I lose half my trap gear. Just trying to plan ahead."
There was a pause before Kael replied, softer this time.
"They're not quiet anymore."
"What?"
"The glyphs. When I rest, they... churn. Not like noise. More like pressure. Like thought folding in on itself."
Renn sobered, his grin fading into something thoughtful. "That's a hell of a description. You worried?"
Kael shook his head. "Not yet. But I'm paying attention."
Mira was perched on a ledge beside the Echoed Codex on the far side of the chamber, humming to herself in half-silence, as if trying not to disturb the stone. The melody was gentle—one of the older ones. The kind she didn't seem to choose, but which surfaced independently.
She noticed their gaze and looked over. "He's hearing things again, isn't he?"
Brenn, leaning against the entry arch with his arms folded, nodded toward Kael. "Looks like it. But at least this time he hasn't drawn on the walls."
Kael snorted. "Yet."
Mira's tone softened. "It's good that they're active. You're holding them better. I can feel it when you breathe. The echoes aren't spiking as wildly."
"That's supposed to make me feel better?"
She smiled faintly. "Maybe."
Later, when the air grew colder and the fire settled, Mira's humming shifted. The tone she struck resonated differently—a longer note, softer, but with a descending pull. It wasn't something she'd sung before.
Kael tilted his head. "That's new."
Mira blinked. "It just came. Like the stone knew what it wanted."
"Is it leading us again?"
"I think so."
No one argued. They'd learned to follow the music, even when it made no sense. Especially then.
The tunnel it led to was narrow, a seam of darkness tucked behind a cracked support arch they hadn't noticed before. The air grew stiller with every step, and the walls felt smooth—almost polished.
"I don't like this," Renn muttered. "The dust's too clean."
Kael slowed as they reached the end of the path. A solid wall stood ahead, undisturbed and without a mark. But the moment he pressed his palm to it, he felt it—a thread of vibration beneath the stone. Not from the wall. From behind it.
He turned. "There's space."
Brenn was already reaching for his hammer. "Say when."
Kael stepped back and nodded. "Now."
The wall didn't break—it peeled.
A crack split the center and opened slowly, revealing a chamber no wider than three strides. It was round, dim, and empty but for a single pedestal rising from the floor. The pedestal looked grown, not carved, a smooth curve of black stone that held—
"A jar?" Renn blinked. "You've got to be kidding me. Out of all the terrifying magical things in the world, it's a jar?"
Kael stepped closer.
It was bone-white, faintly ridged with tiny spiral lines that weren't writing but still felt deliberate. The lid looked silver at first glance, but now, up close, Kael could see the tarnish—the odd discoloration around the edge. Not silver. Not quite.
Mira's voice was low. "There are no glyphs."
Kael nodded. "No traps. No seals."
"Still feels wrong," Brenn said, standing behind them. "Wrong like locked doors with no keyholes."
Kael crouched beside the pedestal and extended a hand, but stopped short of touching it.
He studied it carefully. "It's not humming like the Vault did. But there's... something. A pressure. Like whatever's inside is thinking."
"Thinking?" Renn echoed. "You're telling me the jar's thinking?"
"I don't know what else to call it," Kael said. "It doesn't feel like it's waiting to be opened. More like it's waiting to be noticed."
Mira knelt beside him, staring at the lid. "This isn't silver," she said softly. "Tin and… something else. Something old."
Renn gave a wary laugh. "Everything's something old. I want something dead for once."
Kael's fingers brushed the side of the jar.
He didn't open it. Didn't even touch the lid.
Just a whisper of skin against the ceramic shell.
And in that moment, he heard it.
Or maybe felt it.
A pulse. Not sound. Not thought.
A heartbeat made of silence.
He drew his hand back slowly, as if anything faster might break something sacred.
"There's something alive inside," he said quietly. "But it's not moving. It's... dreaming."
No one said anything for a long time.
Eventually, Brenn broke the silence. "So? Do we leave it?"
Kael stood, gaze still fixed on the jar. "No. We bring it back. But we don't open it. Not unless we're ready."
Renn looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn't. He just sighed. "Of course. Of course it's coming with us."
They wrapped it carefully—layered in linen and veiled with null-silence chalk. Brenn carried it like it was a sleeping beast.
And as they made their way back through the stone corridors, Kael could feel it.
Like the jar was listening.
Not to sound. Not even to their footsteps.
But to their thoughts.