We entered the Treasure Vault before dawn.
Technically, the day began last night.
Because we never returned to the inn.
According to Ryn, carrying all of our supplies back and forth would be a waste of energy.
A statement I initially considered excessive.
Then I remembered the cart.
And the rope.
And the water.
And the arrows.
And the second rope.
There is always a second rope.
So instead we spent the night at the checkpoint near the entrance.
Sleeping is perhaps too generous a description.
Most people simply collapsed wherever space existed.
Hunters.
Porters.
Merchants.
Everyone seemed caught in that strange state between anticipation and exhaustion.
The Heartspike waited below.
And at sunrise—
we followed it.
The descent began with a long spiral staircase carved into stone.
The deeper we traveled, the colder the air became.
The sounds changed too.
The noise of Vaultreach slowly disappeared.
Replaced by something else.
Distant voices.
Metal.
Movement.
Hundreds of people hidden somewhere beneath the earth.
Eventually we passed through a massive stone gate.
The center had cracked long ago.
Ancient carvings covered both sides, worn nearly smooth by time.
It resembled the mouth of something enormous.
Waiting.
Watching.
Then we crossed the threshold.
And arrived at the first floor.
The Threshold Gallery.
I immediately understood why Ryn said we did not need a map.
Because this was not what I imagined a Treasure Vault would look like.
Not even slightly.
From the stories, I expected darkness.
Ancient ruins.
Monsters lurking behind every corner.
Instead—
it felt like a tavern.
A very large tavern.
Inside a mountain.
Inside another mountain.
The chamber stretched farther than I could comfortably see.
The ceiling rose fifteen or twenty meters overhead.
Hundreds of torches burned along the walls.
Red crystals glowed softly from cracks in the stone.
The light painted everything gold and crimson.
People were everywhere.
Hundreds of them.
Perhaps thousands.
Groups preparing equipment.
Porters organizing cargo.
Hunters recruiting new members.
Merchants shouting prices.
Some people laughed.
Some argued.
Some slept directly on the stone floor.
Others emerged from deeper levels looking victorious.
Or terrified.
Or both.
Several wounded adventurers passed us on stretchers.
One had an arm wrapped completely in bandages.
Another stared blankly at the ceiling while two healers argued over his leg.
The entire place felt alive.
Dangerous.
Chaotic.
But strangely normal.
The smell was less pleasant.
Sweat.
Smoke.
Blood.
Roasted meat.
Wet stone.
Everything mixed together into a scent that belonged exclusively to underground civilization.
At one point I nearly bought food.
A vendor was selling something called Spiked Drake Ribs.
Nearby another stand offered Vein Leech Steak.
I was curious.
Unfortunately Ryn noticed.
Immediately.
And vetoed the idea.
She explained that not everyone adapts well to consuming creatures native to Treasure Vault ecosystems.
Then she looked directly at me.
I understood the implication.
My digestive system was apparently not trusted.
Instead she bought me a book.
A Hunter's Guide.
Which turned out to be an excellent decision.
The book contained descriptions of flora.
Fauna.
Environmental hazards.
Arcane anomalies.
Even temporary traps formed from overloaded arcane energy.
Some existed for years.
Others appeared overnight.
Several entries ended with warnings that essentially translated to:
"If you see this, leave."
I liked the book immediately.
Perhaps too much.
By the time we reached the stairs leading downward, I was already reading while walking.
Ryn confiscated that privilege almost instantly.
The second floor felt completely different.
The Vein Chambers.
The transition was immediate.
The crowds disappeared.
The noise faded.
The walls narrowed.
Everything became quieter.
More oppressive.
The stone itself looked wrong.
Red veins stretched through the walls like enormous blood vessels frozen inside rock.
Some seemed to pulse faintly.
Or perhaps I imagined it.
I am choosing to believe I imagined it.
The tunnels twisted constantly.
Intersecting.
Splitting.
Rejoining.
Without a map, I am completely certain we would have become lost.
Not eventually.
Immediately.
This was the moment I finally understood the price of those maps.
Fifteen Gold Crowns suddenly felt reasonable.
The alternative appeared to be dying in a side tunnel.
Several times we encountered monsters.
Not directly.
Usually at a distance.
Or attacking other groups.
The first I saw was a Vein Leech.
A massive red worm nearly two meters long.
Its skin glistened like exposed muscle.
It clung to the ceiling.
Waiting.
Watching.
Its circular mouth opened slowly.
Rows of teeth rotated inside one another.
The sound it made reminded me of someone drinking soup incorrectly.
Wet.
Unpleasant.
Hungry.
Later we heard Crystal Burrowers.
The clicking came first.
Sharp.
Fast.
Like dozens of tiny tools striking stone.
Then one burst from a wall several tunnels away.
Its crystalline shell reflected the red light beautifully.
For approximately three seconds.
Then it attacked somebody.
Beauty continues disappointing me.
The last creature I observed was a Bloodroot Stalker.
At least I think it was.
It looked like an ordinary root.
Then it moved.
Then it revealed teeth.
I strongly disapprove of plants with opinions.
Throughout all of this, Ryn navigated effortlessly.
Left.
Right.
Pause.
Continue.
Avoid one corridor.
Choose another.
Several times we passed sounds of combat echoing through nearby tunnels.
Steel.
Shouting.
The crunch of something unpleasant dying.
Yet somehow she guided us around every encounter.
Not once did we need to fight.
Not once did she hesitate.
Watching her move through the Vein Chambers felt strangely similar to watching her negotiate.
She wasn't conquering the environment.
She was reading it.
Finding paths through it.
Avoiding unnecessary costs.
Eventually we reached the checkpoint.
The Vein Rest.
A naturally open chamber where travelers gathered between deeper descents.
Tents lined the walls.
A large fire burned in the center.
People rested.
Changed bandages.
Shared food.
Studied maps.
Planned routes.
Some slept sitting upright against their packs.
Others stared into the flames with the thousand-yard stare of people who had learned something unfortunate.
The atmosphere felt calmer than the first floor.
But also more serious.
Nobody here seemed interested in pretending adventure was glamorous.
The deeper we travel, the more I understand why.
For now we are resting.
Ryn is checking supplies.
Spathian is examining something that may or may not be a rock.
I have decided to record every floor whenever possible.
Partly because this is my first Treasure Vault.
And partly because experience has taught me something important.
The world becomes significantly stranger whenever I assume I understand what will happen next.
Treasure Vaults seem particularly talented at proving that lesson.
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