The air tore past Kael's ears with a deafening roar.
Below him, the churning, dark-grey expanse of the sea and the cruel, jagged teeth of the coastline rushed up to meet him. Commander Valens's enraged shouts were swallowed by the wind almost instantly.
The height was impossible; he should have died already.
Kael didn't panic.
He had the key, and the key was everything.
Mid-fall, driven by an instinct deeper than survival, he channeled the raw, feral power he had suppressed for years.
He performed a rapid, focused partial shift. His bones elongated and reinforced, his muscles coiled, and his skin tightened, giving him the impossible elasticity of his true Lycan form, all without the full, costly transformation.
The shift was just enough.
He hit the dark, frigid water of the cove with a colossal crash, the impact still wrenching a howl of pain from his throat.
The water, however, provided the necessary cushion.
He sank deep into the terrifying cold, disoriented, the wind knocked from his lungs.
His ribs were bruised, perhaps cracked, and a deep gash from a shard of glass bled freely into the dark sea.
He fought the instinct to surface for air. Above him, he could hear the frantic shouts of the Enforcers and the heavy thud of ropes being thrown down the cliff face.
He had to assume Valens and his men were already descending.
He tasted the salt and his own blood, relying on the primal drive of the Lycan to suppress the pain.
He focused on the cold brass key clutched tightly in his hand.
The key, immersed in the cold water and suddenly charged by the brief, high-intensity shift, began to glow.
It was a faint, inner light, visible only in the black depths, and it vibrated gently, tugging his hand.
The key wasn't just a physical lock; it was a navigational beacon.
The vault wasn't on land.
Kael turned against the furious undertow, using the concentrated strength from his partial shift to propel himself against the current, following the key's subtle pull.
The Lycan Enforcers would expect him to be pulled out to sea or washed up onto the rocks.
They wouldn't expect him to fight into the churning, volatile heart of the cliff base.
He swam blindly, trusting the brass guide. The faint, high-pitched Lycan scent of Valens's team reached him, confirming they were close too close.
He pushed harder, ignoring the fiery burn in his chest and the frigid shock of the water.
The key suddenly pulled sharply to the side. Kael kicked, twisting his body through the violent water, and found himself facing a smooth, dark wall of granite.
The key pulsed rapidly, pointing to a dark fissure beneath the waterline a low, narrow gap hidden by the perpetual crashing of the waves.
It wasn't a constructed entrance; it was a perfectly camouflaged sea cave, the true location of the Vault of True Records.
He fought the last few yards of merciless current, scraping his bleeding body against barnacle-covered rock.
With a final, desperate burst of strength, he pulled himself into the narrow, dark opening.
The water immediately calmed. He was inside.
He hauled himself onto a thin, slippery shelf of wet stone, collapsing into the absolute darkness of the cave. He gasped for air, his muscles screaming in agony.
From outside, he heard the chilling sound of Lycans hitting the water.
They were not swimming casually; they were already shifting, their enraged roars muffled by the sea.
"He's bleeding! He's near the rocks! Find the scent!" Valens's furious, amplified voice echoed from the surface.
Kael lay there, clutching the brass key. He was wet, broken, and alone, but he was exactly where he needed to be.
He had survived the fall, and the truth of the Agendas was now just one locked door away.
Kael lay sprawled on the thin, wet stone shelf inside the sea cave, his breaths ragged. The roar of the ocean outside was muffled here, replaced by the eerie sound of water dripping within the cavern. He was safe from Valens for now, but the pain was immediate and absolute: cracked ribs, deep lacerations, and the debilitating cold that leached the strength from his Lycan core.
He forced himself to sit up, using his hands to press against his bruised ribs, initiating the slow, agonizing process of Lycan healing. It was painful without a full shift, but necessary.
He pulled his phone from a waterproof inner pocket. The image of the overwritten ledger entry his proof of the Mixed Lineage was safe.
The brass key, still faintly glowing, warmed his hand.
The cave was vast and absolutely black. He fumbled for a small, tactical light kept in his belt kit.
He clicked it on, casting a shaky beam into the cavern's depths.
The light revealed a colossal, naturally formed chamber.
In the center, set into a smooth wall of stone that looked curiously polished by centuries of water flow, was a massive, circular door. It was seamlessly sealed, made of dark, unidentifiable metal and covered in the same strange, ancient symbols etched onto his key. The Vault.
As Kael started to move toward the vault, the beam of his flashlight revealed something else.
Resting on a large, flat slab of rock a natural pedestal at the very threshold of the vault door was a figure.
It wasn't Lycan.
It was a creature of pure, ancient defense: a Sentinel Golem.
It was roughly the size of a bear, formed not of earth or metal, but of densely compressed petrified sea minerals a sickly, pale-green crystalline rock that shimmered in the weak light.
Its joints were sealed with hard, dark barnacles, and its eyeless head tilted slightly as Kael's light hit it.
It was clearly activated by his presence, guarding the vault threshold.
The creature was designed to be silent, immune to scent, and impervious to most magical assault.
"Of course," Kael muttered, spitting out saltwater and blood. "A guardian."
He knew the principles of Golem defense: they were slow but relentless, and their defense mechanism was tied directly to the item they guarded—in this case, the Vault Key. It wouldn't react violently unless Kael attempted to use the key.
Kael couldn't fight it with brute force. His ribs screamed, his leg was weak, and he knew a few swings from that petrified stone guardian would shatter him completely. He needed to be tactical.
He examined the Golem's placement. It was sitting directly in front of the keyhole, forcing anyone to physically engage it to gain access.
Kael tried a small deception. He pitched a baseball-sized rock against the far wall of the cavern, hoping to draw the Golem's attention.
The Golem didn't move an inch. It was programmed only to guard the direct approach to the vault.
Kael realized the only way to proceed was to use the key. But that meant crossing the threshold, which would trigger the Golem's full, lethal aggression.
He assessed his remaining tools: a few meters of climbing rope, the silver tracking wafer , and the cold iron dagger.
The cold iron the metal hated by Lycans and often used as a defensive measure against shifters and magic was his only unusual weapon.
Golems weren't magical, but cold iron could sometimes disrupt the simple elemental binding that held such constructs together.
Kael took a deep, shuddering breath, ignoring the stabbing pain in his side.
He had to be fast, precise, and he had to trust that the centuries-old Sentinel was more simple than its terrifying appearance suggested.
He took the cold iron dagger, positioned the brass key in his other hand, and started to limp toward the colossal, silent guardian of the Vault.
Kael couldn't fight it with brute force. His ribs screamed, his leg was weak, and he knew a few swings from that petrified stone guardian would shatter him completely. He needed to be tactical.
He examined the Golem's placement. It was sitting directly in front of the keyhole, forcing anyone to physically engage it to gain access.
Kael tried a small deception.
He pitched a baseball-sized rock against the far wall of the cavern, hoping to draw the Golem's attention.
The Golem didn't move an inch.
It was programmed only to guard the direct approach to the vault.
Kael realized the only way to proceed was to use the key.
But that meant crossing the threshold, which would trigger the Golem's full, lethal aggression.
He assessed his remaining tools: a few meters of climbing rope, the silver tracking wafer , and the cold iron dagger.
The cold iron the metal hated by Lycans and often used as a defensive measure against shifters and magic was his only unusual weapon.
Golems weren't magical, but cold iron could sometimes disrupt the simple elemental binding that held such constructs together.
Kael took a deep, shuddering breath, ignoring the stabbing pain in his side.
He had to be fast, precise, and he had to trust that the centuries-old Sentinel was more simple than its terrifying appearance suggested.
He took the cold iron dagger, positioned the brass key in his other hand, and started to limp toward the colossal, silent guardian of the Vault.
Kael knew he was too injured to duel the Sentinel Golem.
He had to use the one element of chaos he could introduce the cold iron dagger
to buy the split-second he needed to access the lock.
He took a slow, deep breath, ignoring the stabbing pain in his ribs.
He positioned the brass key in his left hand, ready to slam it into the lock. In his right hand, he gripped the cold iron dagger.
The Sentinel Golem, a towering mass of petrified sea minerals and barnacles, was silent, its eyeless head facing him.
It was a massive, still target, waiting for him to step across the threshold.
Kael roared not in aggression, but in pure, desperate exertion and launched himself forward.
He didn't run at the lock.
He angled his trajectory toward the Golem's massive, jointed right shoulder, and simultaneously, he threw the cold iron dagger.
The dagger spun end-over-end, hitting the Golem with a sickening crack against the creature's thick, crystalline hide.
The impact was nothing, but the material was everything. Cold iron, though unable to destroy the Golem, disrupted the simple elemental binding that held its ancient form together.
The Golem didn't stagger, but it seized. For a horrifying, agonizing fraction of a second, the creature's movement froze.
Its massive left arm, already raised for a defensive strike, locked mid-air, the embedded barnacles grinding against the crystalline rock.
That was Kael's opening.
He didn't wait to see if the dagger had stuck. He lunged beneath the Golem's paralyzed arm, ignoring the crushing pain in his chest as he twisted his body. He slammed himself against the smooth, damp metal of the vault door, directly over the keyhole.
He shoved the brass key deep into the lock and twisted with all the strength his injured hand could muster.
The key didn't click.
It sang.
A high-pitched, resonant tone vibrated through the metal, and the ancient symbols carved on the key and the door exploded into a luminous blue light, blinding Kael for a moment.
Behind him, the Sentinel Golem roared—a grinding sound of stone against stone—as the paralysis lifted.
It slammed its massive, stony fist down where Kael had been standing a heartbeat before, shattering the rock pedestal and sending a violent spray of water and dust into the cavern.
But Kael was already past the point of no return.
With a deep, resonant CLUNK that echoed through the entire cave, the mechanism released.
The circular vault door didn't swing open; it recessed into the wall with a smooth, powerful hiss of displaced water and air.
Kael yanked the key free and dove headfirst through the narrow opening, rolling onto a dry, stone floor on the other side.
He didn't get far.
He collapsed onto the cold stone, coughing and sputtering.
The adrenaline faded, leaving him weak and bleeding, but he dragged himself up and slammed a button beside the internal door seal, hearing the heavy, seamless metal thud shut behind him.
The Golem was left roaring its frustration in the empty cave, its crushing blows echoing harmlessly against the reinforced outer wall.
Kael had done it.
He had bypassed the external perimeter, survived the fall, and defeated the Sentinel.
He had sacrificed his only non-Lycan weapon for a chance at the truth.
He stood up, using the wall for support. The chamber he found himself in was small, dry, and clean, lit by faint, permanent magical orbs set high in the ceiling.
In the center, resting on a pedestal, was a small, lead-lined chest secured by heavy chains and a thick, traditional Lycan lock.
The brass key, his guide and weapon, fit perfectly into the final lock. Kael inserted it and turned.