Deborah's POV
I followed closely behind Chad, my mind a turbulent mix of questions and unease.
As the rightful heir to the Lee family, I knew this estate inside and out, especially the location of the family's weaponry vault.
But that locked storage room we passed earlier—it had never been of particular importance in my memory. The discrepancy gnawed at me.
Why that storage room?
I vaguely recalled it being small, a place for storing mundane odds and ends. Nothing more.
We continued down the corridor, the air growing colder and damper with every step. The stone tiles beneath our feet were covered in dust, and the scent of decay lingered heavily in the still atmosphere. Chad's movements were deliberate, his flashlight cutting through the darkness ahead. Then, he stopped abruptly and pulled out a set of keys.
My heart clenched. It was my father's set of keys.
I recognized them instantly. This wasn't just any set of keys; it was the most important item in all of Hybrasil, granting access to nearly every critical entry point. My father had crafted them himself, often boasting about their significance.
"Deborah," he had once told me, "a key isn't just a piece of iron. It holds the fate of the family."
And now, here they were—in Chad's hands.
The sight of those keys sent a jolt of dread through me. That he, Hybrasil's destroyer, possessed them wasn't surprising—what chilled me was that a full year after the massacre, these keys were still in his possession.
Had Lugh entrusted them to Chad completely? Did that signify absolute confidence, or was there a hidden layer to their relationship I hadn't uncovered yet?
My thoughts raced, but I forced my expression to remain neutral. Any hint of recognition could be fatal.
At last, the door to the weaponry vault appeared.
When my father built this place, he had designed it to be invisible from the outside. Even among family members, finding it without his guidance was nearly impossible.
I had doubted that any of the weapons would remain untouched, assuming Lugh and his forces would have looted it thoroughly. But now, standing before the entrance, I had to question just how much Lugh trusted Chad—or if this vault had remained undisturbed all along.
Feigning ignorance, I decided to ask a question.
"This is the weaponry vault?" I asked, feigning uncertainty. "Where's the door? It doesn't look like there's an entrance."
Chad turned to face me, his eyes glinting with a subtle edge. His gaze lingered on me for a moment before he smirked, a cold, knowing expression. "You don't know where the door is?" he said flatly. "Then why are you here?"
The words hit me like a hammer.
What did he mean by that?
Was he suggesting I should know the vault's entrance? Had he already uncovered my identity? Or was this another one of his calculated tests? The possibilities swirled in my mind, each one more alarming than the last.
I didn't answer, lowering my gaze to feign deep thought. Silence was the safest response.
Chad seemed unfazed by my lack of reaction. He turned back around, moving toward the vault's hidden entrance. His flashlight illuminated the faint outlines of the corridor as he gestured for me to follow. I stepped forward, watching his every move with growing unease.
He crouched at the corner of the wall, his movements precise to the point of unease. His fingers ran along the stone until they stopped at a nearly invisible mechanism. With a slight press and a tap of his foot, the wall shifted, revealing a small keyhole.
He inserted one of the Lee family keys—the one bearing the family crest—and turned it with ease. A low click echoed through the air, and then the wall itself began to rotate, revealing a darkened entrance behind it.
A cold gust rushed out, carrying the scent of dust and forgotten time. I instinctively covered my nose, my gaze darting to Chad.
He stood by the door, calm and composed, his movements sharp and purposeful.
The weaponry vault was open.
I froze for a moment, staring into the dimly lit void. The air that escaped was cold, heavy with the scent of metal and time. Beyond the entrance, the space felt both hauntingly familiar and unnervingly foreign. Shadows stretched long across the stone floor, dancing under the faint light. This was the Lee family's greatest secret, the stronghold my father had designed and built with meticulous care. In my previous life, I had entered it only once, when my father proudly revealed the depth of our family's power.
"All still intact," Chad's voice cut through the silence, pulling me back to the present.
I forced myself to take a steadying breath before stepping inside. The first sound was the soft echo of my boots against the cold stone floor. Slowly, my eyes adjusted to the gloom, and the full extent of the vault came into focus.
Weapons. Rows upon rows of them, lining the walls with a precision that reflected the care and discipline of their maker. Bows and crossbows sat alongside swords and spears, their polished edges gleaming faintly even in the dim light. Nearby, modern instruments of war—laser rifles, plasma cannons, and other state-of-the-art devices—stood ready, untouched by time. Each piece was pristine, as if it had been waiting for this moment, untouched by destruction or decay.
I moved further in, my steps slow and deliberate. In one corner, ammunition crates were stacked neatly, their stenciled labels indicating explosive potential. In another, half-assembled machines loomed—sleek, mechanical constructs that bore the promise of deadly precision. They looked like combat drones or defensive units, tools designed to hold the line or devastate an enemy force. My breath caught as I realized their significance.
This arsenal wasn't just a collection of tools. It was power.
My heart pounded in my chest, hope surging with every step. If Tirfothuinn could secure even a fraction of these weapons, we wouldn't just survive—we could fight back. The tides of battle could turn, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I could see the glimmer of possibility.
I stepped closer to the weapons, my fingers brushing against the edge of a finely crafted longbow. The wood was smooth under my touch, its string taut and ready. My gaze shifted to a nearby rifle, sleek and cold, its craftsmanship a blend of science and artistry. For the first time in years, I allowed myself to hope. This vault was more than I had dared to imagine—it was the key to changing everything.
I pressed further into the chamber, each step revealing more: grenades packed into compact cases, energy shields mounted against the walls, and blades that seemed to hum faintly with dormant power. Every corner of this space spoke of potential, of the lives these tools could save, of the battles they could win.
But then, cutting through my growing sense of triumph, came a voice. Cold and unyielding.
"Step out."
I froze, turning slowly to see Chad standing at the entrance. His flashlight hung loosely in his hand, casting faint shadows across his face. He didn't move, didn't speak again—he simply waited.
Something about his stillness sent a shiver down my spine. Why wasn't he coming inside?
I forced myself to swallow my unease, burying my emotions as best I could. Without a word, I walked back toward him, my footsteps echoing in the silence. The moment I crossed the threshold, I heard the heavy metal lock click behind me. Chad inserted the key once more, twisting it with practiced ease. The wall pivoted back into place, concealing the entrance as if it had never been there.
The vault was sealed once again.
"Don't celebrate too soon," Chad said, his tone sharp and measured, cutting through the fragile hope that had only just begun to bloom in my chest. The words felt like a cold wind, extinguishing the flicker of optimism that had dared to take root.
I turned to face him, schooling my expression into neutrality even as questions burned behind my eyes. How much did he know? How could he possibly understand what these weapons meant—for Tirfothuinn, for me?
Chad didn't look at me. Instead, he turned toward the dark corridor beyond the vault, his posture as composed and detached as ever.
"Tirfothuinn doesn't have airships," he said, his voice calm but weighted with finality. "You'd never be able to move that many weapons."
The air seemed to thin around me. My breath hitched, the weight of his words pressing down like a vise on my chest. He couldn't know—he shouldn't know.
My lips parted as if to respond, but no words came. Questions swirled—too fast, too wild—tangling my thoughts. My pulse thundered in my ears. How did he know about Tirfothuinn's lack of resources? About the airships—or rather, the absence of them?
"You…" I began, but the word faltered. My voice betrayed me, trembling with more than just uncertainty. It was fear. Fear that he had seen through me, that he had pieced together what I had worked so hard to conceal.
How much did Chad truly know about my plans—about Tirfothuinn? And how long had he known about the vault? His knowledge felt like an unseen force, surrounding and suffocating me.
He glanced at me, a faint, enigmatic smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "A few Birdfolk can't solve your problems," he said, his tone deceptively light, each word cutting deep.
My heart clenched. How could he know about the Birdfolk? Was it a guess, or did he have proof? Worse—could he have uncovered my true identity?
"How do you know all this?" I asked, striving to keep my voice steady, though it trembled faintly.
"Is it that hard to figure out?" he replied with a casual shrug, his confidence unwavering. "It's a small world, Deborah."
His words were vague, offering no clarity, yet his tone carried an air of certainty that left no room for doubt.
I swallowed hard, unable to shake the feeling that I was being cornered.
In the end, I said nothing more. Lowering my gaze, I followed silently behind him, my thoughts racing.
No matter how calm Chad appeared, simplicity had never been his nature.