The entrance to the Sunken Vaults is hidden in plain sight.

Theron leads you through the harbor’s maze of warehouses and piers until you reach a nondescript building at the water’s edge. Inside, past crates of silk and spices, a trapdoor opens to reveal stairs descending into darkness.

“My family has owned this warehouse for three hundred years,” Theron says, lighting a lantern. “Every generation, we’re told the same thing: guard the door, never open it, and pray nothing on the other side wakes up.”

“But you’re opening it now.”

“You’re very persuasive.” His smile is grim. “Or I’m very tired of running.”

The stairs go deeper than should be possible. The stone changes from worked brick to natural rock, then to something else entirely—black marble shot through with veins of gold that seem to pulse with their own light.

“The Vaults were a trading hall once,” Theron explains as you descend. “The greatest in the world. Merchants from every nation came here to make their fortunes. My ancestor presided over it all, ensuring every deal was fair, every contract honored.”

“What happened?”

“The same thing that happened everywhere else three hundred years ago. The world changed. The Vaults sank. And Aldric…” Theron pauses. “Aldric stayed behind to ensure certain things were never lost.”

You emerge into a vast chamber.

The Sunken Vaults stretch before you like an underground city. Stalls and booths line the walls, their wares long since turned to dust. But the architecture remains—grand, ornate, designed to impress. And at the far end, on a raised dais, you see it.

An enormous pair of scales, cast in gold and silver. One pan holds a feather. The other, a stone.

Both are perfectly balanced.

“The Scales of Judgment,” Theron whispers. “I always thought they were a story.”

The scales begin to glow.

A voice echoes through the chamber—deep, resonant, familiar from your visions.

“WHO SEEKS JUDGMENT?”