Arbiter Merle's footsteps echoed against the polished stone as she entered the Vault's main chamber, her gaze sweeping over the repository's meticulous order. Glass cases stretched in precise rows, each artefact within bathed in a familiar warding glow that only her eyes could see.

  The metallic tang mingled with aged wood and protective wax—usually comforting scents. But today, the chamber's serenity felt misaligned, like a painting hung just off-kilter. Her fingers trailed along a nearby display case as she surveyed the space, imagining unusual clusters of shadows gathering in the corners.

  Merle's eyes tracked the intricate enchantments woven into the chamber walls. Power lines pulsed beneath the surface. Containment wards, nullification fields, and alarm triggers, all testaments to centuries of refined magical mastery. The containment fields hummed around the remaining artefacts, their steady drone now a bitter mockery of their failure.

  The realisation weighed upon her, settling like a stone in her chest. This wasn't merely a security breach; it was a profound failure of her duty as Arbiter. A betrayal of the sacred trust placed in her guardianship.

  She turned to the master control pedestal at the heart of the chamber. The containment glyph above cast a steady blue glow, its complex, interlocking patterns reflecting generations of magical expertise. Its presence anchored her a reminder that, at least for now, the Vault's core defences remained intact.

  Her fingers brushed the control panel as she considered the fail-safe mechanism she'd helped design. Flooding the chamber with nullifying waters felt like a crude measure, yet it would smother even catastrophic magical breaches. In light of recent events, such drastic precautions felt justified.

  The Council's authority depended on order. She'd witnessed the devastation of unchecked magic firsthand and knew all too well the cost of failure.

  Merle paused at the first empty case, her reflection stark against the glass. Blackened streaks scarred the surface where wards had failed, remnants of shattered magic littering the floor. The plaque below bore the name of the Ravenscroft Pendant. A warrior-mage heirloom entrusted to the Council's protection, recently retrieved from Norway. By all accounts, the owner had gone to great lengths to track down the piece. Even employing an expert in the field. In the end, though, the pendant proved too powerful and unstable, so the owner donated it to the council vault for safekeeping.

  Three more empty cases flanked it. Each absence like a silent wound: The Codex of Saint Brendan, the Stormweaver's Chalice, the Crown of Thorns. Centuries of magical heritage, gone. Each loss settled like ice in her chest, a stark reminder of the price of betrayal.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  She touched the scorched glass, her jaw tight. These weren't mere trinkets; they were cornerstones of their magical legacy. The thought of such power in unauthorised hands threatened the Council's authority to protect and contain magic.

  Merle glanced at Guardian Finn beside her, noting his military bearing and the methodical sweep of his hazel eyes over the ruined wards. A single tap of his fingers against his thigh betrayed his unease, a rare slip in his composure she'd learned to read over years together.

  She valued his disciplined adherence to protocol, but the empty cases demanded more than careful observation, they demanded swift action. As she watched him assess the broken wards, she willed him to feel the same urgency burning within her.

  "A place meant to safeguard history breached like a common museum vault." The words left Merle's lips sharp with frustration.

  Finn stiffened at her tone, but she didn't soften. This breach struck at the Council's very purpose, their duty to protect. The empty cases mocked everything she'd sworn to defend. Each burnt ward and crushed field was a blow to the heart of Council authority, her authority.

  Merle watched Finn examine each breach point, his practised eye missing nothing. The scar at his temple creased with his frown; his lips pressed into that familiar thin line that meant he was processing every detail.

  His fingers twitched once more against his thigh, he was thinking, analysing. That was Finn's way: careful consideration before action. His unusual silence, void of his typical sardonic comments, spoke volumes about the gravity of the situation.

  She welcomed his steady presence. His cautious approach could sometimes frustrate her, but his unwavering loyalty and practical nature were invaluable. Even when he questioned Council decisions, guided by a conscience that refused blind obedience, he did so with a measured resolve, never acting recklessly.

  Merle crouched beside the empty case, hovering over the scattered remnants of protective magic. Her jaw tightened as she traced the fractured lines of power, recognising the methodical dismantling. Someone had peeled the wards back layer by layer, like a master locksmith at work. The thought that anyone could understand their security measures in such detail made her stomach turn. Only members of the Council's inner circle should have possessed this knowledge.

  Political ramifications churned in her stomach. When word reached the Council members already critical of Vault security, she knew what would follow, diplomatic concerns masking pointed accusations. The Vault symbolised the Council's authority, and its violation threatened everything she'd sworn to protect.

  Merle rose, looking at the next empty case in line. The Codex of Saint Brendan, a medieval tome documenting Christian-fae encounters. Historically invaluable, yet bearing only minor preservation charms. The other violated cases told a similar story. Each piece irreplaceable, yet lacking significant magical power.

  Except… The Ravenscroft Pendant nagged at her thoughts, its potent energy signature standing apart. She frowned, straining to recall details about the piece's origins and construction, but the specifics slipped away like smoke through her fingers.

  Merle glanced at Finn, watching his fingers trace the fractured ward's edge, his shoulders tense beneath his uniform, matching the rigid set of his jaw as he examined the precise cuts.

  She recognised the signs; beneath his professional demeanour lay genuine concern. Though his movements remained steady, a controlled anger sharpened his precision. He met her gaze and gave a slight nod, acknowledging their shared understanding of the situation's gravity.

  "These wards weren't simply broken. They were dissected." Merle kept her voice low, each word weighted. "Whoever did this knew exactly how to strip away each layer without a trace."

  The implications settled like Lead in her stomach. This was calculated precision, not desperate opportunity. She forced herself to push aside thoughts of internal betrayal, for now. That path held implications she wasn't ready to confront.