The egg pulsed again.
Not frantic, not starving. Just steady, deliberate, like it was listening to some rhythm buried deep beneath the bones of the world. Like it was tapping back in time to a beat only it could hear.
Verek stood just outside the vault. The rain had soaked him through, dragging his cloak down like wet leather pressed tight to his skin. Each drop made the fabric heavier, sticky against his chest and shoulders. The air pressed in thick and strange, that kind of weight that sits before a storm breaks. It wasn't just damp. It smelled like iron mixed with something sour and old, the kind of rot your nose couldn't name but your gut hated anyway.
Behind him, Ezreal, Caylen, Dax, and Tarrin waited in a silence so heavy it felt like waiting for a blade to fall. Everyone still except Dax, who rolled his shoulder like the edge of his armor was grinding against bone.
Verek stepped forward and laid a hand on the vault door. The steel was cold under his palm, buzzing faintly, like it recognized him. Like it had been holding its breath until now.
"She's awake, isn't she?" His voice was low and calm, not loud enough to shout but clear enough to pull the truth from the air.
Ezreal didn't meet his eyes. He stared toward the stairwell, fingers twitching as if reaching for something that wasn't there.
"Not fully," he said. "But yeah. Something's shifted."
Verek's gaze stayed fixed on the door. "It's not her who's changed. It's us. The city. We kept her quiet in the Crucible because we hadn't done enough to wake her. Now she's listening. Something out there is calling, and she's answering."
Caylen slumped against the stairs, arms folded tight like he was bracing for a blow. "We locked it away for a reason. Said we wouldn't use it."
Verek turned slowly, voice flat and sharp. "Then explain this." He pressed harder against the steel. "The wards aren't holding anymore. They're twitchy—like they want to break free."
A low boom shook the ground beneath them, hollow and miserable. Dust drifted down from the ceiling in lazy spirals.
Dax cursed under his breath. "That came from the eastern court. They're inside the amphitheater."
Tarrin limped down the stairs, robes shredded and trailing smoke, eyes red and face slack with exhaustion. "We're out of time," he rasped. "Whatever that egg is—it's the last card. Ironcrag's boys are hammering everywhere but that vault."
Verek looked at Ezreal. "Think we can bluff again?"
Ezreal blinked slow, but Verek didn't wait for an answer.
"No chance," he said. "Maybe we don't have to bluff this time. Maybe we let them see. Let them feel what we're keeping caged."
Dax let out a sound between a snort and a laugh. "That's not a plan. That's throwing ourselves off a cliff with a smile."
"It's more than silence now." Verek's voice cracked, ragged at the edges. "Right now they think we're empty. We let her sing one note, and maybe that shakes them enough to buy us time."
Caylen straightened up, worry carved into his face like a scar. "And if she hears that as permission? If the war outside sounds like an invitation?"
Ezreal stepped forward, hand touching the steel like it grounded him. "Then we do what we always do." His voice dropped to a near whisper. "We stand between the fire and the rest of the world."
The vault hissed. Gears groaned deep in the walls. Magic sparked across the runes etched in the steel. Cold rolled out like a stone buried under ice for centuries, sharp and dry against their skin.
The door didn't swing open. It slid back silently, revealing the egg.
It hovered there—pale and veined, skin shifting in slow pulses of color. Threads of magic drifted around it, moving like dust caught in oil.
The shards were gone. No cracks. No seams. Just the egg, whole and breathing.
Caylen stepped forward as if drawn. "It's watching us," he said quietly. "Like it's trying to learn."
Verek nodded. Slow. "Or copying. Either way, it's learning fast."
Then the horn sounded.
Not the low groan from before. This was sharp, loud, and dangerously close.
Screams ripped through the hall.
Dax didn't hesitate. He bolted. Ezreal slammed the vault shut with both hands, the runes flaring bright and fierce.
Smoke clawed at their lungs as it spilled down the corridor—thick, slick, and bitter. They charged into the main hall.
Chaos was already there.
A guard streaked past, covered in blood. "Something in the west wing!" he yelled. "They summoned something! It won't stop!"
The air bent around them—not heat or pressure, just wrong in a way that set nerves jangling.
Then the thing appeared.
Ten feet tall. Rusted plates clamped to rotten flesh. A bare skull for a face, hollow and blinking at nothing. Its arms ended in hooked blades, jagged and worn, like teeth sharpened on bone.
Ezreal's palms flared with fire.
"Don't kill it," Verek snapped. "Just stop it. Bind it."
Caylen's hands glowed white-hot, bright as lightning. The creature staggered back. Dax rammed into its chest with a shoulder that should have broken ribs.
It didn't flinch. It screamed.
The palace pitched into battle.
Verek drew a rune in the air, crackling with heat and force. He yanked the beast sideways, slamming it into the wall. Ezreal hurled fire again and again until stone smoked.
Dax, panting and bleeding from a gash on his forehead, grinned like the fight was a festival.
Caylen stepped in front of the creature, bare hands glowing. He shouted something old and deep, words that felt like they ripped into the bones of the world. Light tore through the monster.
It dropped to one knee.
Verek wasted no time. He traced a second rune in ash, locking the creature down. Dax kicked both blades free. Ezreal hammered the last rune into the circle.
The thing stopped moving. Still breathing, but trapped.
They stood, gasping and wild-eyed. The hall looked like a war camp had moved in.
Ezreal wiped soot from his cheek. "They're not playing anymore. They're inside."
Tarrin stumbled in behind them, soaked in sweat and coughing. "Gates are down. West side's ash."
Caylen spat blood. "Then it's us. Us, the egg, and this damn hall."
Verek stared at the beast's twitching face.
"Or we let her speak," he said. "Just once. Not a blast. Not a purge. Just a voice. Maybe there's something left in her that remembers when the world wasn't this broken."
Ezreal said nothing.
His eyes stayed locked on the vault.
Inside, the egg pulsed.
Once.
Then again.
Stronger this time.
Not angry. Not afraid.
Choosing.