Aronia Buxus had long ago stopped being impressed or scared by dangerous things.
This was fortunate, because dangerous things were most of what the Moony Archives contained.
The Archives occupied an enormous complex both over and under a mountain whose location was omitted from every map in existence.
Empires, kingdoms, and many more knew of its existence, but very few actually knew where it was.
That was intentional.
The archives existed for a simple reason.
Some things should not be public.
Artifacts, powers, creatures.
Things that alter memories or whisper to people while sleeping or even awake.
Mirrors that reflected realities that shouldn't be possible. Books of events that hadn't happened yet. Masks that permanently fused with faces. A collection of bells that could be heard from miles away despite producing no sound.
And, according to one very brief report, a sock that had somehow caused three civil wars.
Aronia had spent fifteen years cataloging, researching, classifying, and occasionally surviving such objects.
After a while, one developed perspective.
When you survive a mask trying to consume your identity and replace it with its own, a haunted music box or a cursed sword becomes significantly less concerning.
After fifteen years, very little frightened her.
Concerned her? Certainly, because that was her work.
Respected? Less so.
Fear was a luxury for newer researchers.
The archives were maintained not by brave people but careful ones.
There was a significant difference.
Aronia turned a corner and descended a spiral staircase.
Far below, she could hear the hum of containment wards.
Magic layered upon magic. Enough protective enchantments to make a battlemage weep.
Even if Aronia wasn't a magician or a wizard or whatever they would call themselves, she understood magic to a certain degree.
Even with no magic, having a mind of iron was the best defense against any dark art, and she liked to think that she was a hardy person.
The lower vaults were where the more dangerous acquisitions were kept.
Not necessarily the most powerful. Dangerous was a category all its own.
A rock with the potential of ending the world was one thing.
A cup that convinced people to gouge out their own eyes was another.
Power and danger rarely aligned as neatly as people assumed.
At the bottom of the staircase, a pair of wardens waited beside an iron gate. Their faces deep in the shadows of their hoods.
Both wore protective charms around their necks, and both looked relieved to see her.
That was rarely a good sign.
"Researcher Buxus," one of them said, like calling out her name was a greeting.
She didn't care much. Etiquette or 'respect' wasn't something she respected all that much.
"Morning."
The man hesitated.
"You're here for Vault Seventeen?"
"I am."
The second warden exchanged a glance with the first.
"Good luck."
Aronia sighed.
Whenever someone wished her luck, it usually meant paperwork. Or death.
Occasionally both.
The wardens unlocked the gate. Each had three keys, so six separate locks clicked open.
The enchanted iron door swung inward.
Beyond it stretched a corridor lined with reinforced containment chambers.
Every door was marked with warning signs and sigils.
Some glowed. Some smoked. One appeared to be bleeding.
Aronia didn't even glance at it because it seemed too trivial.
Vault Seventeen stood alone.
The chamber door was significantly larger than the others.
Chains covered its surface.
Protective runes had been carved deeply.
Additional seals had been added recently.
That was interesting because it was new.
Aronia consulted the file tucked beneath her arm.
The document was surprisingly thin.
Only a few pages.
That was unusual as well.
Most objects accumulated reports rapidly.
Especially dangerous ones.
This one had not.
Classification: Undetermined.
Threat Assessment: Unknown.
Origin: Unknown.
Creator: Unknown.
Properties: Unknown.
Aronia frowned.
That was less a report and more an admission of failure.
The final page contained a short note.
She read it twice.
Then a third time.
The note simply stated:
Do not remove containment restraints without authorization from the High Archivist.
No explanation followed. No details. No examples. Nothing.
Just that single instruction.
Aronia stared at the page.
Most reports contained at least a summary.