The initial wonder of The Vault of the Keeper began to curdle into the bitter taste of captivity. Lyra stood in the center of the majestic chamber, her fear oscillating between the threat of the Moroi Clan and the reality of being imprisoned by Elias Volkov.
"Captive is an inflammatory word, Lyra," Elias corrected, his voice calm, yet resonating with the finality of granite. He had moved to a recessed alcove, where a smooth, dark table and two high-backed chairs materialized from the wall's texture. "Consider this enforced security. I have centuries of experience anticipating threats; you have an overdue assignment on Baroque-era bookbinding. Our priorities are somewhat different."
Lyra felt a surge of indignation. She crossed her arms, ignoring the ethereal glow of the crystal orbs. "I have a life, Elias! A lease, classes, friends who will notice I'm missing. You can't just erase a man's memory and lock a woman in a—a magical bunker because of a 'prophecy' and a birthmark!"
Elias met her frustration with unnerving stillness. He sat down gracefully, his posture regal and profoundly weary. "The life you refer to is now actively endangered. Your friends' memories of you would be a preferable sacrifice to the world's descent into anarchy. As for your disappearance, I have ensured your digital and physical presence has been subtly 'frozen'—an emergency illness, a family crisis. No panic, just quiet absence."
His dismissiveness only fueled her anger.
"You have no right! What gives you the authority to decide the fate of my life and the world?"
"Three hundred and eight years of duty," Elias stated simply, his voice low. He gestured to the surrounding volumes. "I have guarded this knowledge since the signing of the Covenant after the Great War, Lyra. I have watched empires rise and fall, witnessed the slow erosion of human memory, and lived purely to prevent the return of the Moroi. That gives me authority. And necessity gives me the right to confine you."
He leaned forward slightly, the glacial blue of his eyes softening momentarily, revealing a flicker of raw emotion. "Do you truly believe, after witnessing the dissolving wall and sensing my true nature, that you could walk out there and return to ordering coffee and worrying about library fines? You are the key, Lyra. A target. The Moroi will not stop to offer you sanctuary or polite conversation."
Lyra slumped her shoulders. She looked around the Vault again, this time seeing the overwhelming power. His logic, cold and brutal, was sound. She was terrified of the Moroi, but a deeper, more personal conflict was emerging: her relationship with her captor.
"Fine," she conceded, rubbing her wrist. "If I'm the key, and if this place is my sanctuary, then tell me everything. Start with the basics. What exactly are you?"
Elias allowed a faint nod of approval. "An excellent start, Miss Pramesti. You adapt quickly."
He stood and walked towards a shelf where a heavy, copper-bound volume rested. The book slid silently into his hand. "My kind are known to your species by many names—Vampire, Strigoi, Nosferatu. We are the architects of the night. We possess enhanced strength, speed, and regenerative properties, gifted to us by the sun's absence."
He looked at her, his expression impassive. "Our primary need is blood—a sustained, regular intake for continued life and power. The Covenant forbids the taking of human life; we subsist on blood substitutes created by the Coven, or, for the most ancient and stable like myself, the regulated donation from a willing host. It is a life of meticulous discipline, Lyra."
"And you... you are disciplined?" Lyra challenged, remembering the overwhelming, dangerous scent that had flooded the archives.
Elias's gaze sharpened, a clear warning. "My discipline is absolute. I have not tasted fresh, human life in two centuries. Your blood's resonance is unique, Lyra. It does not ignite hunger; it suppresses it. It is like a powerful, ancient song of peace that quiets the perpetual beast within me. That is why I could not simply send you away—the Moroi seek to exploit that resonance. They want to drink the key."
He placed the copper book on the table. "Now, we begin your education. This Vault has secrets that even my Coven does not know. The Codex Aeterna is sealed by the Mark, but the Mark's power is derived from the lineage of your human ancestor, the original Covenanter. We must first understand the link between your fragile humanity and the power that binds my race."
He fixed his icy gaze on her again, no longer as a captor, but as a severe, demanding teacher. "You are confined, but you are not idle. Starting now, you will learn the history of the First Covenant, the structure of the Moroi threat, and the hidden language of the Vault. Your survival, and the world's, depends entirely on your compliance and your capacity to learn."
Lyra walked reluctantly to the chair, the massive, silent room suddenly feeling less like a tomb and more like a university of the dead. She looked at the ancient, copper-bound book and finally, for the first time, accepted her fate. She was the key, and her teacher was a three-hundred-year-old guardian vampire.
"Alright, Elias," Lyra sighed, pushing her artist's lamp and tweezers from her mind. "Tell me about the First Covenant. And don't skip any of the footnotes."