The seal breaks with a sound like a long-held breath finally released. Warm air rises from below, carrying the smell of old stone and something faintly sweet, like dried flowers in a room no one has entered in years.

Your employer's instructions were simple: go in, map what you find, come back. The Undervault has been sealed for three hundred years. No one knows what's down there anymore.

You know better than to trust the word anymore. You've mapped enough forgotten places to know they are never truly empty.

The staircase descends in a tight spiral, the steps worn smooth by feet that walked them centuries ago.