The Ape King descended alone.
Not because he feared betrayal—
but because some knowledge bows only to authority.
The chamber was circular, its walls carved from black stone veined with gold. At its center stood a statue of a colossal serpent, coiled upon itself, its body segmented like armor plates. Moss and age clung to it, yet its eyes—
Alive.
Stone pupils shaped like vertical slits.
The Ape King raised his hand.
Two fingers pressed into the statue's left eye.
Nothing happened.
He pressed harder.
The world shuddered.
A low clunk echoed deep beneath the earth, followed by a grinding sound so ancient it felt older than sound itself. Gears—massive, patient, unseen—began to turn.
The floor trembled.
Then—
KRRRRRRRSHHHH.
Five massive slabs of earth separated like petals of a dead flower, sinking downward. From the depths rose five colossal golden chests, each engraved with different primal symbols—fangs, claws, eyes, crowns, and bones.
They did not shine.
They waited.
Rûkar, watching from the upper platform, felt his instincts scream.
"These…" he muttered, "are not weapons."
The Ape King stepped forward.
"They are judgments."
The First Chest
He placed his palm upon the first golden chest.
The carvings reacted instantly—glowing faintly as if recognizing his bloodline. The chest did not open.
Instead, a section of the carving peeled itself outward, revealing a pearl.
Not white.
Not black.
Not silver.
It was alive-green, swirling internally like a caged storm.
The Ape King took it without hesitation.
The moment it left the chest, the other four chests went dormant—sealing themselves completely, as if acknowledging that only one trial was permitted at a time.
The Wall of Dominion
He turned toward the chamber wall.
There, etched into stone older than continents, was a mural.
A five-headed serpent, each head representing a different primal law—
War. Survival. Adaptation. Authority. Extinction.
Upon its central coil sat an ape figure.
Crowned.
Still.
Watching the world burn beneath him.
The Ape King approached and placed the pearl into a hollow carved into the serpent's chest.
It fit perfectly.
He pressed.
The pearl sank in slightly—
Click.
Then he reached for a nearby torch embedded in the wall. Unlike the others, its handle was wrapped in gold.
He twisted it.
Fire did not ignite.
Instead—
The mural moved.
Stone slid aside without friction, revealing a narrow passage spiraling downward, illuminated by faint golden light leaking from below.
The air that escaped was different.
Dry.
Heavy.
Metallic.
Rûkar's eyes widened.
"The Armoury…" he whispered.
The Ape King did not respond.
He stepped into the passage.
Behind him, the mural sealed shut.
The five golden chests sank back into the earth, untouched, their secrets preserved—for now.
What Lies Ahead
Deep below, something stirred.
Not weapons alone.
But legacies.
Armor forged not to protect flesh—but to enforce hierarchy.
Relics that did not increase strength—but redefined what strength meant.
Artifacts that humanity would later call unfair.
The Ape King descended calmly.
Because kings did not rush toward power.
They reclaimed what was always theirs.
TO BE CONTINUED.