BANG!
Another pillar slammed onto the floor and shattered, debris flying everywhere.
The Ivory Sanctuary Auction was on fire.
Metaphorically.
And physically.
Flames consumed fine satin carpet and tapestries worth unjustified amounts. Crystal chandeliers met marble floors in showers of diamond sparks. Panicked nobles screamed and stampeded toward the exits.
Someone was praying. Someone was looting. Another had pissed their pants.
A caged gryphon shrieked and broke free of its restraints, joining the symphony of screaming nobles, and decided its best course of action was to slam into the nearby chimera and initiate a territory battle.
Ancient artifacts burst from their seals, adding onto the ever increasing chaos as they hover around like dancers to the accursed orchestra of screaming nobles.
Paintings burnt.
Servants rioted.
And yet amid it all, one noble sat unmoved in his private viewing box.
A sigh, barely audible, rose from the viewing boxes.
"And to think" the man murmured to no one in particular "I only came for a single trinket."
He was older, though how old was difficult to say. A rugged black mask covered the upper half of his face, drinking in the light around it, leaving only his deep and ancient eyes visible, the kind that had seen civilizations rise and fall. Below the mask, a scruffy white beard jutted out with deliberate eccentricity. His clothes were simple but elegant, the kind of understated quality that suggested refinement without ostentation.
He swirled wine in his glass, watching as a noble below barely avoided being impaled by a flying harp.
"One. Single. Trinket."
"It could've been so, so simple. Smile, lie as always, outbid some pompous lord, if that doesn't work, steal it and walk out rich. Then leave this body to come back to life and dominate the world."
"But nooo."
He gestured lazily toward the stage below, where a group of shackled servants were enthusiastically beating a duke with their own chains.
"Someone had to start a slave revolt."
The gryphon and chimera crashed through the remains of the stage, scattering splinters and limbs.
"And, naturally, someone let all the exotic beasts out of their cages."
He leaned forward slightly, watching the chimera and gryphon tangle in a mess of feathers, fangs, and fire. The gryphon appeared to be winning, so maybe it had been its best course of action to initiate the territory battle after all.
He tilted his head. Below, the floorboards had split to reveal a half-collapsed summoning circle, glowing faintly as cultists, or what was left of them, sprawled around it.
"Oh, and of course, let's not forget the pièce de résistance." He raised his glass towards them in mock salute.
"The ancient god resurrection."
"One mustn't forget the ambitious souls who decided tonight was the perfect time to resurrect an ancient god."
"Amateurs." He sighed as he took another sip out of his wine glass.
"And here I am." His mouth slowly opened, a grin spreading across his face, the kind of smile that suggested he was either very clever or very, very insane. Possibly both.
"The one poor bastard who just wanted to commit a little light fraud."
He downed the last of his wine as another explosion rocked the auction floor.
"Now I'm stuck in the middle of this circus."
He glanced into his empty glass with genuine disappointment. "So much for simple."
The floor gave way beneath him.
He fell through the collapsing balcony with the poise of a man stepping off a stage he'd grown bored of, his grin unwavering.
After all, he'd been in worse situations.
Probably.
A chimera screeched past, one of its heads aflame.
Definitely.
Below, the shattered summoning circle pulsed back to life, runes flaring, tentacles of shadow uncoiling toward him like an invitation.
"...Maybe."
*** 2 hours ago, Ivory Sanctuary Auction Lobby
"Nothing can go wrong tonight."
Henrik Vorst stood at the center of his repurposed cavern-turned-auction-house, hands clasped behind his back like a general surveying a battlefield.
"Absolutely nothing." he repeated, as if saying it twice would make the gods listen.
Six months. Six months since the earthquake had split the mountain and revealed what lay beneath, the vault that scholars were already calling the discovery of the century. Pre-Collapse architecture, they said. The work of Nature's Architect, one of the legendary builders whose names had survived in fragments and myth. It was the kind of find that happened once in a generation, if that.
And it had been him that had found it.
Or rather, it had been his surveying team who had found it while looking for copper deposits, but the details were irrelevant, possession was nine-tenths of history, and Henrik Vorst would be the name in the history books.
This wasn't just a business venture. This was legacy.
His great-grandfather had been a great merchant. His grandfather had been a merchant. His father, a failed merchant.
And Henrik?
Well, he was, no, he'd been a failing merchant. Past tense.
But now he would be the one who transcended commerce and entered history.
If tonight went well.
When tonight went well.
"Thaddeus, perimeter status?"
Thaddeus stepped forward, his armor clinking softly. "All checkpoints manned, Master Vorst. Triple redundancy. Anyone without proper credentials doesn't get within fifty meters of the vault."
"Good. Good." Henrik nodded as he turned to the next figure.
"Madame Corinth?"
"Every piece has been catalogued and verified as authentic Pre-Collapse era." she said, her voice carrying the precise diction of someone who'd spent decades lecturing. "The outer chambers yielded one hundred forty-seven items. The premium pieces, those with clear Architect attribution, are positioned in the platinum viewing section as you specified."
"And the vault mechanism itself?"
Her expression tightened slightly. "The outer doors are functional. Master Craftsman Lin has tested them twice. The inner seal..." She paused. "It's Pre-Collapse lock work, very complex. Lin believes he can open it when required, but the mechanisms are... unorthodox."
"Unorthodox how?"
"They're reactive rather than purely mechanical. He suspects they may respond to certain conditions rather than simple key-and-tumbler arrangements." She met his eyes.
Henrik's jaw tightened. "But he can open it."
"He says he can."
"Then we proceed as planned." Henrik waved a hand dismissively as he turned to his logistics coordinator.
"Supply chains confirmed, sir. Wine from the Verdant Coast, servants vetted and contract-bound. Catering begins in twenty minutes. Private boxes prepared for high nobility: Duke Ravencourt in Box One, Countess Vel'shara in Box Two, masked bidders in Seven through Twelve."
Henrik's eye twitched. "We still don't know who half of them are."
"Discretion clauses, sir. They paid extra for anonymity."
"As long as their coin is real-"
Thaddeus interrupted, his voice flat. "Sir. With respect. Unknown bidders are a security risk."
Henrik smiled without the warmth quite reaching his eyes. "Everything is a security risk, Thaddeus. The artifacts are dangerous. The guests are dangerous. The vault itself is probably dangerous in ways we haven't discovered yet." He gestured broadly at the assembled team. "That's why I'm paying all of you obscene amounts to manage these risks rather than eliminate them."
"Now" he clapped his hands together, the sound sharp in the opulent space. "Unless someone has objections that will actually change anything in the next two hours, you're dismissed."