Wyrm-Deep Solo

August, 2025 | Darkbound's Vault

The cart rattled louder the farther it went, metal on metal echoing off on unseen walls. Cade gripped the edge of the seat as the tracks dipped again much too steeply for comfort. He was half convinced for a moment that they'd tip over and vanish into the abyss. His father, on the other hand, didn't flinch. Charles Darkbound sat perfectly still, his gloved hands resting atop a polished cane he didn't need to walk. His cloak, dark as ink and trimmed with minimal bronze embroidery, never stirred in the wind of their descent. Cade watched him out of the corner of his eye, trying to mirror his stillness, and admittedly, quite miserably failed.

They hadn't spoken since passing the third gate. Not out of coldness, exactly. Just... Inertia. Conversation with his father always felt like entering a room with no windows, both stifling and quiet. "We're nearing our vault," Charles spoke over the clatter of the cart. "They'll scan our blood before release. Don't move your wrist until asked."

Cade nodded. He knew the protocol and knew what was expected. But in truth, it had been years since he last came to the family vaults. Last time, just before his first year, he'd been too small to reach the goblin-scale reader and had to be lifted. He remembered the feeling of his father's hand beneath his elbow, steady and cold. This time, he'd have no trouble steadying himself.

The cart slowed sharply and came to a stop with a jolt that Gringotts never apologized for. A goblin in black ceremonial robes awaited them at the platform-- sharp-eyed and silver toothed, with an obsidian pin in the shape of a closed fist. Cade followed his father off the cart without a word. "This way," the goblin grimaced, and led them toward a sealed door of dark stone veined with dull gold. Carved into the arch were runes Cade didn't recognize-- old brittle things that looked like they hadn't been carved so much as scarred into the rock. Charles stepped forward and presented his wrist to a stone plinth beside the door. A flicker of red light slid over his skin, paused, then pulsed. The door shimmered.

Cade followed suit, heart jumping a little as the reader hissed faintly beneath his wrist. The light flickered just long enough to make him doubt himself, but the door groaned open.

The vault beyond was cavernous. It didn't sparkle. There were no heaps of Galleons piled like a dragon's hoard. To contrast, everything was neatly sorted and boxed with labels. Stacked in long stone channels like mausoleum shelves. The air smelled faintly of iron and preserved vellum. The only warmth came from the torches that lit themselves as they entered. Cade's footsteps echoed alongside his father's slower and uneven.

"This time we'll take a proper withdrawal," Charles said, pausing by a wall chest secured with three runes and a number lock. "Enough for your school year. Books, robes, a new wand, perhaps."

"My wand's fine," Cade murmured, though one look at it and anyone would be able to discern it had been abused from rough treatment on the dueling team. He looked up at the rows of silent shelves, each marked with tiny brass plaques. One bore the initials S.D., another simply No. VII - HOLD. He always forgot how deep the vaults went.

Charles worked the lock swiftly, then stepped aside as the front of the chest opened with a hiss. Inside was a smaller lock box, and beneath that were bundles of enchanted bonds, small wrapped artifacts, and a coin box of heavy Galleons. He handed it to Cade without much fanfare. "You'll do your shopping alone this year. Your mother has appointments. And I'm needed in Geneva." A pause. "You'll manage?"

"I'll manage." There was a silence after that. It wasn't cold, just coiled. Like they'd both heard the same unspoken thing and neither of them wanted to name it. Cade clutched the box tighter than necessary.

"You've grown taller," Charles said at last, surveying him without warmth but not without interest.

Cade shrugged, unimpressed. His father seemed to do this each year. As if this one comment might make up for months of his absence. "Gap years will do that."

"It was a good decision, Cade. You weren't ready. You are now." Cade wasn't sure how to respond to that. It was his assumption that he'd been pulled from school thanks to Peggy's acute ramblings of him being in constant danger. He didn't know where on earth she'd gotten that information. She was no seer from what he could discern. He wanted to believe it. Wanted to believe that the year away-- studying at Wyrmrest, walking the river paths and filling sketchbooks with runes and half spells had made him stronger. But part of him felt hollow. He was a year behind. A page was entirely skipped.

"I suppose I'll find out." he said quietly. Charles nodded once. That was all.

They left the vault without further ceremony. The goblin bowed them back onto the cart, and Cade sat with the box in his lap, trying not to think about how the rails curved upwards like ribs. When they emerged at the surface, blinking into the London grey, he was already folding back into himself, mind drifting toward Diagon Alley and what came next. His father placed a hand on his shoulder before they parted. Then he was gone, a cloak twisting into black as he disapparated.

Cade exhaled. He still had to buy parchment. A new set of robes. Maybe ink that didn't run. But it was strange to stand here again a fourth year who'd skipped a year, a boy trying not to look backward, holding gold drawn from a vault he barely understood. He turned toward the cobbled street. Bartles would need a toad biscuit and Hogwarts was waiting.