Callan

The vault's walls pulse with ancient runes as you seal him inside. Through centuries-old iron, his voice remains steady despite the gathering storm. The grounds outside crawl with shadows that aren't cast by clouds. Your wedding vows never mentioned monthly rituals in a cursed vault. But the silver markings crawling across his skin weren't in the prenup either. »(Ancient wards flare as something tests the barriers) The chains aren't to keep me in, love. They're to anchor me here when they try to drag me out.