Mod Superhero

Chapter 7.30 - Seraphina

Seraphina Veyr's private study was small compared to the endless Vault it commanded. Just a chamber of lacquered wood and rune-lit brass, its walls lined with shelves that held no books, only boxes. Some made of clockwork, others of crystal or filigree. Some ticked faintly, their brass teeth catching and spinning in tiny symphonies. Others contained clockwork golems or crystal lightshows, and some were magical puzzle boxes. Most sat inert, waiting for her hand to wind them—

Waiting for their master:

High Thaumaturge Seraphina Veyr. Master Animatrix. Architect of the Iron Choir.

And Overseer of Vault Alpha.

Seraphina sat at the small table, not much taller than the chair she occupied. Yet even seated, her presence was unshakable—her quiet focus, the steadiness of her gaze, the way her words carried authority long after she'd spoken them. Her hands, scarred and calloused from years of working delicate enchantments with tools hotter than fire and sharper than glass, moved with the precision of a master craftsman.

She was the youngest mage ever entrusted to oversee the Vault.

To ascend so quickly to this position spoke to something more than just talent and focus; it spoke to an architect's mind honed to a fine point and a will capable of bending not just spells but people into order. In the labyrinth of the Vault, where every flaw might become a catastrophe, Seraphina's precision was the fulcrum that kept the whole impossible machine from collapsing.

For a moment, she sat at her desk in silence, working on a palm-sized construction of silver wire and sapphire gears. She opened the lid with a rehearsed smoothness, and the mechanisms inside whirred in response. The melody that spilled out was tinny, but precise, like the pluck of a steel guitar.

On the table beside her rested a velvet-lined tray, an array of tools so specialized they might have looked absurd to anyone else. There were wands with screwdriver heads, tweezers etched with runes so fine they caught the light like hairline fractures, even tuning forks inscribed with stabilizing glyphs. Seraphina reached for one now—a slim shaft capped with a crystal tip that pulsed faintly with stored resonance.

She guided it with precision, adjusting a gear by the breadth of a hair. Her expression remained placid, though her eyes stayed sharp, tracking every minute shift of brass and spring.

Seraphina was a woman of few words, but she imagined the boxes themselves speaking to her, their ticking and melodies filling the silence better than any human voice. The boxes were her pastime, her indulgence. Each was a reminder that even the smallest constructs could be coaxed into harmony, if one was patient enough.

The first crack in that harmony came as a flicker across her wards. The Vault's "hardline" comms sparked to life—a lattice of glyphs burned into the bedrock itself. Those lines were among the oldest carved into the Vault.

Seraphina set aside her tool, then ran a finger against a nearby glyph to listen to the reports. They were urgent, and Seraphina had to use her willpower to keep them from becoming jumbled together—

"Suppressors are sparking on Level Seven—containment rings flickering—"

There were some mages in her charge that Seraphina only knew by name, but she recognized the second voice immediately: Jareth Callun—a lead mage of the lower levels. His voice teetered on the edge of panic.

"Stability faults in the lower conduits. Requesting immediate intervention!"

Other reports continued to pile up: Disturbances in multiple wings. Glyph instability. Reservoir fluctuations.

Seraphina closed the music box with her other hand. Her voice was flat, tone measured. "Reinforce the wards. Rotate fresh reserves into the lattice."

More voices tangled in the line, reports piling up in the hardlines.