The Five Realms

Chapter 13: Joey IV

Chapter 13: The Hidden Name

The question had barely left Joey's lips.

"What does it actually mean—to be a Rider?"

Maria said nothing. She didn't flinch, didn't pause, didn't even look at him. She simply turned toward the hallway, her hand trailing along the wall until it found the narrow door no one ever used.

"Follow me," she said softly.

Joey glanced at Chyna. She nodded once. The others followed.

The stairs creaked under their weight as they descended. Dim bulbs flickered above them, the light growing colder as they reached the bottom. This wasn't the regular basement—the one with storage bins and a second fridge. This was something older.

The walls here were stone. The floor, cold granite. Shelves lined one side of the chamber, full of books that smelled like dust and age. A spiral staircase wound up toward a gallery of sealed glass windows that no longer led outside. And in the center of the room—a long stone table, etched with runes Joey couldn't read.

It felt like stepping into a memory. Or a grave.

The basement door groaned as Maria unlocked it, her hand trembling just slightly at the old brass handle. Joey exchanged a glance with Chyna, then took the first step downward.

He hadn't been down here in months.

The stairs spiraled steeply, the scent of dust and candle wax growing thicker with each step. The deeper they went, the cooler the air became—sharper, like it had waited untouched for years.

At the bottom, a heavy wooden door stood ajar. Rohan stirred against Joey's shoulder.

They stepped through.

The space opened into a cathedral of books and wood and shadowed golden light.

Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined every wall, filled with leather-bound volumes and scrolls rolled like sleeping secrets. A spiral staircase rose through the center like the spine of a dragon, curling toward a shadowed second tier. The ceiling was coffered mahogany, warm and ancient. A brass chandelier hung overhead, its flickering candles casting soft amber halos across the shelves.

The velvet-cushioned couch, aged but well cared for, sat at the heart of the room. A pair of tall-backed armchairs flanked it like sentries. In front of them rested a broad coffee table, covered in candle stubs, cracked scrolls, and—

Joey stopped.

A small, sculpted dragon sat there, posed mid-roar—hand-carved from some dark stone. Its eyes were inset with chips of smoky quartz.

This had been their dad's favorite room.

Isendorn's retreat. His thinking place. His refuge.

Joey had never understood why he loved it so much. It always felt too quiet, too heavy. But now, walking beneath the tall windowpanes where golden light filtered through the trees outside, Joey understood.

It was a room full of answers.

"Whoa," Steven whispered, stepping inside behind them. "You never said your house had a secret Hogwarts level."

Maria allowed a faint smile. "Your father called this the Vault."

Beanca brushed her fingers across the rows of books. "It's beautiful."

Fate whispered, "It feels... sacred."

Joey didn't speak.

He walked slowly toward the dragon sculpture and laid his hand gently on its back.