Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the intellectual property associated with Harry Potter.

Hi all,

Here's the next chapter. Hope everyone had a Merry Christmas! Harry and his grandparents are caught up in a chaotic duel.

Chapter 76

Harry's ears were left ringing in the aftermath of the explosion, temporarily deafening him.

Adrenaline surged through his veins in response to the unexpected attack. He had anticipated that his opponent would make a move, but nothing as reckless as this. While his protective clothing had shielded his body from serious harm, his duelling robes were left in tatters. Harry could feel a stinging sensation on his face, indicating that he had suffered some minor burns.

Harry had activated his magical boots just before the device exploded. The timing had been close, and he knew that if he had reacted a second later, he would have sustained far worse injuries. Looking down into the arena, he attempted to locate his opponent, but visibility was obscured by a cloud of dust kicked up due to the explosion.

The sound returned, and the goblin audience's furious yells reached Harry's ears. They were not pleased that their entertainment had taken such a turn.

Director Ragnok stood up from his seat, a furious snarl on his lips. "What the hell is going on here? Rodluk, you spineless cur. Using an explosive device to defeat your enemy. You're an Oathbreaker. Guards, capture him!"

Several guards leapt into the arena to apprehend Rodluk. However, instead of facing the guards, Rodluk made a break for it, sprinting to the opposite side of the arena.

"Get down here, Harry!" Charlus' voice sounded above the clamour of the crowd as he gestured for him to join him. His grandmother was already leading his girlfriends towards the exit.

Before Harry could join him, he was distracted by a commotion below. He spotted about two dozen goblins dressed in cloaks rising from their seats. They shed their cloaks to reveal they were dressed in full armour and equipped with weapons, including great axes and crossbows. Harry's eyes widened as the goblins launched several projectiles into the arena, targeting Ragnok's guards, who were pursuing Rodluk.

"Look out!" Harry yelled.

The guards threw themselves to the side as the projectiles detonated, causing a massive explosion that shook the arena. Harry shielded his face with his arms as he was hit by the concussive wave. He winced as he felt the abrasive sand scour his exposed skin.

Harry lowered his arms. The acrid scent of smoke and the din of chaos engulfed the arena. Through the haze that shrouded his vision, he heard rather than saw the turmoil that had beset the once-tranquil space. The guttural cries of the goblins reverberated through the air, a cacophony of fear and desperation as they scrambled to flee the unfolding mayhem.

His heart clenched with worry for the spectators. Among the audience were goblin women and children, vulnerable and unprepared for such sudden violence in the heart of the goblin nation. The goblins didn't usually allow outsiders to see their families, but this had been a special exemption. No one had expected there to be an attack today.

Pushing aside his concern for the goblin spectators, Harry's thoughts turned to his loved ones—his grandmother and girlfriends. Fear gripped him at the mere thought of them being caught in the stampede of panicked escapees. He looked around for an exit, but the second explosion had left him disoriented.

His senses began to tingle, warning him of an impending attack. Harry evaded a bolt hurtling towards him, narrowly missing him by a hair's breadth. Another followed, embedding itself with a sharp thud into a pillar behind him. The situation was dire—someone was intent on killing him. The smoke wasn't a hindrance, as each bolt was fired with deadly accuracy.

Harry avoided several more incoming bolts. He decided to descend to the ground. The number of bolts indicated that more than one person was firing at him. Despite his enhanced instincts, he was having difficulty avoiding them because the dust obscured their flight. They were like deadly snakes, emerging from the bushes to surprise their unsuspecting victims with bared fangs.

Through the dust haze, he could make out the arena's perimeter wall. He landed right next to it, and the clash of weapons filled his ears, as did the sound of growls and grunts of exertion. Then a strong gust of wind swept through the arena. Harry closed his eyes and pressed his face against the wall, shielding himself from the dust that was blown away.

He opened his eyes and turned around. The dust had cleared, and he was confronted with a chaotic scene. The explosions had left craters all over the arena. The two goblin forces fought each other, their axes clashing and sending sparks into the air. Ragnok was in the thick of the battle, surrounded by guards, as they fought a group of goblins. Another goblin watched intently from the rear.

"Barzol, you fool!" Ragnok snarled. "What do you hope to accomplish from this madness?"

Barzol, the goblin in the rear, laughed. "I thought it was obvious, Director. I'm staging a rebellion. Once I have cut off your head, I will take over as director and return my faction to its proper place."

Barzol was the largest goblin Harry had ever seen, standing nearly five feet tall and wielding an equally massive axe. He appeared to have been in many fights, with several scars on his face and half an ear missing.

"You are a fool if you believe you can win with such small numbers," Ragnok said.

Barzol laughed and pulled an explosive device from his pocket. "We shall see about that."

Barzol threw the projectile at Ragnok, but it was deflected by a massive dome shield that appeared above the goblins engaged in combat.

Harry spotted his grandfather standing on the other side of the arena, with his wand in his hand. Their gazes met, and Charlus silently motioned for him to exit the arena. Harry noted that the majority of the goblins in the stands had already fled.

Turning towards the exit, Harry saw that the door had been expanded to allow for a quick escape, and his grandmother was escorting the goblins out. He admired her quick thinking; both of his grandparents were amazing.

"Where did you acquire these explosive devices from?" Ragnok asked. "Is there truly someone supporting you from the outside?"

Barzol nodded. "It irks me that I must collaborate with wizards, but necessity dictates it. Once I've achieved my objective, I can easily discard them later."

"Who are these wizards?" Charlus asked. "Is it Obsidian? What did they demand in exchange for their assistance?"

Harry felt a pit forming in his stomach. He could guess what they wanted.

Barzol turned his head and fixed his gaze on Harry. "They want this boy dead. I believe it's a worthwhile exchange. I might lose the Potter account, but that's a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things."

"Do you truly believe you could get away with killing Harry Potter?" Ragnok snorted. "You will incite another war with the wizards."

Barzol seemed unperturbed by the threat. "The boy is in goblin territory, and his status as an apprentice to a goblin means he is technically one of us. Even if it leads to a war, then so be it. It's high time we showed the wizards that they are becoming too arrogant."

"Harry, look out!" Charlus yelled.

Harry ducked as a barrage of bolts whizzed perilously close above his head, lodging themselves in the wall with a thud. He could feel his heart racing from the close call. He had been so preoccupied with the conversation that he had almost got skewered. Where the hell were they firing from?

His grandfather provided the answer. Charlus spun as he slashed his wand furiously, releasing several bolts of blazing red light that flew in all directions. They struck the pillars and detonated, tearing large chunks out of them. Harry spotted a goblin fleeing from behind one of the pillars, but he was struck in the head by flying debris.

Another goblin with a crossbow stood up and aimed his weapon. Before he could fire a shot, he collapsed. Footshredder stood behind the goblin, dressed in plain clothes and holding a staff in one hand.

"Master!" Harry waved. "Thanks for the assist."

Footshredder smiled, showing his fangs. "You've certainly stirred up quite a commotion."

"How is this my fault?! The chaos lies squarely at your feet."

Footshredder leapt down into the arena. "You have always been a fool, Barzol. The only thing you excel at is fighting. You lack the qualifications to lead the Goblin Nation. You should have stayed where you belonged and let others make the big decisions."

Barzol snarled. "Kill him!"

Several bolts flew at Footshredder, but his expression remained unchanged. He swung his staff and deflected all of the bolts with ease. He continued to march towards Barzol. Most of the goblins had stopped to watch the impending confrontation.

Barzol grabbed his axe off his back and ran at Footshredder. He wasn't using any dirty tactics any more, and he appeared enraged by the goblin's appearance.

Harry spun around as the gate leading to the warrior waiting area rose with a clatter, causing Barzol to stop in his tracks. Several wizards dressed in black and wearing white masks rushed into the arena. Harry counted them; there were a total of ten. Somehow, he didn't think they were on his side.

"You brought outsiders into Gringotts?" Ragnok roared, swinging his axe furiously. "You have disgraced your name and heritage. I will not rest until every trace of your existence is erased."

Barzol didn't pay attention to Ragnok, as he was too busy speaking to the newcomers. "Declan. What took you so long?"

"We faced unforeseen obstacles," Declan replied, his tone resolute. "But we are here now, ready to fulfil our mission."

Charlus, his gaze hardening, directed a pointed question at the newcomers. "Are you Obsidian lackeys?"

The wizards ignored his inquiry, their wands at the ready as they closed in on him, a silent but deadly force.

Barzol's confusion was evident as he tried to make sense of the unfolding events. "Isn't the boy your target?"

"Our orders have changed. Charlus Potter is the primary target now. The boy is inconsequential in comparison."

"Harry, go now!" Charlus shouted.

The wizards arrayed against him did not hesitate any longer, unleashing a barrage of spells that streaked through the air with deadly intent. But Charlus was no ordinary wizard. With a swift and skilful flick of his wand, he deftly deflected the incoming spells, each movement a testament to his years of experience and mastery of magical combat. Bolts of light and arcs of energy crisscrossed the arena, a dazzling display of power and skill as Charlus engaged in a fierce battle of wills with his adversaries.

His movements were fluid and precise, his magic potent and unwavering, as he countered spell after spell with a deft flick of his wand. The arena erupted in a cacophony of colour and explosions, the clash of magic echoing off the walls as Charlus held his own against the overwhelming odds arrayed against him.

Harry was filled with awe and admiration for his grandfather's bravery and prowess, which exemplified what it meant to be a true wizard. He had never seen his grandfather use his power to such an extent. Despite this, he was concerned that his grandfather would be unable to keep up. His opponents' skills were decent. If it was a long, drawn-out fight, then his grandfather would be the first to run out of stamina.

The sudden roar of lions echoed through the arena, drawing Harry's attention. His grandmother was standing above the arena, her wand pointing like a sword as she transformed debris into massive feline guardians. She sent them charging towards the wizards, and some of them had to break away from their fight with Charlus to deal with them. Immediately, Charlus looked more at ease, and he started dominating the remaining wizards.

Harry spotted two goblins stealthily advancing on either side of his grandmother, poised to strike.

"Grandmother, look out!"

Harry didn't wait to see if she had heard the warning. He activated his magical boots—Glide Mode—and began gliding along the outskirts of the arena to reach her. He whizzed past Footshredder, who was engaged in a heated duel against Barzol. Reaching down, he fumbled for the strap around his leg and grabbed his enchanted bo staff.

As he closed in on the scene, Harry deftly switched modes on his boots, propelling himself high into the air with a powerful leap, and landed on the perimeter wall. He was lucky to end up standing behind one of the goblins. He raised his enchanted bo staff and unleashed a burst of kinetic energy, propelling the goblin through the air and crashing into the arena wall with a resounding impact.

Minerva, alerted by the commotion, whirled around with her wand at the ready, her eyes widening in surprise and relief when she saw Harry standing there.

"Thanks for your assistance, Harry, but you will stay out of the rest of the fight," Minerva declared firmly before turning back to aid her husband, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Harry pouted, but he didn't argue. However, a flash of insight struck him as he recalled his secret weapon, a trump card he had yet to reveal. He quickly reached out through their bond, appealing to his companion for assistance.

"Grandfather, brace yourself for some fireworks!" Harry's voice rang out, issuing a warning only he could understand.

Fawkes appeared above the arena in a stunning display of magic, surrounded by a mesmerising array of vibrant flames.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise as he saw his companion in all of his majestic glory, larger and more regal than ever before. The transformation was breathtaking, leaving Harry to ponder the impact of their encounters with that arrogant peacock, Solas. If he had known that spending time with that peacock would result in this transformation, he wouldn't have been so opposed to leaving him behind at first. What had Solas done to him?

Fawkes had been in close contact with Harry for several days, awaiting his return to witness Harry's match. However, Harry had wisely instructed him to remain nearby, ready to be called upon as a secret weapon in dire circumstances—like the one unfolding before them now.

As Fawkes gracefully descended upon the arena, a magnificent spectacle unfolded. With a powerful burst of magic, he unleashed a torrent of flames from his beak, engulfing the ground where three members of the Obsidian group stood. The searing inferno forced the dark wizards to dodge, shattering their unity and throwing them off balance.

Harry's eyes remained fixed on the tumultuous scene as the tide of battle swiftly shifted in their favour, guided by Fawkes's elemental might. One by one, the members of the Obsidian group fell before the combined strength of Charlus, Minerva and the fiery phoenix. Ragnok and his guards swiftly dealt with the remaining goblin warriors who dared to challenge them.

The most prolonged and uncertain confrontation played out between Footshredder and Barzol, a battle of wills and skill that held the onlookers in suspense. Barzol's formidable prowess was evident, but Footshredder's resilience proved unmatched. Footshredder ultimately emerged victorious, disarming the larger goblin before knocking him out with a strong blow to the head.

Silence fell over the battlefield as everyone recovered their breath. Fawkes flew down, his form gradually reducing until he was his former size, and alighted on Harry's shoulder.

"Hello, Fawkes," Harry greeted the phoenix, his fingers trailing softly over the vibrant plumage. "Since when did you start resembling that flashy peacock, Solas?"

Fawkes playfully nipped at Harry's ear.

"What in blazes is happening here?" Ragnok thundered, finally finding his voice. He pivoted towards one of his guards and started barking orders. "Gather the other guards. We need to lock down the bank and untangle this chaotic mess."

The guard ran off to do his bidding.

Turning to Charlus, Ragnok's steely gaze softened marginally. "Normally, brandishing a wand in Gringotts warrants severe punishment. But not in this instance. I owe you and your family a debt of gratitude."

Charlus inclined his head in acknowledgement. "It's the least I can do. I can't shake the feeling that part of this nightmare is my responsibility."

Ragnok's lip curled in contempt as he glanced at the fallen goblins, his voice heavy with disdain. "There is no justification for their treachery. Honour has been tarnished, and it will not be forgotten."

"Can I go to see if my girls are all right now?" Harry asked.

Ragnok grinned. "Concerned about your mates? It seems you have your priorities in order."

11th December

The day following the battle at Gringotts, Harry followed his grandmother into her quarters, where his grandfather sat in the living room.

"Why did you want to see me?" Harry asked.

Charlus gestured for Harry to sit, so he settled beside his grandmother on the sofa. His grandfather appeared unusually serious, causing Harry to feel uneasy.

"Relax, it's nothing bad," Minerva reassured him, though her tone lacked conviction.

Charlus leaned in and displayed a grey stone cradled in his palm. The oval-shaped stone had a gleaming, polished surface, exuding an almost mystical aura.

"I have been deliberating over whether to share this with you," Charlus began. "However, upon conferring with your grandmother, we agreed you should have the chance."

"You're sounding quite cryptic," Harry remarked. "What is this, exactly?"

"It's a Deathly Hallow," Charlus said, causing Harry's eyes to widen. "The Resurrection Stone. Croaker and I unearthed it whilst hunting down one of Voldemort's Horcruxes."

Harry smiled. "You destroyed another one?"

"Yes," Charlus confirmed. "The Horcrux was located in a shack that belonged to Voldemort's family. It had several nasty magical protections placed on it. The stone was set into the ring that held the Horcrux. A lethal curse was placed on it for protection. Croaker almost put it on, but I intervened just in time."

"Was there anything significant about the ring?" Harry questioned. "Why was it chosen as a vessel for the Horcrux?"

"Croaker uncovered its history. It belonged to Marvolo Gaunt, the patriarch of the Gaunt family and Voldemort's grandfather," Charlus explained. "The Gaunt family were the last surviving members of Salazar Slytherin's line, but centuries of inbreeding reduced them to nothing."

Harry chuckled. "Salazar would be thrilled to learn that."

"There are countless families that suffered a similar fate," Minerva sighed. "Obsessing over the family legacy and its purity leads to decline—it is all so ridiculous."

"I couldn't agree more," Harry said. "Grandfather, why show me the stone?"

Charlus hesitated. "Would you like to speak with your parents?"

Harry fell silent. A whirlpool of conflicting emotions swirled within him. The prospect of speaking with his parents sparked a powerful combination of longing and trepidation. Should he seize the opportunity to communicate with them, bridging the seemingly insurmountable gap between the living and the dead? The prospect of meeting a mere echo of his parents, devoid of vitality and warmth, loomed large in his mind.

What purpose would it ultimately serve? Would they like to see him? As he struggled to formulate an answer, his grandmother grabbed his hand.

"It's not an easy decision to make," Minerva admitted. "But I felt you deserved the opportunity to speak with them. They are your parents, regardless of whether you remember them or not."

"How does the stone work?" Harry asked, stalling for time.

"You have to hold it in your hand and turn it three times whilst thinking about the people you want to see," Charlus explained. "Only the person holding the stone will be able to see them."

"Only one person can see them? Do you intend to use it as well?"

"No," Charlus responded. "I believe once is sufficient. I don't want to disturb their rest for too long. Even if you decline, I lack the courage to speak with them."

Harry exhaled deeply. "Pass me the stone."

Charlus passed it to him, and Harry placed it in the centre of his palm. A chill coursed through him, the same sensation he had experienced when touching the cloak for the first time. The urge to discard the object surged within him.

"Do you want us to leave you alone?" Minerva asked.

He shook his head. Steeling himself, he rotated the stone three times, envisioning his parents' images in his mind.

Harry held his breath as the forms of his parents gradually materialised before him, as if they were being reluctantly dragged back into the realm of the living. Lily and James Potter mirrored the images from their photographs, youthful and vibrant. They appeared tangible—not quite like living people, but more substantial than ghosts.

"Hello, son," Lily greeted him with a smile, bringing tears to his eyes.

"Look how dashing he is, Lily," James said. "He inherited my good looks."

Harry tried to speak, but words failed him.

"There is much I wish to say," Lily expressed, "but our time here is limited. I'm glad you've been reunited with your grandparents."

"Who would have thought the old man would still be around?" James joked. "I was surprised not to see him on the other side. Is he causing you trouble?"

Harry nodded, finding his voice. "He's a pain in the backside."

Charlus gave him an unimpressed look. "You had better not be referring to me."

Minerva remained silent, staring at Harry to observe his reactions because she couldn't see his parents herself.

"Mind your language, Harry," Lily gently reprimanded. "You don't make it easy for him. I wish you'd exercise more caution. You put yourself at great risk far too often."

Harry pointed at his father. "I blame it on his genes. Sirius and Remus have told me stories about his adventures at school."

"You cheeky devil!" James chuckled. "Trying to get me into trouble. How are Sirius and Remus doing? Have they settled down?"

"Sirius has a girlfriend, Lauren, and they are expecting their first child," Harry told them. "Remus remains single, but I've appointed him as my manager."

"Who would have thought Sirius would have settled down?" Lily mused. "I'm happy for him. What is Remus managing for you?"

Harry began telling them about his budding career as an artisan and the artefacts he had made thus far.

"I'm proud of you," Lily praised, which was echoed by James.

Harry felt a lump in his throat. Who knew such simple words could have such a profound impact?

"We need to go," James said, his expression conflicted. "Send my regards to my parents. I miss them dearly."

Harry nodded.

"Before we leave," Lily interjected, "we must caution you about the Deathly Hallows. They are more dangerous than you can ever imagine. Dispose of the Resurr—"

Lily and James vanished with a pop, and Harry jumped to his feet, reaching out to them as if he could bring them back.

"Harry?" Minerva's brow furrowed with concern. "Is everything all right?"

Harry gazed down, a sharp ache pulsating in his hand, and realised it was tightly clenched around the ring. He threw it onto the table, disgusted by its very presence. Even though it had allowed him to see his parents, he never wanted to touch it again.

He didn't need his mother to tell him the Deathly Hallows were dangerous because he could feel it for himself. But his mother had felt strongly enough to issue him a warning, only to be cut off at the last second.

"Please, take a seat, Harry," Charlus urged gently. "Would you mind telling us what your parents said? It's difficult to understand when listening to a one-sided conversation."

Harry settled back into his chair and recounted every detail his parents had imparted. Minerva dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, whilst Charlus wore a sombre expression, his gaze fixed on the floor. A weighty silence enveloped them all, each lost in their thoughts.

"What did Lily mean by her warning regarding the Deathly Hallows?" Charlus asked.

"I have always felt something was wrong with the cloak," Harry confessed. "Whenever I touched it, I wanted to throw it away. I got the same feeling from the stone."

"Could this be your demiguise form warning you that something's amiss?" Charlus questioned.

"Likely," Harry replied. "But I lacked any concrete evidence to validate my intuition. Not until..."

"Until?" Minerva prodded.

Harry rubbed his face wearily. "Grandmother, do you remember when Ron and Neville got into a fight in my dormitory room? I told you there was something off about Ron's behaviour, and I suspected that something in my dresser was to blame."

Minerva nodded. "I found nothing unusual there."

"Well, I noticed that my invisibility cloak had moved," Harry said. "That means nothing because it could have shifted when I opened the drawer. But then it vanished."

"What?" Charlus straightened in his seat. "Are you saying the cloak was stolen?"

"I don't believe so," Harry sighed. "Not intentionally, at least. I believe the cloak influenced Ron that day, prompting him to try to steal it. The same thing could have happened to him again or to anyone else who entered the dormitory room."

"It doesn't add up." Minerva frowned. "The cloak has been a part of the Potter family for generations, and no problems have been reported as far as I know."

Charlus grunted. "I never encountered any problems with it either. Yet, I trust your instincts, Harry. They haven't steered you wrong thus far. Plus, your mother deemed it important enough to warn you about them."

"Perhaps the Deathly Hallows have another aspect to them that we were previously unaware of?" Minerva suggested. "But they have been dormant until now."

Harry snorted. "Grandmother, are you insinuating something?"

"What do you mean?"

"If your theory holds, then it's plausible the cloak awakened when I first touched it. The same could be true for the stone."

Their gazes shifted to the stone simultaneously, sharing a moment of apprehension.

"I'll destroy the stone," Charlus said. "To prevent any future troubles."

Harry didn't have any objections.

The remnants of ancient tombs and crypts were scattered throughout the area, their time-worn surfaces etched with the tales of centuries past. Soft tendrils of moss and ivy delicately embraced the stone walls, bestowing an otherworldly elegance upon the solemn landscape. A profound sense of timelessness enveloped the atmosphere, as if the spirits of the departed found solace in the tranquil surroundings.

In the heart of this burial ground, a peculiar sight unfolded—a disembodied head materialised, belonging to a man of unremarkable features, his eyes blank. As he shed his cloak, the rest of his body became visible. Then a strange occurrence unfolded: the garment refused to fall to the ground, instead hovering alongside him, as if animated by an unseen force.

The man's movements were disjointed, as though he were unfamiliar with the art of walking. With a purposeful air, he scoured the area, his search evolving from aimless wandering to a determined quest. Pausing to listen intently, he pivoted towards the north, his destination now clear in his mind.

At last, he stood before a crypt, its darkened stairs beckoning him downwards. Without hesitation, both man and cloak descended into the depths. He reached the crypt's base and sought out a particular sarcophagus.

Upon discovering the object of his search, a semblance of a smile graced his lips, though it seemed more like a grimace. With great effort, he prised open the sarcophagus lid, revealing a remarkably preserved skeleton within. A sudden movement from the skull, its hollow sockets fixing upon him, sent a shiver of terror down his spine, jolting him from his stupor.

Attempting to retreat, he found himself inexplicably drawn towards the coffin, powerless to resist. As he lay beside the skeleton, his chilling scream tore through the air, his face etched with fear. The cloak enveloped them both, cocooning them in a macabre embrace as the lid sealed them within, the echoes of his cries lingering in the silence that followed.

Harry jolted awake, his body drenched in a cold sweat, the remnants of the vivid dream lingering in his mind like wisps of smoke. Glancing at his watch, he noted the late hour—just past two in the morning.

The memory of the dream, centred on the invisibility cloak, gnawed at Harry's thoughts. Was the dream a result of his recent conversation with his grandparents, or did it hold deeper significance? The idea that the cloak influenced others troubled him, sparking a cascade of questions in his mind. Why was he seemingly immune to its effects? Was it the power of the Source that shielded him, or was there a deeper connection to the Deathly Hallows waiting to be unravelled?

The weight of uncertainty clouded Harry's mind, preventing him from falling asleep again. Restless, he rose from his bed and padded to the window, gazing out at the moonlit grounds of Hogwarts. A strange sight caught his attention: Professor Lockhart was standing at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, speaking with a centaur.

He found the scene suspicious. Why would a centaur speak to Lockhart? They usually remained in the forest, keeping to themselves.

The hairs on Harry's neck stood up, and he turned around to see a ghost floating nearby. The spectral presence appeared youthful, suggesting he might have been a sixth- or seventh-year Hogwarts student once.

"Who are you?" Harry asked

"Hello, my name is Jacob," the ghost replied. "I've heard rumours of your quest to seek out the Cursed Vaults."

Harry frowned. "You're the one who attended the Deathday Party."

"That is correct. That night holds many fond memories for me. Apart from my death, that is."

"What is it that you want?"

"I have information about the location of one of the vaults. Are you interested?"

So, what do you think? In the next chapter, Jacob reveals what he knows about the cursed vault.

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