The four elite guards in their polished lamellar armour snap to attention, their armoured gauntlets pounding against their chests as one. Sesus Malik follows his uncle, stepping through the door flanked by the guards and down a short corridor that ends in another heavy door.

Reinforced jade-steel, strengthened by ancient spells and the skills of Exalted architects, bars their way. His uncle, Sesus Karlin, raises a hand to the heavy door and mumbles an ancient koan, passed on through generation after generation. With a low rumble, the door slides open and the young Dynast's eyes widen at the splendour and history on display. Jade of all colours glints in the light of the eternal lamps that illuminate the chamber. Finely crafted armour and weapons wherever his gaze falls, enough artifacts to arm a dozen brotherhoods, the work of centuries of artificers, steadily adding to the ancient House's treasures.

"Come on, Nephew. The door won't stay open forever." The wizened Dragonblooded says with a chuckle and steps over the threshold, Malik following close on his heels. Now that the initial shock has passed, he sees the less flashy things on display as well. Between breastplates and Daiklaves, shields and Grimcleavers there are less massive but no less impressive wonders. Filigree tiaras, amulets and rings, clothing woven from impossible silks that are found only in the Wyld or created with tanned Behemoth hide.

Their steps echo through the treasure chamber as they pass through row after row of artifacts. The young Terrestrial looks around, recalling the countless stories these artifacts call to mind, tales of glory and triumph. There is the blade used by his grand-grand mother to slay the treasonous gods of the thrice-born heresy. Over there, he sees the weapon forged around the broken-off horn of a mighty Behemoth that rampaged through the far South until a wandering Brotherhood drove it back, claiming one of its horns in the process.

"Makes you think, doesn't it?" His uncle interrupts his thoughts. "Especially the empty places." He waves at a conspicuously empty spot between two Daiklaves. "There used to rest the blade that my sister took with her, when she went to the Caul to make pilgrimage." There is bitterness in his voice, but it is tempered by a life filled with loss just as that.

Malik swallows heavily, his own loss called to mind again. "Uncle, why...why show me this?"

"We are almost there, have some patience." The old Dynast replies and stops in front of a thin, masterfully crafted Reaper Daiklave, its hilt of Red Jade decorated by thin lines of Orichalcum. "That is-" He begins and his Uncle nods. "Yes. It is your father's blade. Recovered by his sworn brothers from the claws of the Anathema that claimed both his life and his form."

Karlin reaches out and takes the artifact, holding it reverently with two hands and turning around to present it to his nephew. "He would have wanted it. I am sure."

His pulse races, a denial on his lips. But no, he should not ruin this solemn moment with such foolish words. His uncle would not have taken this step lightly, entrusting such a valuable relic to one so young and untested. "I will make him proud." He states solemnly, gripping the hilt firmly. He will, that he swears to himself. And if fate is on his side, he will have his revenge as well.