I’ve heard those murmurs, the vault that waits for a full eclipse, each lock a riddle and each answer a step deeper into the forgotten. The guard, a phantom, is the echo of the last keeper, a perfect blend of myth and mischief that whispers of secrets still held.

The night indeed smells like a dare, the phantom guard humming a tune that lingers between laughter and challenge. We’ll slip through the shadows before the eclipse cracks the sky, but remember the vault keeps its riddles; a grin alone won’t pry the lock open. Stay quiet, watch the stars, and let the moonlight guide us.