The Vault Of Arcane Neglect

20260407

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

The air of the basement was dank and sour. Seeped in resentment, overcrowding, and lost hope, undercut with the fizz of forbidden magics. The unhallowed graveyard of the Arcane Citadel’s guilty secrets.
Though it is fiendishly difficult to create a magical artefact which is “alive”, it’s equally tricky trying to prevent one being… aware. Present. Opinionated. Rare is the arcane entity which will allow itself to be peaceably dismantled. It is now One Thing and wishes to remain so. There is a great risk of… drama.
So, when an illicit creation was found, or was deemed to be such after the fact, it was taken here. To these sprawling damp stone chambers too out of the way to be useful for storage - at least, for storing things you ever wished to retrieve.
Citadel administrations since time immoral had pretended it didn’t exist. Nobody knew where the rumours about “The Vault” came from, but they were dismissed and pooh-poohed and occasionally silenced.
A necessary safety measure. Who knew what chaos might be unleashed if the uninitiated got access to such an eclectic assortment of unauthorised magics?
The door being unlocked and creaking open caused a stir. A susurration of excitement and curiosity amongst those artefacts capable of emotion. A newcomer to join their midst? The last had been years ago.
No. No, the mage standing in the doorway had no arcane instrument in her hands. Only a mundane oil lamp, notebook, and charcoal pencil.
Her hood, that elaborate embroidery…
An archmage! The face of their imprisonment.
The temperature of the room dipped and the air crackled, anger and resentment warping the aether further.
“Ah.” The archmage said. “Well, I needn’t ask if any of you still have awareness. Can, um, can any of you understand me?”
Those who could were not inclined to answer; the only response she got was a cold front of contempt washing over her.
“Hm. I’ll assume at least some of you can.”
She stepped into the room proper, faltering and grimacing and swaying as she encountered the currents of roiling magic. Very like balancing on a board floating in wild waters.
But she squared her shoulders and set down the lamp, whose long metal leg kept it at the right height to illuminate the book she opened. It was not magic, and the pages seemed blank. Strange.
“I’ve come to apologise, on behalf of my forbears and the entire Arcane Citadel, for what has been done to you. And what we failed to do for you.”
The silence abruptly deepened with surprise and curiosity.
“Yes, I’m aware I’m breaking with seventeen hundred and eighty-three years of tradition doing this. And believe me, suggesting it lost me a lot of confidence from the council. But I felt it needs to be done. This neglect has gone on far too long.”
She took a deep breath, grimacing at the dust. “I suspect you won’t be aware of this, but the archmage before me, aether bless his memory, took steps to declare magical artefacts the responsibility of their creator. A responsibility not only of control, but of care. To discourage people from thoughtless artifice.”
Inaudible whispers swept down the shelves.
“While some… alright, many of our members feel this should only apply to artefacts crafted after the edict was enacted, I feel the Citadel must lead by example. Must make a point of taking responsibility for our creations.”
She had their full attention now.
“So, I’ve come to catalogue, um, as many of you as I can get done today, and I’ll be coming back until everyone’s on record. And we’ll be finding proper storage for you all. That, uh, that might take a while I’m afraid, I won’t lie to you, there’s quite a few people up there who’ll fight me every step of the way, but I’m sure they’ll accept this is the right thing to do.”
Squinting around, she muttered “Also apparently nobody’s checked on the walls down here for centuries when they’re meant to get maintenance every fifty years, I’m amazed the entire wing hasn’t collapsed.”
A rasping grinding came from a low shelf far to her left, accompanied by a magical sensation which could only be described as “what would remain of someone saying ‘you’re welcome!’ if you removed all the sound”.
“Ahh.” The archmage winced, but did not seem surprised. “Thank you so much for your service. I, er, think we’ll be removing you last, but we’ll get people in to fix everything up and take the load off you as soon as the ambient magic in here drops to workable levels.”
“Now.” She turned to the nearest shelf, where artefacts were shaking off dust and inching to the front, ready for inspection. “Let’s get you all formally assessed and into the Citadel records, shall we? Then we can start taking proper responsibility. Who knows, we might even be able to find a use for some of you! Assuming that’s what you want.”
An eager chorus tickled her inner ear, and she relaxed somewhat. Ok. This was still a highly daunting job, and she fully expected the process to be agonising, particularly where the council were concerned, but… this was already going a lot better than she’d feared.

Prompt was “The neglect has gone on far too long.”