The caverns blurred around him, the shapes flickering like phantom memories. Mitch barely registered the uneven wet stone beneath his feet, the muck clinging to his body, or the tramping of his companions trailing behind. The pull of the key was unbearable–relentless, ravenous even.

  It was a hook buried deep in his chest, dragging him forward with a hunger that mirrored Rex’s primal instincts. The Shadowshroud grumbled contentedly against his skin, absorbing the Leeching Spine and pleased by his realization.

  Within his core, certain souls thrummed, vibrating with an almost jubilant rhythm.

  Galadrith hummed too. “Do you feel it, Mitchell? A presence ahead. Old. Powerful. It waits for us.”

  Mitch let the sword’s conjecture slide.

  It waits for me.

  “I much prefer gnomish beaches to this–no keys dragging you into doom, just good sand and bad drinks. Nice and simple.” Leonard’s laugh was forced, and it quickly died in the oppressive silence as he trailed behind Mitch.

  Patty walked next to Leonard, shoulders squared, her stone armor that covered her body creaking with every step. The rock she commanded clung to her like malformed skin, as she had made it smooth against her.

  Sable walked with purpose, but even she couldn’t hide the way her fingers flexed at her sides, ready to lash out at whatever lay ahead. “Slow down,” she called. “We don’t all have the Abyss pulling us forward.”

  He didn’t know. Couldn’t slow. The pull refused to let him.

  “Bloody tall people,” Hathgar grumbled, waddling at the back. “Always the big one’s think they got to prove something with their legs.”

  The cavern opened suddenly, revealing a towering, ancient door that loomed like a monument to despair.

  Mitch stopped abruptly, his breath catching as he took it in.

  The door was massive, a towering monolith of black stone that drank in the light around it. Intricate patterns spiraled across its surface. They shifted, as though alive, wherever Mitch did not look.

  Finger bones, polished smooth by centuries and bleach white, jutted out along the edges, framing the door. Their color stood in stark contrast to the door’s oppressive darkness. Each bone seemed to be dotted with tiny, unreadable markings.

  At the door’s heart was a key hold above a protruding blade. The cruel metal was coated in a faint sheen of crimson that did not drip.

  Above the door, carved with precision, was an hourglass. The sand inside hung suspended at the top. It seemed to pulse an ancient, menacing authority.

  The air around the door pressed, heavy with reverent silence. It wasn’t just a barrier. It wasn’t just a barrier—it was a sentinel, waiting, watching.

  Mitch’seyes locked onto the hourglass, and a wave of something he couldn’t quite name crashed over him. Memories tried to force his way into his mind, but they were locked away like forgotten notes.

  Pride? Honor? No. Something deeper and rawer. It felt like a threaded through connection, woven through time, binding him to the image carved permanently into stone.

  The suspended sand whispered of forgotten triumphs, devastating defeats, and a legacy Mitch’s mind refused to show him. Only that it made his heart both sing and weep.

  Hathgar stepped closer to him. “The Bloody Masked Lord’s symbol.” He ran a hand over his wild red beard. “I ain’t ever seen it outside Stonehollow–never thought I’d see it in the wild. What in the Stars could be behind this door?”

  Even Patty, usually sharp and guarded, stared at the symbol. Her green eyes traced the hourglass with softness. “It’s real,” she murmured to herself. “The old stories… they said his symbol marked important places. Place’s he’d claimed. Before the Abyss won.” The bitterness she usually wore stripped away.

  Sable’s mismatched eyes lingered on Mitch. She shifted her look back to the door. “You’re connected to this, aren’t you?”

  The group fell silent. Mitch didn’t answer her as he stepped closer, the pull of the key drawing him forward. She was right.

  Whatever lay beyond that door–it called to him. He couldn’t deny the pull, or his desire.

  Mitch took a step forward, the air around the door growing heavier with each inch he closed. The presence emanating from the entrance felt suffocating. Menacing in its sheer weight, but also inviting, like a friendly predator.

  Rex rippled around him, a growl vibrating through their bond. But it didn’t hold him back. If anything, Rex seemed content, smug even.

  Mitch reached around his neck and ripped the necklace Mathilda had given him off. His hand trembled as he raised the key to the slot above the knife. With a soft click, the key slid into place.

  A sudden surge of red light erupted from the key, flooding the space in crimson.

  Mitch’s eyes widened and his heart dropped as the key began to dissolve, melting and then evaporating into nothingness.

  The glow faded, leaving only the dark, carved, impenetrable door.

  A pang of loss hit up. The pull–the hook from the key–was gone, but his heart still clawed forward, yearning. The door still felt alive, connected to him in a way he couldn’t explain.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Sable stepped up beside him. “The key. It’s gone, but you’re still tied to this. I can feel it.” She glanced at the knife, then back to Mitch. “It’s asking for something more.”

  She stepped forward, and pressed her hands against the cold surface of the door. It didn’t bulge. Her jaw flexed, and she strained her muscles against the unyielding stone. “Nothing,” she muttered.

  Her hand brushed the knife embedded in the door’s center as she pulled away. The blade’s sharp edge pricked her skin, drawing a single bead of blood that rolled down her hand. She hissed softly but paused as if expecting a reaction from the door.

  Nothing happened. The door didn’t want her blood. The carvings remained still, the hourglass above sat frozen, sand unmoving.

  Mitch stepped forward towards the knife. It glinted, but didn’t feel like a trap. It felt expectant. “It’s asking for me.”

  He reached out slowly, his hardened skin brushing the ice cold metal. The door wasn’t just a barrier; it was watching, judging.

  He pressed his palm into the knife.

  The blade pierced his skin effortlessly, sliding in with a precision that sent a chill down his back. A sting bloomed in his hand, but it wasn’t unbearable. He had endured worse, but this was different. This felt personal.

  Blood welled up, pooling before the knife absorbed it greedily, sucking it out of him. The carving lit up in a faint red, veins of light spreading outwards like molten cracks in the stone.

  Above, the hourglass finally moved.

  Carved sand that had been frozen in mid-air shifted, spilling downward. Time stirred within the stone. Each grain struck the bottom with a phantom weight. The hourglass slowed, then stopped, its flow arrested once more.

  Now, the bottom of the hourglass held a measure of time.

  The world around him faded. The murmur of his companies, gasps and muttered disbelief, vanished as a voice spoke to him.

  It was his voice. Distant and warped yet unmistakable. “Boundless power awaits. Enter not as the feast but as the hunter.”

  His heart pounded as the memory unfurled. The door hadn’t just accepted his offering. It had known him. It was waiting.

  A surge of pride swelled within him as his eyes locked onto the hourglass. It had moved for him.

  It was a door–but not just a door. It was a threshold, ancient and scarred, that had been waiting. A ravenous hook still yanked at his heart, pulling his forward, urging him to cross. To step into something vast, something inevitable.

  To claim what lay beyond.

  Mitch pressed his hands against the stone, and the door swung inward with surprising ease. The sound it made, however, was anything but welcoming. A guttural, low-pitched growl shook the stone as the door cracked the rock, like the breath of some ancient beast stirred from a long slumber.

  Beyond the threshold lay a barely lit room. Black marble floors stretched out beneath a thick layer of dust and an unseen ceiling. A once-ornate table lay overturned at the center of the room, golden edged chipped and cracked.

  Twin staircases lined with red carpet spiraled upward in perfect symmetry, their rails wrapped in dried vines that crackled as the stale air stirred them.

  The scent hit them next. Dry, almost herbal, carrying something ancient. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was alien after smelling nothing but stone, blood, and death.

  Rex peeled away from Mitch in a fluid motion, leaping into his hound form with a soundless snarl, leaving Mitch uncovered.

  Purple energy crackled across his fur. His large, single eye scanned the space before he padded into the space, and immediately started sniffing the ground.

  Hathgar muttered half-seriously. “Bah. Wonderful estate. Little dustin’.”

  Leonard couldn’t resist. “Dust? This is a prime fixer-upper! Look at that… table and marble!”

  Mitch looked back at his squad. The estate over the threshold was achingly familiar in a way he couldn’t place. It felt that the space recognized him. Or perhaps it was the other way around.

  “This isn’t just a place,” He said. “This is a piece of what I am.”

  He met Sable’s waiting eyes, and she nodded at him, gesturing to go inside.

  Mitch crossed the threshold. The air of the estate shifted around him. It wasn’t colder, or warmer. Just different.

  He didn’t feel the usual tension of entering the unknown. There was no fear here, only a pull. His shoulders, usually tight with battle readiness, began to loosen.

  It felt like coming home.

  Behind him, the others hesitated. But one by one, they followed, their footsteps soft and hesitant against the marble floor.

  As Mitch walked further into the dimly lit space, details of the estate began to reveal themselves. Carvings edged into the stone walls. Artifacts fixed to the walls. Cleanly carved hallways leading to other rooms. It was huge, and felt endless.

  The hum of a notification buzzed in his mind, breaking the spell for a moment.

  Quest: Open the Sealed Door

  Use the Key on the Door.

  Answer Mathilda’s Call.

  Status: In Progress

  He had done it. Mitch had found the Sealed Door. The space beyond it felt like his. Rex barked from another room before running over to him for scratches. He reached down and indulged the beast.

  Excitement bubbled up, and Mitch finally laughed. The door wasn’t an entrance. It was his rite, and his declaration. And now it was behind him.

  He had found it.

  His squad crossed the threshold, and he could just see Varak and Mook finally catching up with them. Mook huffed beside the quick and nimble Varak with her children clinging to her. The remaining bugs and less intelligent minions followed in a stream.

  Hathgar muttered something under his breath, his gaze flicking upward as if half expecting the ceiling to come crashing down. Leonard whistled low, his tone equal parts awe and nerves. Sable’s expression was unreadable, her gaze locked on Mitch, then back to the sprawling estate, as though she too felt its pull.

  Galadrith grumbled. “Ah, yes. This will do. This will do quite nicely.”

  Varak’s rushed scuttle to join them made Mitch smile. A rare, genuine grin finally breaking through the grime of the Abyss. Whatever lay waiting inside the estate, it was his to face.

  And he couldn’t wait.

  He walked over to the door, and with ease, slammed it shut, sealing them inside.

  As he turned to leave, something on the back of the door caught his eye—a metal dial, its pointer resting at the top on a blank space. Surrounding it were faint, cryptic symbols etched into the metal, along with a single glowing lock.

  Mitch’s fingers brushed over the dial, and an odd sensation flickered in his chest. Wariness. His body was telling him something, and he was going to listen.

  Just in case, he turned the dial to the glowing lock, and turned back to his squad, who were already exploring the giant house.

  Don’t want any surprise visitors now…

  It was time to find out what he had been led to.