It was Sasrir who finally spotted it. Not a lever, but a single, loose stone at the base of a pillar, so worn it was nearly indistinguishable from its neighbors. He pressed it, not with a push, but with a twisting motion. With a groan of protesting stone that had not sounded in millennia, a section of the wall near the shattered altar slid back an inch, then stuck fast.
"It's rusted shut," I said, my heart sinking.
Sasrir didn't answer. He simply braced his shoulder against the ton of stone and pushed. His enhanced Monster's strength, combined with the weakened mechanism, was enough. With a final, grating shriek, the hidden door gave way, revealing a yawning blackness.
The air that washed out was ancient, dry, and carried the scent of deep earth and cold stone. We exchanged a glance, lit a makeshift torch, and stepped into the darkness.
The passage twisted down, a tight, claustrophobic corkscrew through the bedrock. It felt like we were descending into the very bones of the world. The silence was absolute, broken only by our footsteps and the crackle of our torch. Finally, the narrow tunnel opened into a larger, circular chamber.
In the center was a deep, dark well, its bottom lost to sight. A steep, winding staircase carved from the living rock spiraled down its side. We descended, the air growing colder with every step. At the bottom, a vast, rough-hewn chamber stretched before us.
And there it was.
A monolithic door of black steel, so dark it seemed to drink the light from our torch. It was illuminated by two sconces holding pale, ghostly flames that produced light but no heat. The effect was unnerving. The shadows they cast on the rough walls were not shifting or dancing. They were utterly, perfectly motionless, as if frozen in time.
My eyes were drawn to the door itself. On its featureless dark surface, I could just make out a small, almost invisible keyhole. Behind that door, I knew, was the chained corpse and the prize we sought. The sheer, silent solemnity of the place was overwhelming. It wasn't just a hidden room; it was a tomb, and we were the first visitors in an age. And we were here to rob it, of all things!
"You have the key?"
"Bet" I shrugged, taking it out from under my robe collar. I had run a string through it to wraparound like a necklace, hidden behind the Unshadowed Crucifix. Holding it up against the light, I licked my lips and inserted it in the whole it was forged for.
Why exactly the Lord of Bones had this key was easy enough to guess-probably just belonged to one of the corpses that created it-but why the people of the Forgotten Shore felt the need to treat one of Weaver's envoys like this was still strange. If you're hostile, just kill him and get it over with-if not, politely decline his services and let him go.
Had the Envoy provoked the people here somehow? Did he arrive before or after the Fallen Angel birthed the Dark Sea? He was beneath the Cathedral so it implied the latter, but maybe the church was always here and was just changed to the faith of the Crimson Terror after she became the Soul Conduit. So many unknowns...
With a click, the lock turned and the door moved slightly as it was released. Swinging the door open with one hand, the same scene Sunny was meant to come across in two years appeared before my own eyes.
I crouched down before the black-robed figure who wore Weaver's Mask, reading out the Runes scratched on the floor beside him. "Weaver said: 'They shall open the Gates.'" I traced the ancient symbols with my finger. "And They did."
I wasn't reading all of it, though. Despite being in the Academy much longer than Sunny in the novel, I hadn't exactly mastered the Dream Realm Language. I knew about half the Runes, and the other half were from what the novel told us they were. It was a patchwork understanding, but it was enough.
"Cheerful fellow, wasn't he?" Sasrir commented from behind me, his voice dry as dust. He was observing the chained corpse with a clinical detachment. "Leaves a cryptic message and a fashion accessory as his legacy."
I let out a short laugh, the sound strangely loud in the silent, tomblike room. "Well, when you're the Divine Priest of an all-powerful, dimension-spanning entity, you're allowed to be a bit dramatic." I gestured to the intricate, black lacquer mask on the corpse's face. It was a visage of ferocity and beastliness. "The ultimate souvenir."
"Are you sure about this?" Sasrir asked, his tone shifting from dry to serious. "Putting on a dead God's face... it seems like the start of every cautionary tale ever told."
"What's the worst that could happen?" I said, with more bravado than I felt. "It whispers cosmic secrets into my brain until I go mad? I think my brain is already pretty flexible after all this." I took a deep breath, my hand hovering over the mask. "Besides, we didn't come all this way for a sightseeing tour. This is the key."
"And what about Sunless?"
"Sunny can eat my ass for all I care."