I have visited it many times, so I know the way. However, traversing it in the dark, as the world quakes, is another matter. I move through the dark hallways as though I wear a blindfold. But there's no time to light a lantern or find something else to light my path. So I press on and pray the ground under my feet doesn’t cave in or give way. I dodge debris as best as I can while navigating the turns. Walls around me, the very ceiling above my head at times, break apart, and the earth’s rumble becomes a furious roar. It’s displacing air, and the pressure it exudes bears down on me.
I place my trust in the knowledge inside my mind. It knows my path. With or without divine guidance, I will make it.
If I am the Chosen, then surely I will safely reach the chamber before the monastery falls.
I repeat the mantra in my head.
Trust. Faith. A way will be provided for you. You will not die here.
Fine dust rains over me. More debris. Something insanely heavy drops onto my shoulder, and the audible snap is felt as well as heard. The chaos around me cuts off my painful shout. I stumble forward and land on my hands and knees. When I palm my shoulder, my hand comes away wet, but I don’t let it hinder me for long. With gritted teeth, I get back to my feet and push on.
My fingers trail against the wall until I find it. There. I take the turn that opens and count my steps. When another opening appears, I pass it. I pass four more, then barrel through the nave doors, throwing both open in my haste. There’s more light here, but also more recesses for the shadows to linger in.
I race between the pews, vault over a fallen rafter. I do not let the ghosts who haunt this space deter me as they wail in my mind for attention. Instead, I think of only the secret doorway I must get to. Another rafter tries to crush me as it comes loose on one side and swings in an arc downward, meeting the floor.
Putting my training to work, I duck and dive, then roll to my feet, barely avoiding its mighty weight.
I step on something sharp.
A gasp leaves me as agony lances through my foot and shoots up my leg.
Whatever it is has driven deep into the sole of my foot, but I grit my teeth, push through the pain, and limp forward.
The distance, though perilous, is negligible. So I force myself to keep going. I half crawl, half run up the stairs in front of the altar. Glass litters the floor. It crunches under my bare feet. More pain. More wounds I’ll have to mend later once I’m safe.
Spilling my own blood here feels like a necessary act of survival, a debt owed, and I’ll gladly repay it before departing this place. My own should indeed be spilt here in repayment.
I use the altar to stabilize myself. Then I turn and take a moment, only a moment, to say goodbye to the dead I am leaving behind. Though the light is dim, my eyes have adjusted to it. It looks nothing like it did before. It is in ruin. It is sanctity and a holy sanctuary transformed into a tomb for the innocent.
A monstrous crack sounds, and directly under my hand, the altar splits apart and breaks down the middle.
A bad omen. As if God himself is saying, Do not linger, child. Move!
I don’t question it. Instead, I rush toward the hidden doorway.
And thankfully, I escape just in time as the ceiling of the nave begins to give way.
At the large, rounded recess, my hands search over the statue there. They run across the left side of the crucifix until they find the holy one's hand and the nail embedded there. Using both hands, I push the nail inward. There is a pop, and a rush of air greets my ears. Then an ominous grating sound as the secret chamber door opens.
The scent of damp earth floods my senses. The stairway before me is pitch black. Any light I might have used to see by will be absent from here forward. Four feet in front of me are carved steps leading me down over a hundred feet. I take them rapidly but also carefully so I don’t meet my end sooner than intended.
My heart does its best to claw its way out of my chest. It thumps madly. I am unsteady, shaking, and voicing my pain with each inhale—yet hope lies at the bottom of these stairs. If I can reach it before the mountain swallows me, I will survive.
Then a shudder explodes through the tunnel. A roar of sound. It sounds like the earth itself is rebelling in violent outrage—so loud and deep. I slam against the stairwell wall and clap my hands over my ears. The stone vibrates. Clumps of wet dirt fall on top of me.
And then, as if the Grand Minister and God Himself have slipped into my thoughts?—
voices hiss through my mind.
No. Run, child. Leave this place. If you remain, you will die.
A second follows immediately after.
Move, Eridessa.
Two separate voices.
Both are distinctly male, but the second, though cold and absolute, is also achingly familiar.
