Not every oath dies with the kingdom.
Some are carried by those who choose duty over their own lives.
Some promises outlive the kings who made them.
The ancient mechanism continued to rumble deep within the mountain.
A section of the stone wall behind the archive trembled before slowly sliding aside.
Stone scraped against stone with a deafening groan, disturbing dust that had not been touched for centuries.
A stream of icy air flowed from the newly revealed passage.
Unlike the grand archive behind them…
This corridor was narrow.
Its walls were smoother, carved with remarkable precision, as though every inch had been shaped by master craftsmen.
The tunnel was almost completely dark.
Almost.
Far ahead…
A single torch burned quietly.
Its flame flickered gently.
Someone had lit it.
Not centuries ago.
Recently.
Sir Roland instinctively drew his sword.
The ringing of steel echoed through the tunnel.
The soldiers followed his example.
Only Adrian remained calm.
He raised one hand.
“No.”
Everyone stopped.
“If whoever lives beyond this passage wanted us dead…”
He glanced toward the lonely torch.
“…they’ve had centuries to prepare.”
The group exchanged uneasy glances.
Then, with Adrian leading the way, they stepped into the darkness.
The deeper they walked, the stranger the tunnel became.
Nothing felt abandoned.
Fresh footprints marked the dusty floor.
The torches mounted along the walls burned with clean flames, their oil recently replenished.
A clay water jar stood beside the passage.
Unlike everything else within the mountain…
It carried no layer of dust.
Tomas slowly touched it.
The water inside was cool.
Fresh.
A few steps farther…
He froze.
On a small wooden table rested a simple loaf of bread.
Its crust remained soft.
It had been baked only recently.
Tomas looked toward Adrian.
His voice was barely a whisper.
“…Someone lives here.”
Every soldier tightened his grip around their weapons.
The silence became heavier.
Every step forward felt like entering a forgotten legend.
The narrow passage finally opened into a circular stone chamber.
The contrast stunned everyone.
Unlike the cold archive…
This room felt alive.
A modest wooden table occupied one corner.
Nearby stood a small forge, its coals still warm.
Shelves filled with neatly arranged handwritten journals covered an entire wall.
A humble prayer altar rested beneath the royal crest of House Ardyn.
At the center of the chamber…
An elderly man calmly sharpened an old sword.
The rhythmic scrape of whetstone against steel echoed softly through the room.
Without lifting his eyes…
He spoke.
“I wondered…”
The sharpening stopped.
“…how many generations it would take.”
Silence filled the chamber.
The old man had known they were coming.
Slowly…
He rose to his feet.
His movements lacked the speed of youth.
Yet they possessed the discipline of a lifelong soldier.
His back remained perfectly straight.
His breathing never wavered.
Time had aged his body.
It had not broken his spirit.
He wore a faded gray cloak.
Though worn by decades of use, one symbol remained clearly visible.
The royal emblem of House Ardyn.
Sir Roland’s eyes widened.
“That crest…”
His voice trembled.
“I’ve only seen it in the oldest royal records.”
For the first time…
The old man looked directly at Adrian.
Neither spoke.
They simply studied one another.
Then…
The old man slowly lowered himself onto one knee.
He laid his sword upon the stone floor before him.
“My oath…”
His voice remained steady.
“…has finally reached its end.”
Sir Roland stepped forward in disbelief.
“Who are you?”
The old man answered simply.
“My name is Garrick.”
He bowed his head.
“I am the Last Sentinel of House Ardyn.”
The chamber fell silent.
Garrick slowly rose once more.
His calm voice carried the weight of countless generations.
“When our kingdom was first founded…”
“The First King established an order unlike any other.”
“The Order of Sentinels.”
“Our duty was never to fight on the battlefield.”
“It was to ensure that if the kingdom ever fell…”
“Its wisdom would not.”
He walked toward the shelves of journals.
“Each Sentinel trained only one successor.”
“When death approached…”
“The next guardian accepted the oath.”
“The knowledge survived.”
“The kingdom survived.”
“Even when the throne did not.”
He paused.
“When House Ardyn fell…”
“The surviving Sentinel descended beneath this mountain.”
“And waited.”
His eyes met Adrian’s once more.
“Year after year.”
“Generation after generation.”
“For the rightful heir.”
A faint smile crossed his weathered face.
“I am the last of that line.”
Garrick silently led the group deeper into the chamber.
Portraits lined the curved walls.
Each painting depicted a Sentinel.
Young.
Old.
Men.
Women.
Beside every portrait was a carefully carved name.
And the years they had served.
Some had lived long lives.
Others had died before reaching old age.
Yet one detail united them all.
None had ever left the mountain.
Tomas stared at the endless row of portraits.
“They spent…”
“…their entire lives here?”
Garrick nodded gently.
“They believed…”
“…that one day someone would come.”
Tomas hesitated.
“And if no one ever came?”
For a moment…
The old Sentinel simply smiled.
A peaceful smile.
“Then our duty was merely…”
“…to keep waiting.”
No one knew how to answer.
The silence that followed carried more respect than words ever could.
After several moments, Garrick turned toward Adrian.
His expression became serious.
“There is one question.”
“If reclaiming your throne required sacrificing every refugee above…”
“…would you do it?”
The chamber grew deathly quiet.
Sir Roland’s heart pounded.
This answer would decide everything.
Adrian never hesitated.
“No.”
His voice was firm.
“A kingdom without its people…”
“…is nothing but empty land.”
Garrick slowly closed his eyes.
A faint smile appeared.
“The letter chose correctly.”
Sir Roland finally released the breath he had been holding.
The old Sentinel approached another shelf filled with journals unlike those in the archive.
“The archive preserves knowledge.”
He rested one hand upon the worn books.
“I preserve memory.”
He looked toward Adrian.
“There are stories never written.”
“Traditions passed only through speech.”
“Ancient alliances.”
“Forgotten enemies.”
“The true reasons behind victories.”
“The hidden causes of defeat.”
“The books preserved facts.”
His eyes reflected decades of quiet duty.
“We preserved understanding.”
Adrian understood immediately.
Every weapon in the hidden armory…
Every map in the archive…
Every chest of forgotten supplies…
Together…
They still held less value than the old man standing before him.
Far above the mountain…
The Emperor’s Hawk remained upon the cliffs overlooking the watchtower.
His scouts had returned.
One after another.
Every report was the same.
“No hidden exits.”
“No secret roads.”
“No unusual movement.”
The Imperial Commander smiled confidently.
“Then they truly are trapped.”
The Hawk remained silent for a long moment.
Finally…
He slowly shook his head.
“No.”
His eyes remained fixed upon the mountain.
“The mountain is hiding something.”
He pointed toward the surrounding cliffs.
“Double the patrols.”
“Search every cave again.”
“No crack in the mountain is too small.”
“If the prince has discovered a secret…”
“…we will discover it as well.”
The hunt continued.
Neither commander intended to yield first.
Before Adrian departed, Garrick approached an old wooden chest resting beneath the prayer altar.
With trembling hands…
He carefully lifted its lid.
Inside rested a folded banner.
Its colors remained vibrant despite the passing decades.
The royal banner of House Ardyn.
Untouched by time.
Garrick gently lifted it with both hands.
Every movement carried reverence.
He stepped before Adrian.
Then…
For the first time…
The Last Sentinel bowed completely.
Not before a prince.
Not before a survivor.
But before the rightful ruler of House Ardyn.
His voice trembled.
“I have guarded this banner…”
He swallowed.
“…for sixty-three years.”
His weathered hands shook ever so slightly.
“I feared…”
“…I would leave this world before witnessing this day.”
Sir Roland’s vision blurred.
Without hesitation…
The old knight knelt beside Garrick.
Tomas followed.
Then the soldiers.
One after another…
Every person in the chamber lowered themselves before Adrian.
He remained standing in stunned silence.
The banner resting in Garrick’s hands suddenly felt impossibly heavy.
Not because of its cloth.
But because it carried the hopes of generations who had died believing someone would one day return.
The quiet moment shattered.
Boom.
A deep metallic sound echoed through the mountain.
The ground trembled beneath their feet.
Dust drifted from the ceiling.
Everyone instinctively reached for their weapons.
For the first time since they had entered the chamber…
Fear appeared upon Garrick’s face.
He stared toward the darkness beyond the hidden room.
His voice became almost a whisper.
“They’ve awakened it…”
Adrian frowned.
“Awakened what?”
The old Sentinel tightened his grip upon his worn sword.
His expression turned grave.
“The Guardian Gate.”
Silence followed.
No one else understood those words.
But the fear in the eyes of a man who had waited beneath this mountain for sixty-three years told them everything they needed to know.
The mountain still guarded secrets…
Even its last Sentinel had prayed would never awaken.
End Chapter
“Some kingdoms are protected by armies. Others… By the people who refuse to abandon their oath, even after the kingdom itself has fallen.”
————————–The End———————
Next : The Guardian Gate
By : Zenryth