Nobody crosses the bridge, and for the first few seconds I let myself believe that means we're turning around. Zachariah has put his helmet back on, but he hasn't raised his sword or started explaining why whatever made that noise is probably less dangerous than it sounds. He stays on the landing with the rest of us, looking across two hundred feet of black stone toward the enormous doors.
I wait for him to say we're leaving. I'd like to hear it before I get too comfortable with the idea, because I've already started imagining the walk back without having to wonder what we're going to find around each corner.
Another roar comes through the doorway.
The sound reaches me through the floor as well as the air. I feel it beneath my boots and against the buckles across my chest, and then a second voice answers, higher and harsher. By the time the third joins in, I'm pressing my fingers against the wall again.
Apparently I'm quite happy to trust the stone on this side of the gap. It's the continuation of the same stone across the darkness that I object to, although I can't see anything wrong with it beyond the lack of a railing. That seems like enough. I've fallen over twice today while there was still a floor available, and I don't particularly want to find out how much of my balance remains at eighty-nine percent capacity.
Hot air rises past the landing, stirring the edge of my cloak. It smells of sulfur, old smoke, and the musky animal odor that reached us in the passage. Beneath that is something greasy and overcooked. I breathe more shallowly, which doesn't help much when the next breath contains exactly the same things.
“So,” Mark says, “are we all seeing the giant three-headed-dog door?”
Jane looks at him.
“No, Mark. You're hallucinating. Probably stress.”
“I'm asking because I'm hoping there's some chance that isn't what I think it is.”
Alluoah moves closer to the bridge, careful to keep his boots well away from the edge.
“What do you think it is?”
“A dog.”
“Very specific.”
“A really big fucking dog with three heads.”
“That would be extremely on the nose.”
“This game has dragons living in Dragon Mountain.”
“Fair point.”
I look at the carvings above the doors. Even from here, the fangs on the outer heads seem long enough to reach from my wrist to my elbow. Nobody has actually said Cerberus yet, but I don't think any of us needs the help.
Zachariah opens his map.
Jane notices before the projection finishes appearing.
“Oh, don't you fucking dare.”
“I'm checking something.”
“You're always checking something right before we make a terrible decision.”
He lifts his visor, pulls one gauntlet loose, and tucks it beneath his shield arm while he enlarges the map. The route we've walked glows blue against the unexplored black around it. I can see the golem chamber, the stretch where we fought the knights, and the passage leading to where we stand now.
I can't see anything on the other side of the bridge.
Zachariah points into that empty part anyway.
“We've been descending southeast since the golem chamber. If this connects the way I think it does, there should be another passage on the far side.”
“And where are you getting that from?” Jane asks.
“The layout. I've seen this arrangement in other generated dungeons. Big central chamber, side route around it.”
“You haven't seen this dungeon.”
“I said the arrangement, Jane. Not the fucking curtains.” He traces a line along the edge of the black space. “There could be a passage beside the doors. We check, and we don't have to open them.”
Jane looks across the bridge again.
So do I.
The possibility makes me feel better before I've properly considered what he's offering. A moment ago, the sensible choice was going back the way we came. Now I'm relieved that we might be able to go farther without opening the enormous dog door, as though opening it was something we'd already agreed to do.
I look back at the blue line on the map. It still leads all the way to the entrance. Nobody's erased that option. We're just not pointing at it.
“We cross,” Zachariah says. “Check the doors. Check for side passages. We don't engage anything.”
“I'm comfortable with that,” Mark says.
Jane turns toward him.
“You're comfortable with anything as long as somebody says we're not technically doing the dangerous part.”
“I have boundaries.”
“You walked farther into an unknown Level 400 dungeon because Zach found an expensive glove.”
“It was a very expensive glove.”
This time, she doesn't bother answering.
His last few words come back faintly from somewhere in the cavern. I can't work out where the echo ends. The light doesn't reach enough of the surrounding walls to explain it, and I don't enjoy being reminded how much space there is around us that we can't see.
Zachariah puts his gauntlet back on and steps onto the bridge.
He tests the first few slabs, shifting his weight before taking another step. Nothing cracks or moves beneath him.
“Looks solid.”
Alluoah watches him.
“You weigh approximately as much as a family sedan, so I'll accept that test.”
“Keep some space between you,” Zachariah says. “No running.”
He starts across.
The others follow in a loose line. I stay on the landing until Jing is several paces ahead, then fasten my buckler at my hip so both hands are free. I don't know what I expect to grab if something goes wrong, but I'd rather have the option.
The heat gets worse as soon as I leave the shelter of the passage. It rises around my legs and beneath my cloak, and I tuck the loose fabric under a strap before it can pull me sideways. The bridge is wide enough that I ought to feel perfectly comfortable walking down the middle. I could lie across it several times over without reaching either edge.
Unfortunately, knowing how much floor there is makes me think about where it stops.
I watch Jing's boots instead. The dark seams between the slabs give me something regular to follow, and I step over the worn carvings rather than on them whenever they're deep enough to catch a heel. My knee still aches from the fight. I can walk on it, but the little reminder each time I lift my foot is making it difficult to feel confident about walking anywhere that requires me not to make a mistake.
Halfway across, orange light appears below us.
I stop.
There are several points of it, though I can't keep count. One disappears while another brightens farther away, and a large shape moves between them and the bridge.
I lean slightly to get a better look.
The pack shifts.
I straighten immediately.
“Bekah?”
Jing has stopped ahead of me.
“There's something down there.”
I say it clearly enough that the people farther ahead hear too. Zachariah turns, and the line slows.
“What kind of something?” Jing asks.
“Lights. Orange ones.” I glance down without leaning this time. “Something moved in front of them.”
I can't tell him whether they were eyes. I can't even tell him how far down they were. Whatever blocked them seemed enormous, but darkness makes it difficult to judge anything except the part I don't like.
A low scrape reaches us from below.
Mark peers over the edge.
“That's reassuring.”
Jane catches his shoulder.
“Can we please not investigate every horrible fucking thing we find?”
He lets her pull him back toward the center.
Zachariah looks once more, then gestures forward.
“Keep moving.”
Jing waits until I start before turning away.
I don't look down again. That takes more effort than it should, because now that I've reported something, I want to see enough to prove there was a reason to stop. Nobody has accused me of imagining it. They heard the scraping too. Still, I can already picture reaching the other side and having nothing more useful to offer than that the darkness was dark and I didn't enjoy something happening in it.
Then the hot draft catches my cloak again, and I decide an incomplete description is fine.
The far landing feels much better beneath my feet despite being made of exactly the same stone.
Up close, the three carved heads are different from one another. One has its lips peeled back around long fangs. Another's mouth is open wide enough to suggest it's howling. The middle one keeps its jaws shut beneath deep-set eyes, with the edges of its teeth showing along the curled lip.
Dark stains spread across the bottom of the doors.
After the corridor behind us, I don't have much difficulty deciding what those are.
Zachariah stops short of the stains and studies the seam between the two slabs.
“No handles.”
“Great,” Jane says. “Mystery solved. Let's go.”
“There's a passage.”
Alluoah is farther along the wall, pointing into an opening partly hidden by the thickness of the doorway's outer support.
Jane turns immediately.
The passage is narrow, but it leads away from the doors. Zachariah has to angle his shoulders to enter, and I watch the clearance around his armor before turning sideways myself. My body fits easily. Mark's spare shield needs more care.
Jing holds the rim clear of the stone while I get through.
“Thanks.”
He nods and follows.
Nobody suggests opening the doors.
For a little while, that's enough for me.
The passage bends away from the cavern, and the animal smell gradually weakens. Black blocks give way to dark red stone threaded with narrow veins of something glassy. Our light moves through them in little broken reflections. I check the first few, thinking they're openings into other rooms, before realizing the bright points move whenever the orb does.
The walls are warm where I brush them. The air gets drier too, until the sweat on my face begins to disappear and the scratches on my cheek pull when I move my mouth.
We walk for several minutes with very little conversation. Zachariah checks each bend before waving us on. Jane keeps looking behind us, and I find myself doing it too until Jing settles at the rear.
Eventually Mark asks Alluoah whether he has work tomorrow.
“Yeah. Nine-thirty meeting. Which is why I'm logging at midnight regardless of what Captain Loot Goblin decides.”
“You don't have the balls,” Zachariah says without turning around.
“I have a mortgage and health insurance. My balls have priorities.”
“You work from home.”
“That doesn't mean I can show up sounding like I spent eight hours getting railed in a dungeon.”
Mark starts laughing.
Alluoah sighs.
“I heard it after I said it.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I hate all of you.”
I look down at the floor before anyone catches my expression.
It isn't a particularly imaginative joke. The implication is obvious, and I understand it at exactly the same time as everyone else. Unfortunately, my mind is less willing to let the subject go once the conversation moves on.
For a few steps, I pay entirely too much attention to the back of Alluoah's neck.
That's all it takes, apparently. An attractive man says something that wasn't even meant to be suggestive, and I have to remind myself that being able to imagine him interested in me doesn't provide any evidence that he is. I'm aware of the distinction. I just don't always feel like making it immediately.
There's no need to do anything about a private thought. That's one of the things I like about them. I can be more confident in my head, or less careful, or simply someone who doesn't have to stop a promising moment to admit she has absolutely no fucking idea what she's doing. Nobody looks disappointed. Nobody has to decide whether to be patient.
Of course, nobody actually gets any closer to me either, but I don't need to solve that while I'm trying not to scrape a shield along a wall.
The conversation wanders into ordinary complaints after that. Someone's air conditioner has stopped working. Jane's youngest refuses to eat chicken nuggets unless they're shaped like dinosaurs.
“The square ones taste the same,” Mark says.
“I know.”
“Have you tried cutting them?”
“Into a dinosaur?”
“Into something.”
“Mark, I'm not carving poultry at six in the morning.”
Sorin mentions that he's playing from Japan and it's already morning for him. That turns into an argument about whether he's stayed up all night or started playing early.
“When did you sleep?” Celeste asks.
Sorin doesn't answer immediately.
“There you go,” she says.
I laugh with the others.
For a while, it's easy. I don't need to supply a story or ask a question. I can listen, and the fact that I'm close enough to hear feels almost like participation.
I like the little details they tell each other. The meeting Alluoah doesn't want to attend. The appliance somebody needs to replace. Jane being irritated about the shape of breakfast. None of it sounds important enough to rehearse before saying it, which makes me envy it more than the interesting parts of their lives.
I'd struggle to describe yesterday without most of it happening on a screen.
That isn't necessarily a problem. Half of Alluoah's workday probably happens on one too, and we're all talking inside a game right now. It's just that he can apparently stop working and still have something waiting for him besides the next thing he intends to watch.
I don't volunteer any of that. Nobody has asked, and I don't want to turn a conversation about chicken nuggets into a reason for Jane to worry about me.
By the time we've been walking for twenty minutes, the passage feels almost ordinary.
Then Zachariah stops beneath an arch, and the light moves past him into a circular room.
Seven statues stand around the walls.
I count them while the others enter, partly because counting gives me a reason to look at something besides their faces.
Every face has been destroyed.
The damage isn't like the worn reliefs near the dungeon entrance. Deep chisel marks cut through the places where noses, mouths, and eyes should be. The bodies remain mostly intact, although I can't tell what the figures are supposed to represent. A raised hand still has individual fingers. The edge of a stone sleeve has a neat line of decoration. Whoever damaged them apparently had enough time to be specific about what they wanted gone.
I move a little farther from the nearest one.
The room is perhaps fifty feet across, with carvings covering the domed ceiling. In the center stands a pedestal, and on top of it rests a pale metal object.
Zachariah approaches.
“Don't touch it,” Jane says.
“I wasn't going to.”
“You absolutely were.”
He stops with his hand still at his side.
From where I'm standing, I can see that the object is another key. This one is only about six inches long and looks light enough to pick up without having to plan the movement first.
“Trap?” Zachariah asks.
Sorin crouches near the base of the pedestal.
“Probably.”
“Useful.”
“You asked.”
I stay several feet away while they examine the floor. After the crawler, I keep checking the spaces behind the statues as well. Nothing moves, and no nameplates appear, but I'd rather notice something before it's between us and the door.
A notification flashes at the edge of my vision.
QUEST ITEM DETECTED
I turn toward it automatically.
It's gone before I finish reading, so I open my inventory.
The black-metal key sits near the bottom of the list. I've been carrying it for close to an hour now, and its weight still seems unreasonable every time I look at it. Six percent of my capacity for an object that would fit beneath one arm, assuming I had the strength to hold it there.
I select it.
There's a name beneath the image now.
KEY OF THE LOWER SANCTUM
I read it twice, then open the full description to make sure I haven't selected something else.
Same key. Same weight.
The name is new.
“Um.”
Zachariah and Sorin are discussing the seam around the pedestal's base. Neither looks up.
“Zach?”
“What?”
“The key changed.”
He turns toward the pedestal.
“The one I'm carrying,” I add.
That brings him over.
“What changed?”
“The name.”
I turn the item window toward him. Jane joins us, standing close enough that I have to shift the projection to keep it clear of her bow.
“That wasn't there before,” she says.
“No.”
Zachariah reads it.
“Lower Sanctum.”
Alluoah comes closer. “This isn't lower enough?”
Nobody seems especially interested in answering that.
Zachariah looks around the room.
“Check the walls. Don't touch the other key yet.”
The group spreads out. Jane examines the nearest statue's base while Sorin stays beside the pedestal. I remain near the middle of the room, shifting my shoulders under the straps until the pressure moves away from the sorest place.
I should help search.
Technically, looking around from here counts. That's what I tell myself while I stand still long enough for my legs to stop feeling as though we're descending another staircase. There are enough people checking the walls that I'd probably end up behind someone anyway, trying to see around them and apologizing when the shield got in their way.
I lift the pack slightly and settle it higher.
Something catches the light near the feet of the smallest statue.
A narrow black opening.
I lean to one side.
It's set low in the base, beneath the edge of a stone robe, and the shape is regular enough that I keep looking after the light moves away.
I almost call Zachariah's name quietly again.
Then I remember Jane's ankle in the crawler's hand.
“There's a lock.”
Everyone turns.
I point before I can start wondering whether I've mistaken a crack for something useful.
“At the small statue. Near the floor.”
Zachariah walks over and lowers himself enough to look.
Jane brings the light closer.
The slot becomes clear.
Mark whistles.
“Well, Bekah. Looks like your stupid heavy key has a job.”
For a moment, I let myself enjoy having found it.
There are several more experienced players in the room, and none of them was looking at the right part of the right statue when the light passed over it. That doesn't make me especially clever. I know that. I'd just prefer not to explain away the entire thing before anybody finishes being pleased with me.
“Bring it here,” Zachariah says.
I cross the room and retrieve the key.
Its weight drags my right hand down before I get my left beneath the shaft.
“Jesus.”
Mark laughs. “Told you.”
“Zach told me.”
“Well, he wasn't wrong.”
Zachariah reaches for the key. I start transferring its weight into his hands, expecting the usual relief when somebody else takes something heavy.
The key doesn't leave my grip.
He adjusts his hold.
Nothing.
“What the fuck?”
A notification opens above my inventory window.
ITEM BOUND TO CURRENT BEARER UNTIL USE
I turn it toward him.
The others move close enough to read.
Mark snorts.
“Congratulations, Bekah. You're the chosen one.”
Zachariah lets go.
I lower the end of the key against the toe of my boot so my wrists don't have to support all of it.
It let him give it to me in the corridor. I remember how quickly the exchange happened. He found it inconvenient, handed it over, and went back to doing something else. Now the game has decided that arrangement matters.
“Wait,” Jane says.
She crouches beside the statue, checking the floor and the wall behind it.
“Before she puts that in, can we think about this? A Level 400 undead drops a key with no useful description. We bring it here, it identifies itself, and now it won't let anyone except Bekah use it.”
“That's how quest items work,” Zachariah says.
“Sometimes.”
He folds his arms.
She looks up at him.
“And sometimes putting the creepy key in the creepy statue releases something that eats your fucking soul.”
Mark glances at the damaged face above her.
“Can NPCs eat souls?”
“That's what you took from that?”
He shrugs.
I look at the warning again.
It doesn't say anything about souls. It also doesn't say that using the key is safe, which is the part I'd appreciate someone establishing before they get bored of discussing it.
Sorin straightens from the pedestal.
“I can't tell you what it opens.”
“There's a wall behind it,” Mark says.
“Yeah. And I can't tell you what's behind the wall.”
Zachariah looks at me.
“Your call.”
I wish he hadn't put it that way.
Being told to do something would at least let me remain privately annoyed with him while I did it. Now I'm holding the key, everyone knows nobody else can use it, and apparently we're waiting for my opinion.
I wanted them to ask what I thought earlier. On the ridge, near the golem, before we walked onto the bridge. I still think they should have. It's just considerably easier to want a say when I already know the answer than when saying no means leaving something I found unopened.
The lock is right there.
The key has a name now.
Part of me wants to see what happens.
I don't like admitting that while Jane is pointing out reasonable problems. I've spent most of the expedition relying on her to be the person who wants to leave, and now she's giving me time to refuse while I'm trying to come up with a reason that turning the key isn't really another decision to go deeper.
Opening a passage doesn't mean walking down it.
That's true. I could turn the key, stand back, and let everyone see what's there. If it's another corridor full of enemies, Zachariah has already promised we'd stop when the difficulty changes. We might not even have to fight anything to get a useful discovery out of it.
I'd also stop carrying the damn key.
I look down at the metal resting against my boot and dislike how much that last part helps.
Jane finishes checking the statue and stands.
I glance up at her, hoping she'll give me something firmer than another reason to be careful. If she tells me not to, I can listen. If she says it looks safe, I can stop worrying about whether I'm being stupid.
She does neither.
“If anything starts moving, get behind Zach.”
I check where he's standing.
He's a few feet to my right, with enough clear floor between us that I won't have to go around the statue. I move my buckler clear of my knee before lowering myself.
“All right,” I say. “I'll try it.”
The floor is warm through my trousers.
I guide the key into the slot with both hands. The teeth fit without catching, and the shaft slides in far enough that I can release one hand and brace it against the base.
Nobody says anything.
I turn the key.
For two seconds, nothing happens.
Then something enormous goes thunk beneath the floor.
Dust falls from the dome.
The statue above me moves.
I let go of the key and scramble backward, boots slipping as the pack pulls against my shoulders. All seven statues are turning. Their bases grind against the floor, bringing the ruined faces around toward the place where I'm trying to get up.
“Fuck!” Mark shouts.
Zachariah has his shield raised before I reach him. I get behind his left shoulder and stay there, one hand wrapped around the strap across my chest.
The wall behind the smallest statue splits.
A line of red light appears from floor to ceiling. Stone slides apart on either side, widening the gap while hot air pours into the chamber.
For a moment, all I can smell is sulfur and heated iron.
Then something sweet reaches me beneath it.
Perfume.
I look toward Jane before I can stop myself, but she's several feet away with her bow in her hands. The scent is coming from the opening.
Beyond the statue, a passage slopes sharply downward. Blood-red light pulses somewhere below, illuminating the first stretch of floor and leaving the rest hidden.
No enemy nameplate appears.
Then the roar comes again.
This time, I feel it directly beneath my feet.
A second voice joins it. Then a third.
Zachariah turns his shield toward the open passage.
A notification fills my vision.
HIDDEN ROUTE DISCOVERED
THE LOWER SANCTUM
Mark exhales through his teeth.
“So much for avoiding the dog.”
Something slams into stone below us.
The chamber shakes.
Down the newly opened passage, chains begin to rattle.