The iron key sits heavy in my hand, its etched runes reflecting the firelight of the Eternal Campground. I run my thumb over the intricate lines, marveling at how all these scattered clues are converging toward one purpose: the bunker. Lynn watches me from across the flames, her expression calm but keen. She knows what this means—soon we'll return to that buried door and test our resolve against whatever lies behind it.
I take a deep breath and reach for the deck. Every new combination of cards is a step forward, a piece of the puzzle. Now that I have the key, I feel certain the time has come to revisit that sealed entrance. Perhaps the deck will guide me back. With careful fingers, I shuffle. Three cards rise, as always, chosen by fate and necessity.
Location: Sealed Bunker Entrance
Here it is again, as if summoned by my will. The blast door and cracked asphalt await. Now, with this key, I might find a way in.
Event: Lantern of Stolen Days
A phantom lantern that reveals secret compartments and hidden truths. If I can shed its gentle glow on the bunker's interior, I may discover more than dusty corridors—maybe a record, a relic, or the name of the Keepers themselves.
Enemy: Elder Acolyte
A hooded figure steeped in old magics. Not a mindless beast, but a cunning foe who channels ancient powers. If this Acolyte guards the bunker, it may seek to bar my passage or twist the lantern's light into shadows.
I show Lynn the cards, my heart pounding. She nods, setting her jaw. I sense her readiness, her acceptance that we've reached a turning point. I rise, axe secure in my grip, key and amulet at my belt, parchment and relics tucked safely away. She stands behind me as I step to the mist's edge and press forward with the chosen combination.
A shift in the air—and we stand again before the Sealed Bunker Entrance. The twisted metal beams and cracked pavement look as they did last time. Only now, I notice subtle details: runes similar to those on the key etched faintly around the door's frame. I approach slowly, ears straining for any sound.
A soft glow catches my eye. The Lantern of Stolen Days appears near a chunk of fallen concrete, hovering eerily without support. Its pale flame flickers gently. I know it can reveal hidden compartments, just as it did once before. Before I claim its light, though, I must be careful—if the Elder Acolyte lurks nearby, I dare not let my guard down.
Lynn moves to the side, searching the rubble for threats. I wait, heart in my throat, until I spot a subtle movement behind a collapsed pillar. Robes shifting, a hunched form creeping forward. The Elder Acolyte. Its face is obscured by a deep hood. I catch a hint of hollow eyes, long fingers twitching with restrained power. The air grows heavy, as if charged with old rites and whispered incantations.
My first instinct is to rush in, to strike before it can weave a spell. But I stop myself. The Acolyte is no brute; cunning is needed. I edge around the Lantern, letting its pale light reflect off shards of broken metal. If the Acolyte fears discovery, maybe I can force it into the open.
I pick up a small stone and toss it behind the Acolyte's hiding place. The clink echoes softly. The figure stirs, stepping into view—a tall, gaunt presence, hands raised, fingers trailing wisps of faint energy. It murmurs soundlessly, the mist swallowing any words. I feel a prickle along my spine. This one would seal my fate if given a chance.
I raise my axe, ready to close the gap. Lynn flanks around, silent as ever. The Acolyte notices us both now, turning slowly, robes shifting like restless shadows. It lifts a bony hand, and a surge of force rushes at me, knocking me back a step. The blow isn't physical—it's like a pressure on my mind. I grit my teeth, pushing back. I refuse to yield, drawing on my training, my half-recalled past. I stand firm, thinking of the Keepers and the Threshold. I have a purpose, and I will not be bent.
Lynn takes advantage of the Acolyte's focus on me. She hurls a piece of debris that strikes the figure's shoulder. It staggers, surprise evident in its posture. I charge forward, swinging my axe in a low arc. The Acolyte tries to dodge, robes swirling, but I nick its side, drawing a thin line of dark fluid. It hisses silently, lashing out again with unseen force. Pain throbs behind my eyes, but I press in, refusing to give it space to cast more illusions.
Another swing, and the Acolyte steps back, cornered near the Lantern. Lynn moves from the other side, pinning it between us. Trapped, it thrusts out a trembling hand, fingers contorting in strange patterns. The Lantern flickers wildly, as if caught in a sudden gust. I realize it's trying to twist the Lantern's power, maybe cloaking secrets instead of revealing them.
I won't allow that. With a roar, I bring the axe down. This time the blow lands solidly. The Acolyte staggers and slumps, robes darkening with stains. It tries once more to raise its hand, but only manages a feeble gesture before collapsing into a still heap. The tension in the air fades. Lynn exhales slowly, shoulders relaxing.
I turn to the Lantern of Stolen Days. It hovers serenely, as if nothing happened. Stepping closer, I guide its light toward the bunker door. The soft glow outlines hidden grooves and a keyhole masked by grime. I brush away dirt, fit the iron key into place, and turn. Metal shifts, gears locked for ages groan in protest. With a heavy clang, the door's seal breaks.
Inside, a passage slants downward, lined with dim emergency lights that flicker uncertainly. The Lantern floats at my side, encouraging me forward. I glance at Lynn—she meets my eyes, nodding. We step inside, leaving the broken world above for this secret place below.
The corridor is narrow but passable. Dust coats every surface. After a short descent, we enter a chamber lined with shelves holding boxes, scroll tubes, and battered crates. I hold the Lantern high. Its gentle light reveals etched plaques on the wall: symbols of the crossed blades and shield, runes of the oath I once bore. This is a record room, a fragment of the Keepers' legacy.
I approach a shelf and pick up a scroll tube sealed with wax. The seal bears the crest I've seen so many times now. Carefully, I break it and unroll the parchment within. Though faded, the words form clearer sentences than any I've found above:
"...The Keepers maintain the lanterns that light the Threshold. Knights of the Order guard them, defending against the encroaching dark. Without the Keepers' vigil, the passage fails. The oath is to protect them until the last soul stands, lest all be lost…"
My heart constricts. I see now: I was one of these knights. I guarded the Keepers, who tended the lanterns that kept some ancient darkness at bay. The Threshold must be the final barrier, a sealed gate somewhere deeper in this broken labyrinth. If I restore the Keepers' watch or carry on their duty, maybe I can break this silence, free Lynn's voice, and restore balance.
Lynn touches my arm lightly, her eyes moist. She must understand how important this moment is. Though she cannot speak, her relief and pride are unmistakable.
We linger in the bunker, gathering what we can—a few more scrolls, a tarnished badge identical to my brooch, confirming my rank. Each piece of lore knits together the scattered memories. I feel stronger, more centered, as if the fragments of my identity have formed a new whole: I am a Knight-To-Be, reborn into this misted world to continue my vow.
When we return to the Eternal Campground, we carry with us not just relics and knowledge, but renewed purpose. The mist still enforces silence, but now I know what I must do: find the Threshold, restore the Keepers' lanterns, and stand guard once more. The deck and its trials have guided me here. I trust it will guide me further, until I reclaim everything we have lost and bring light back to these broken halls.