Gharindall stood before the ancient doors as they crept open, heart pounding beneath his dark shirt. The doors had been well camouflaged, barely perceptible even to his keen eyes – and he was a man who saw everything – yet they had eventually revealed themselves to him. He was a hunter, after all, a deadly predator, one of the deadliest to darken Kalevélia’s shores, in fact, and he never let his prey escape him once he had its scent. The glowing glyphs that had been cut into the imperceptible doors by some long dead stonemason began to fade as the crack in the rock wall inched wider. There were few now who could read the glyphs, for they formed part of an ancient, forgotten language. 

Ancient, thought the man – he wasn’t really a man at all, but something far greater, something far more terrible – as he brushed falling rock dust from his narrow shoulders with long, pale fingers. Like that which dwells within. He grinned, though there was no humour in his expression. It was a sly grin, a sneer that would send children screaming to their mothers and dogs cowering with tails between their legs.

A pair of soldiers shuffled behind him. He turned to face them, frustrated at their cowardice. They were Champions like Gharindall himself, though they stood far, far below him in the grand scheme of things. Peasants whereas he was a king. Humble followers whereas he was a god. 

‘Bring it.’

The taller, more muscular soldier – an Imperial from the build – saluted before hurrying down the tunnel. The other remained where he was, a bead of sweat appearing on his temple on the side of his head that had been shaved short in the Nuvat’Karadini fashion. He held himself too stiffly even for a soldier, and his eyes looked everywhere but at the pale man standing before him.

‘You have something to say?’ Gharindall enquired. ‘Speak.’ 

The soldier said nothing.

‘Speak,’ he repeated, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl.

‘I … You … We …’ A pause. A quick lick of dried lips. ‘We should not be doing this.’ The man’s composure broke and he began to ramble. ‘Have you truly considered the consequences of this … this venture of yours? Have you not heard the stories about this island? The Nine knows what awaits beyond these doors! They have no doubt been locked and buried like this for good reason. If ––’

Gharindall raised his hand. The soldier ceased his rambling immediately. It was amusing to hear these pathetic weaklings mewl and splutter, but Gharindall did not have the time or patience for it today. They had no idea what lay beyond these doors. They hadn’t the faintest inkling as to what this place was, what it housed, what it could do.

He turned away from the soldier to watch the doors. But I will show them. Oh yes. Soon they will see. The very thing the Champions have worked for these last few centuries lies just beyond this door.

The other soldier soon returned, his heavy footsteps preceding him down the narrow tunnel.

‘You took your time. Did you stop to grope a tit or two on your way back here? Or did you perhaps stop to give Sergeant Whathisface a quick tug, hmm?’ 

Gharindall turned to see the imperial’s glare rapidly become placid and emotionless, though the tight shoulders and a twitching muscle in his jaw belied his anger. He grinned at the man even as he took in what the soldier had brought him: an ornate chest of dark wood inlaid with fine threads of gold like the web of a spider. Gharindall reached forward, forcing his hands to not tremble in anticipation, and flipped the lid. A violet orb the size of a grapefruit sat on a crimson cushion. Lightning danced and flickered within the translucent sphere as if it contained a terrible storm.

But it does. Or, rather, it holds one part of a terrible storm. His grin became more genuine, a quick flash of teeth. He walked to the wall of the excavated tunnel and broke off one of the larger blue-green gems that were half-buried in it. Immediately, its entrancing light began to diminish as if severed from its lifeline, like a plant uprooted from soil. He turned and handed it out to the soldier with the half-shaven head.

 The terrified man took the gem and began walking towards the doors at a gesture from Gharindall, his usually tanned face as pale as his commander’s, his eyes wide and wild. Gharindall gave him an impatient shove and he went sprawling as his foot caught on the thin step that marked the threshold. 

Vedenar curse these incompetent fools. Just my fortune to be stuck with the two most useless soldiers in the entire army on this most momentous of days. Perhaps he should have summoned one of the Sages. Restraining the desire to roll his eyes in contempt, Gharindall reached down and, with a strength that seemed impossible given his size, hauled the trembling soldier to his feet. ‘Move, Vedenar damn you.’

The man hurried forward, the sweat more pronounced on the bare side of his head. The muscular soldier went next, holding the chest close, with Gharindall bringing up the rear. I’ve done it, Gharindall thought, a thrill of excitement washing over him. There were more of the turquoise gems in the roof here, though these did not glow half as brightly as the diminishing one he had given to the soldier. After an eternity of waiting, I have finally done it. One hand rose to his neck and the amulet that hung there. Touching the sacred symbol trapped within the talisman always calmed Gharindall’s heart and cleared his mind. 

They walked in silence for a time. The only sounds were the shuffling of the soldiers’ feet, the ragged, uncertain breathing, and the whispering wind that blew in an endless circle through the forbidden tunnels. Soon, the path began to split, bisecting into side passages Gharindall knew led to dead ends, to pit traps, or to the lairs of monsters that most only believed to be in stories meant to scare little brats into submission. Down one tunnel, Gharindall heard running water. Down another, the scuttling sounds of carapace on stone. Overhead, the dim gems marked the true path, whilst those that gleamed brighter were misdirections purposely placed to ensnare the unworthy.

The path began to climb spiralling stairs cut into the bedrock of the mountain, or to descend in long, arduous slopes made more treacherous by slick moss or wet rock. Several of the previously accessible passages were now blocked by cave-ins or stalagmites that were too tall or jagged to clamber over. Gharindall pushed on, finding alternative routes where required, a nagging sensation in his chest growing stronger with every step. His heart raced in anticipation, his breathing coming rapidly. Could the other two not feel the power blowing down these tunnels on the tepid winds? No, probably not. They wouldn’t know a whore even if she came to them completely naked holding a sign that said Please fuck me in bold letters. 

An eerie glow appeared somewhere up ahead, partially blocked by more stalagmites and stalactites that came together like an enormous jaw. It took a frustratingly long time to navigate around the obstructions – the roof seemed to drop down as if wishing to bar his passage, or was he just imagining that? – but eventually the path ran straight, rushing towards the blue-green light that was blinding following the darkness. The roof of the tunnel now rose up and away, and the steep, almost vertical walls closed in on either side instead, narrowing to a point just before the light. 

‘Move. We are not far now.’ 

The three of them had to turn sideways and shimmy between the walls. Gharindall had to suck his stomach in, sliding between the rocks as jagged stone scraped at spine and sternum, tearing clothing and flesh alike until his blood joined that of the two soldiers. He wondered if this was what a baby saw as it was born: the dark walls of its mother on either side as it sank towards the light of the world outside. As he pushed forward, the eerie light began to call out to him, filling his mind in a multitude of voices from eons ago, each whispering and rolling over one another like stones on a riverbed. He knew it to be a mirage yet was unable to block them out. He kept moving, teeth grinding together as he fought the maddening voices, until he fell out of the fissure, landing atop the imperial soldier who grunted as the wind was knocked out of him. 

‘Get up,’ Gharindall snapped. ‘Move your asses, Vedenar curse you.’ He cursed himself even as he spoke. Anticipation was making him act foolishly, recklessly. He was supposed to be reserved, commanding, not barking orders like some newly-promoted sergeant. 

The soldiers moved, the imperial retrieving the chest he had dropped. Gharindall saw the glance between his companions and sneered when they looked around at him. Their faces paled noticeably and they hastily turned away.

Gharindall stumbled through the blinding light until he found himself standing before a vast waterfall that blocked the path forward. Tall obelisks ran down the short corridor, five on either side of the narrow path. The surface of each of the pillars was of shimmering glass, colours cascading down them like the waterfall they guarded. One of them had snapped in half, its point tipping away from the corridor the pillars made and resting instead against the jagged stone wall of the tunnel. Unlike the other nine, there were no colours visible on this one. Gharindall ground his teeth upon seeing this but said nothing. He turned towards the waterfall and rolled his head on his shoulders, preparing himself. Beyond, he could make out shimmering shapes and dancing lights. 

‘By the Nine,’ breathed the Nuvat’Karadini. His shoulders were slumped and his arms hung limp. ‘What is this place?’

‘It is a place of wonders,’ said Gharindall, pushing past to stand at the front for the first time. One hand reached to the amulet around his throat. He was here. He had found it. After years – after centuries – of failing, he had finally found what he had spent his entire life searching for. ‘A mausoleum to a forgotten ruler. Come, let me show you.’ 

He marched forward and passed through the curtain of water, emerging into a vast chasm illuminated by more of the strange blue-green gems half-buried in the walls, floor, and ceiling. More were pooled into golden bowls set atop intricately carved stone plinths dotted between twisted pillars of rock that held up the high ceiling. The ground was smooth, golden patterns of an ancient time seemingly one with the dark stone. When Gharindall stepped near the golden lines – which made circular segments in deep steps around a raised central platform – the gilded stones glowed brightly. 

At last. I have returned at long last. Vedenar be praised. He raised his arms up, threw back his head, and laughed. The peals echoed back to him, amplified, disturbing a gathering of large bats from their roost. He breathed deeply. The air here tasted clean and clear compared to the stifling, stagnant breezes that filled the tunnels. There was a crispness to this place, a feeling of one’s face having broken the surface of the lake after swimming long and deep. Ironic, considering the truth of this place. 

Gharindall lowered his arms and opened his eyes. He heard the two soldiers pass through the waterfall and gasp in unison as they took in the inner sanctum. He ignored them, walking purposefully towards the central platform. He kept his face commanding, domineering, empty of emotion. The two fools would not see his elation, his pride, his victory. They would soon see him in all his glory, as his father had made him. Soon he would cast aside this mortal mask and reveal himself to the entire world. 

The dais, like the steps leading to it, was a large circular disc. A complex, golden pattern had been etched into the dark stone between the horseshoe-shaped table that ran around the rim of the platform. Gharindall took in the image, hands balling into fists, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he fought back anger. He had been to this place only once before, many lifetimes ago, and had spent the interceding years finding his way back here, one clear ambition filling his mind, driving him forward. The image here on the dais matched the one seared onto his heart, twins separated long, long ago. 

He raised his eyes and looked at the nine matching objects that sat atop the stone table. They reminded him of the bases that the charlatans used when consulting their crystal balls, only these bases had three segmented arms rising out of them, currently spread wide like petals on a flower. While similar in design, each had a stone plaque set before it, written in the same ancient glyphs as those on the door leading to this place. They were names, Gharindall knew.

The names of the Nine.

He growled in the back of his throat, waves of anger surging inside him. 

‘What is this place?’ asked the imperial. He held to the chest like a lifeline. His voice came out breathless, awed. 

Gharindall turned to face the two soldiers. They stood at the base of the central podium, slack-jawed and slack-shouldered. One looked around the sanctum with wide eyes. The other looked up at Gharindall, no doubt hoping for a real answer to his question. 

‘This place,’ said Gharindall, his voice shaking as he held back fury and anticipation, ‘is the Forgotten Sanctum. The Gates of Inferno. The Tomb of the Ancient One.’ 

The Nuvat’Karadini’s eyes darted to Gharindall, fear flooding his face. He made as if to move back a step but then caught himself. The other looked up at his superior with confusion.

‘This place,’ Gharindall continued, ‘holds the truth of the greatest secret ever kept. A lie that has spread across the millennia, that has transcended the ages, passed down from father to son, from priest to congregation, from generation to generation.’

‘What truth?’ The imperial’s voice was little more than a whisper.

Gharindall told them. They had earned it, after all. Despite their blunders they were Champions, and all Champions would learn the truth eventually. It was a rite of passage, and, as heartless a man as Gharindall was, he adhered to the edicts of his organisation. Many accepted the truth easily, as if always having known it deep down in their hearts. Others …

‘No.’ 

Their gasps were identical, the denial in the word clear to Gharindall. 

‘It cannot be true,’ stammered the one still holding the chest. ‘I … I refuse to believe it.’

‘And what was it you thought the Champions were doing all these years?’ Gharindall asked, his voice controlled calm. He could see their desire to run as clear as he could hear the denials. The fearful glances, the shuffling of feet, the terror behind their eyes.

He prepared himself.

‘We are about righting wrongs,’ answered the imperial. ‘Of bringing justice to the unjust.’ He looked as if he were about to throw up.

‘Exactly.’ Gharindall took a step towards them. They took one away. ‘And now you know of the greatest form of unjustness, of the most heinous of wrong doings. This place ––’ he gestured around him ‘–– is a place of death and of rebirth. Here, in this place, we shall right the greatest of wrongs and bring justice to those that brought about such unjustness.’

The imperial swallowed hard. His eyes continued to dart about, as if trying to find another answer, another way out. ‘Yes,’ he finally said, resigned. His hunched shoulders slumped and he lowered his eyes to stare at the floor before Gharindall’s feet. ‘Yes, I understand. And … I obey.’

‘No,’ growled the other, taking another step back. When Gharindall’s eyes fell upon him, he stiffened, though his face remained hard, defiant. ‘No,’ he repeated. ‘I … I will not stand by and see it done. I was right all along. The consequences of what you mean to do … The Nine won’t … won’t …’

‘Won’t what, boy?’ Gharindall’s voice had become full of malice. Power coursed in his veins, icy cold and scorching heat. At his feet, his shadow began to grow, to solidify. ‘The Nine cannot stop this from happening. It will happen, with your help or without it. This is the purpose of the Champions of the Just. It is what we were created for. Working from the shadows towards this very moment.’

The soldier, to his credit, reached for the sword at his waist. Gharindall saw him glance down briefly before his head shot back up to lock onto Gharindall’s face, the colour draining from his own as he staggered back a few steps.

‘You’re one of them.’

An oily blackness fell over Gharindall’s eyes, yet he could still see clearly. The power within him reached its crescendo. Before him, the Nuvat’Karadini screamed, dropped his sword with a clatter, and sprinted back towards the waterfall. Gharindall grinned as he released the power, uttering the commands silently.

The soldier was dead before he had taken half-a-dozen steps.

Gharindall’s eyes refocused, the blackness receding. He rolled his head on his shoulders as if waking from a long sleep. ‘Such a waste,’ he said looking down at the charred and blackened corpse. There was no remorse in his voice. His eyes shifted to the imperial. The man had shuffled away, cowering, breathing hard, shoulders rising and falling rapidly, yet he met his commander’s eyes and nodded just the once, straightening. ‘Vedenar rewards those loyal to him. He will remember you.’

The soldier nodded again. His shoulders relaxed ever so slightly as he let out a relieved sigh.

Gharindall walked over to him – he stiffened perceptibly and began to tremble but held his ground – and threw back the lid of the chest, reaching in to scoop up the orb. Enough time had been wasted. The sphere thrummed in his hands, pulsing with energy, with untapped power. The storm trapped within had become more violent, a tempest rather than a summer storm. Did it know where it was, perhaps? Could it feel what Gharindall could? Did it know what was about to happen? 

Gharindall hurried back up the steps and lowered the orb into the appropriate contraption. As it clicked into place the three arms closed around it, the tips of each appendage touching the glassy surface almost affectionately. Within, the storm pulsed, and the orb began to glow a luminous violet.

From deep within the earth came the sounds of mechanisms groaning into motion. A rain of dust and rock filled the cavern as the ground shook, and the strange gems that lined the cave glowed brightly, like hot coals when blown upon. 

Gharindall breathed hard. He wiped sweat from his forehead with a black handkerchief as the sounds of the hidden mechanisms faded and the earth ceased its trembling. He turned from the table and walked off the dais, gesturing for his loyal dog to follow. 

‘One down,’ he said as stepped over the body of the unworthy fool without even seeing them. ‘Eight left to go.’

‘And then?’ 

Gharindall stopped beside the waterfall and looked quickly around the sanctum before facing the soldier. He grinned wickedly, a quick flash of the teeth. ‘And then the real fun begins.’

Laughing, he ducked beneath the cascading water.