Chapter 56: Ch56 The Door Of Asmethan
The sun blazed in the morning, scorching through the foliage of a forest that felt too quiet to be safe. There was no birdsong here. Even the wind was fearful as three horses rode down the twisting path, hooves crunching over soggy leaves.
Luther rode the middle horse, cape flying over the saddle as he hunched forward like a man heading to his own funeral. Guards marched beside and behind him, one as quiet as stone.
Luther sighed loudly, hoping someone would answer. No one did.
"Tell me again," he slurred, "why we’re wasting good daylight going for a scenic horse ride when we could be doing literally anything else? Napping? Eating breakfast? Combustion by self-immolation? All of which would be preferable to this."
The front guard grunted, but kept his eyes fixed on the path. The back one shrugged as forcefully as he could, as if to say: Don’t look at me, I’m here only so I won’t get my head chopped off.
"Beautiful," Luther snarled, tugging at his reins. "A silent royal entourage. Just what every young blood wants."
The path curved, trees thinning gradually, and the wood parted like a veil. Luther’s sarcasm dried on his lips.
Before him was a vast lake, so still it reflected the clouds as glass. In its center was a temple of white stone, pillars glimmering with an unnatural sheen as if untouched by time. The structure floated serenely on the water, exactly balanced, exactly symmetrical, exactly. maddening.
Luther blinked. "Great. A big rock in the middle of a pond. Evidently worth waking me up for.
The horses rattled out onto a flimsy bridge over the water. On the opposite bank, a batch of elders waited in glittering robes, their faces drawn up into the same identical grins that were a lot more like poorly constructed masks than anything remotely human. And at their front, standing with staff in hand, was the Father himself—completely calm, completely unruffled, giving off the sort of confidence that could only come from being too old to care if anyone cared about pushing him into the lake.
The guards stepped down and helped Luther, but he swatted their hands away with a frown. His boots rang on the stone bridge with an empty clatter.
The Father walked forward, his voice rich and rehearsed. "Ah, my boy. You must be confused. But do not fret. Today, you are here for light, not for weights."
Luther arched an eyebrow. "Clarity? Sure. And I suppose clarity is dragging me out to a floating rock in the middle of nowhere, instead of sending a message that reads, ’Dear Luther, we’re still insane. Yours, your friendly neighborhood cult.’
There was a murmur of strained laughter from the elders, but it was more of gagging. The Father did not react or feigned ignorance. He rested his hand on Luther’s shoulder with seriousness bordering on the dramatic.
"To dispel the council’s doubts, we ask but a trivial thing.".
Luther traced his eyes upward. The temple’s colossal doors towered in front of him, high enough to swallow giants, each inch etched with fine sigils that glowed softly as if they were alive. A shiver ran up his spine in spite of the sun beating upon him.
"Uh-huh," Luther growled, frowning. "Let me hazard a guess. You want me to go and knock on the creepy magic door. And if the ancient death god who opens it, what do I do? Take him out for tea?
The Father’s smile did not waver. "All you have to do is try to open it. If doors are closed... you leave. Free, unharmed, with all doubts eradicated."
The elders leaned forward, their excitement bordering on ooze. Luther could practically hear them thinking: Open it. Check it. Be the chosen one so we can lay all blame at your feet.
He folded his arms. "All right, so let me get this straight. Either the door doesn’t budge, and I depart with my freedom in tact—sounds lovely—or the door opens, and then. what? I receive a haunted temple and an eternity of your friendship?"
"Something similar," one of the elders complained, earning a stern glare from the Father.
Luther rubbed a hand through his face. "You guys are sucking the life out of me." He strode to the temple. "Fine. But this is the last time. Next time, I’m collecting fees."
He leaned against cold handles. The stone hummed beneath his skin, the sigils glowing faintly. With a snort, he pushed with all his might. Nothing.
He tried again, harder this time, jaw clenched. The doors did not budge. The elders’ smiles faltered, their supportive glances weakening.
Luther stepped back, dusting his hands. Relief washed over him like cool water. He smiled, already spinning on his heel. "Well, I guess that’s settled, then. Guess I’m not your magic key, after all. Tragic, really. If only I did care."
The Father opened his mouth to protest—
And then the air shifted.
A wild blast tore across the lake, flapping robes and capes, shaking the very bridge beneath their feet. Sigils blazed with light, burning golden lines tracing across the stone.
The doors creaked.
"Don’t. You. DARE."
Luther snarled, backing away.
The temple shook as the slabs groaned, their light kindling brighter with each pulse. Then, in a burst of thunder that shook the water itself, the doors slammed open and darkness blacker than night flowed into the world.
The elders screamed, their voices a yell of lunatics, as they cheered.
Luther cursed, raking a hand through his hair as he glared upward. "Of course. Of course you’d do this. I try to leave one time, and the universe suddenly decides to get in on things. Typical."
The Father advanced, eyes blazing with vindication. "You see, my boy? The door knows you. The door welcomes you."
Yes, I’m absolutely welcome," Luther snapped back, sarcasm oozing like venom. He flailed his hand towards the gaping chasm. "Nothing screams ’hospitality’ like a giant pit of doom. Where’s the welcome mat? The free snacks?"
But the elders were too busy clapping one another on the back, bellowing prayers, and grinning like kids who had discovered fireworks.
Luther rolled his eyes. His fate, it seemed, was sealed by idiots. Once more.
"Fine," he growled, striding towards the entrance. "But if I get eaten by some ancient monster, I’m haunting all of you separately. You first, baldy." He jabbed a finger at one of the elders, who blinked unhappily.
Seething, Luther disappeared into the temple.
The moment his boots touched the threshold, the doors slammed shut behind him with a deafening thud. The cheers outside were stifled, and there was silence.
He was surrounded by darkness.
He stood there frozen for a moment, breath echoing too loudly in the stillness. He lifted his head gradually. There was an air of dust and something older, thicker, like stone loaded with blood long forgotten.
"Well," he muttered to the shadows, sarcasm steady despite the unease twisting his gut, "let’s get this over with. I’m sure nothing horrible waits in the pitch-black death temple. Nope. Totally safe. Wonderful vacation spot. Five stars."
His voice faded into the void.
And the void answered back.