The crack of obsidian on stone was a sharp, explosive sound, a final, desperate scream of defiance in the crushing silence. The carved wolf shattered, scattering like black, glassy tears across the floor. The stone serpent beneath it fractured, a web of fine cracks spreading from the point of impact.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Isadora sagged against the wall, the last of her strength gone, her hope dissolving with the echo of the blow. It had been a fool's gesture. A child's tantrum against a mountain.
And then, a low, grinding groan rumbled from deep within the wall.
Dust trickled from the invisible seam she had found. With the slow, inexorable patience of a tomb opening for the first time in a thousand years, the hidden door began to slide inward, revealing not a dark passage, but a soft, warm, and utterly unexpected glow.
Hope, that wild and treacherous thing, flared to life in her chest once more.
