The moment the secret door slammed shut, absolute darkness and a thick, suffocating silence fell upon them. The roar of the Harrier was gone, replaced by the frantic, muffled sound of their own breathing and the frantic pounding of their hearts. They were packed into a tight, unseen space, the smell of old paper, leather, and Alistair Finch's terror thick in the air.
Outside, in the grand hall, the world was ending. They heard a sound of immense weight being thrown against a solid object—the Harrier, in its blind rage, was likely tearing apart the remaining display cases. A series of crashes and the splintering of ancient wood followed.
"It... it doesn't know where we are," Alistair stammered, his voice a ghost in the dark.
A soft click, and a small pool of warm, yellow light illuminated the space. Ben had found the switch for an old, green-glassed banker's lamp on a nearby desk. The office they had stumbled into was just as Alistair had left it: a cramped, chaotic scholar's den. Books were stacked in precarious towers from floor to ceiling, maps were pinned to every available inch of wall space, and small, unlabeled artifacts, a chipped piece of pottery, a rusted key, a fossilized tooth littered the massive oak desk.
The office was a testament to a life of obsessive study. But its thin, wood-paneled walls felt like paper against the rage of the monster just outside.
A loud, sniffing sound came from the other side of the secret door, followed by a low, inquisitive growl. The Harrier was searching by scent. A single, massive talon, sharp as a razor, suddenly punched through the wood of the door, not three inches from Elara's head. She yelped and scrambled back, her sabers drawn.
The wood around the talon hole began to splinter and crack as the Harrier started to tear the door apart.
"The archives!" Kai yelled at Alistair. "Where's the entrance?"
Alistair, galvanized by the immediate, wood-shredding threat, pointed a trembling finger not at a door, but at a large, threadbare Persian rug in the center of the small office. "There! Under the rug!"
Kai and Elara didn't hesitate. They threw the heavy rug aside, revealing a square, iron trapdoor, its surface covered in a complex, circular seal that looked more alchemical than mechanical.
"It's locked!" Kai said, yanking on the heavy iron ring. "The seal... I can't open it."
"It requires the Curator's Key!" Alistair said, fumbling with a chain around his neck. He produced a single, ornate, strangely shaped key and thrust it at Kai.
Behind them, the secret door exploded inwards, a shower of splintered wood and torn paneling filling the office. The mangled, furious head of the Harrier shoved its way through the opening, its beak snapping, its blind eyes swiveling as it tried to locate them in the cramped space.
Kai jammed the key into the seal on the trapdoor. It fit perfectly. He turned it, and with a series of deep, satisfying clunks, the internal locking mechanism disengaged. He threw the trapdoor open, revealing a steep, stone spiral staircase that descended into a cool, dry darkness.
"Go! Go now!" he screamed.
Ben practically threw Alistair down the stairs, the old man crying out in surprise. Elara followed, her sabers held ready, her eyes locked on the monster that was now forcing its massive shoulders through the ruined doorway.
The Harrier was stuck. The doorway was too small for its full, nine-hundred-pound frame. But it was tearing at the walls with its talons, widening the opening with every furious screech.
Kai waited until Elara was clear, then turned to face the monster. He grabbed the heaviest object on Alistair's desk—a massive, unabridged dictionary, and hurled it with all his might at the Harrier's head. The book struck the creature's beak with a solid thump. It did no damage, but it was insulting. The Harrier let out a roar of pure frustration, focusing its rage entirely on him.
It was the opening he needed. He turned and plunged down the spiral staircase, pulling the heavy iron trapdoor shut over his head just as the Harrier finally tore itself free from the doorway and lunged into the office. The last thing he heard before the heavy door slammed home was the sound of Alistair's ancient, treasured desk being smashed into kindling.
He plunged down the stairs, the darkness absolute, the sound of the monster's rage fading above him. He landed on a solid, cold stone floor at the bottom. Ben's shaky hand found his arm, and Elara let out a long, shuddering breath. They were safe. They were in the archives.