Chapter IV

THE MASTER KEY

On the other side of the portal, the rider stood in front of the now-sealed door. His face remained perfectly still as he studied the empty space where the entry had been.

Then, slowly, he raised his bandaged hand.

The Riders Soul Flame

A dark smudge stained his fingertips—the ink he'd wiped from her wings. He rubbed it between finger and thumb, testing the consistency. Then he brought it closer and smelled it. He didn't hurry. He touched it to the tip of his tongue.

His mouth clicked, as if he was still trying to figure out the taste.

It smelled like honey, but the aftertaste revealed a smooth, nutty flavor.

"Freshly made, sigil ink," he said.

From the lantern at his side, a small voice grumbled.

"We should have burned her."

The rider didn't react.

The little flame tapped its two tiny limbs against the charred pillow. It didn't know how to start the conversation. So it tried again.

"Can I taste that too?" It wiggled a limb toward the smudge on his fingertips.

The rider released a short exhale.

"No."

The flame's glow dipped. It shuffled on its pillow, as if feeling left out.

He put his arm into one of the bags attached to the mount and took out a book, bringing it toward the flame to light up the pages.

The Essential Book on Obscuritea.

BITTEN OBSCURITEA

var. mordax

Origin — the Obscuritea mountain range, Dragon Kingdom. High-altitude cultivation only.

Oxidation — heavy. Liquor — dark amber. Brewing — eighty degrees. Steep short. Profile — honeyed aroma, smooth nutty finish. No astringency.

⁂

[fig. 14 — leaf, actual size]

Thanks to the bites of the jade bug, this tea obtains its unique taste properties. Because of this, only certain obscuritea valleys are fit for cultivation.

His finger ran down the index. Dragon Kingdom. Sweet varieties. He turned the pages and stopped.

The entry read like every other page in the guide.

His finger stopped on the origin line.

Next to the entry sat a small illustration—obscuritea leaves, each marked with tiny bites.

He reached into his pouch and pulled out a small piece of wood, tossing it into the lantern.

The flame devoured it in seconds, letting out a contented sigh.

He turned back to the entry, then spoke toward the lantern.

"Location. The dragon kingdom. High mountains, cut into steps—terraces down the slopes. Obscuritea planted in long dark rows, like ribbons. Mist sits in the valleys and doesn't leave. Wild grass grows around the edges of the fields."

The flame's ember eyes closed halfway.

This soul flame had one strange gift: it knew places. Describe somewhere to it—a bent river, a ridge shaped like a sleeping animal—and it could point the way, better than any map. But it only worked if the place was described the way it would look from above. The rider had never figured out why. Whoever the flame had been extracted from, this was the memory they'd given up: locations.

"I know a few places that match your description in the dragon kingdom. If you let me burn a couple of things, I might help you find them. Or perhaps—" the flame pointed again at the rider's fingers, "—you let me try a bit of that ink you've got there."

The rider unwrapped the bandage from his hand, wiped the rest of the ink off with it, and dropped the cloth into the lantern.

For a second, he watched the flame carefully stretch it out.

"I'll leave it for later," the flame declared.

"Suit yourself."

The rider stepped closer to the door and extended his hand. A sigil, hidden until now, marked his bare palm.

With a quick flick of his fingers, the sigil lit.

Slowly, the fog began to lift. The ground underfoot started to sway.

And if you observed the fog patiently, you'd notice that, just like smoke, it was coming out of a chimney—only now it ran backward, sucked in, as if the house was gasping for air.

And so here it stood.

A meticulously hand-drawn illustration of the house, accompanied by a detailed inventory list on the back. The author remains unknown, though perhaps it was made by the rider himself?

On its long, thin legs, lifting its body high above the ground.

The door that had sat at the bottom of the house was now raised into the air. It was clear now—the door belonged to this house.

The house itself was covered in dark, cracked tiles, and from these cracks, two shadowy eyes blinked.

They roamed across the house's surface, sliding like shadows.

From its base, a long tongue unrolled, like a serpent tasting the air.

It sounded like silk dragged over stone.

Now and then, the tongue flicked upward, searching—

Searching for something that was missing.

The house lowered itself, bending its legs until the door came down level with him. Dipping its head in recognition.

The shadowy eyes shifted, locking onto the rider, watching his every move. The tongue coiled tight, then unrolled again.

It reached past him. Over the saddle. Down to his belt, where the key used to hang.

Nothing there.

The tongue hovered a moment, then drew back.

The rider reached out.

Then he hesitated, his eyes lingering on the door.

His fingers hovered over the wood, but he did not push forward.

Instead, he spoke softly.

"You should stay here."

His voice was quiet, but firm. "It's not safe out there for you."

For a few more seconds he stood there, looking at the house, as if making sure it had heard his words.

Slowly, he unwound the bandages from his other hand, revealing another sigil on the palm. It mirrored the first—two halves of one mark.

Then he activated the other sigil.

And with a strong exhale, the smoke started pouring out of the chimney again.

At once, the legs of the house sank into the earth, like roots.

The shadowy eyes withdrew, vanishing into the walls.

The tongue curled inward, retreating into the base.

In moments, the house went still.

It looked like any abandoned building.

The rider stood there for a long moment, watching.

The fog thickened around the house's base, coiling upward.

Slowly swallowing it whole.

The house was gone.

The rider did not look back.

He mounted his dragon-like steed, its scales catching the dim glow of the lantern.

With a quiet command, the creature moved.

And together, they rode on—vanishing into the mist.

In the lantern, tiny fangs peeked out from the little dude's sleepy smile as it clutched the small piece of cloth. It seemed the sweet smell of honey had slowly drifted it off to sleep—and in its dreams, a forest burned from one end of the horizon to the other.

✦ 

On the other hand, Emha couldn't sleep.

She lay there for a while, then gave up and went to check the door again.

She still didn't know the rules governing portals. Tonight had made that obvious. But she was nothing if not careful. The last thing she wanted was to open the wrong door.

Her journey to this point had been marked by months of preparation, countless nights spent in solitude, and a couple of mental breakdowns that had almost driven her to abandon everything altogether. But she couldn't just walk away. There was nowhere to go. It was as if her soul was bound to this house, and without it she felt tired. Yes, tired—if she ever found herself away from the house, her energy plummeted and her mind became foggy. But as soon as she was back, she felt alive. This house renovation project, as she called it, thrilled her.

And now, Emha sat cross-legged on the floor of the long hallway, surrounded by doors. After tonight, any of them might lead anywhere.

In her hands, she held two keys—her own, with its tiny, twitching wings, and the rider's key, heavier and wingless. They faced each other, their tiny eyes locked in some wordless conversation.

"Are you two long-lost lovers or something?" Emha muttered. She tilted her head, studying them. "You owe me some explanations. Maybe I should just go back and return this key right now."

"You can't," her key replied, its wings twitching. "The portal's gone. It's closed, and there's no going back."

Emha's eyebrow twitched, but she wasn't in the mood for an argument with a key, especially not in the middle of the night. Instead, she leaned closer to the door and verified that the portal had indeed vanished, leaving nothing but a faint shimmer in the air. She felt a pang of frustration but quickly shook it off. To be safe, she took her key and twisted it in the lock again, making sure she hadn't forgotten to lock the door.

Satisfied, Emha turned and walked back to her bedroom. But as she moved, a gnawing unease crept into her chest. She still wasn't sure where that door had led. What if the cost was higher than what she could afford right now?

At her desk, she picked up her to-do list.

She exhaled. I guess this will have to wait. She couldn't shake the feeling that she'd done something illegal, and she wanted to sort it out as soon as possible.

Right. Tomorrow I'll go to the council and report the portal. I'm sure incidents like this happen frequently.

She was trying to calm herself down, but she couldn't shake the lingering feeling of having committed a CRIME.

So she reached for her deck of divination cards.

"Look at her, here she goes again," her key whispered to the silent one, its tone more eager than fond. It sounded like it wanted to show off—as if it knew Emha's ways.

Left vase: It can be found a the haunted tea house. Obscuritea plants have grown through the cracks of this vase, their roots spilling out and curiously examining the broken fragments.

Right vase: The drawing on the divination card. Something ancient and powerful has been sealed within this vase. Despite its cracks, the protective seal stuck to it continues to hold the spirits inside, preventing them from escaping."

One by one, she placed three cards in front of her.

The first revealed a serpent, endlessly spiraling into itself.

The second displayed a cracked vase, two eyes peering from within its fractures.

The third was shaded in black—featureless, endless.

Each card bore a name in delicate script at the bottom:

The Dead End. The Birth. The Darkness.

Her key leaned forward, squinting at the first card.

"Looks like you're going to jail."

"The audacity!" Emha muttered.

"No worries—I'll open all the prison cells for you. With me, you can safely commit crime."

"Good idea."

"Always here to help," the key responded.

She shuffled the cards back into the deck, feeling their weight settle in her thoughts.

"Let's go to sleep," Emha sighed.

"Okay." The key looked happy.

It wrapped its wings around the other key and held it close.

Then nestled against Emha's chest, falling into a quiet, restful sleep.

Emha was baffled. Was it unhinged or deceiving? It was a mystery to unlock.

She put the deck back in its drawer and blew out the lamp. The hallway doors stayed where they were, quiet, all of them shut.

She climbed into bed.

Lying there, her gaze drifted to the window.

The obscuritea plants outside swayed softly in the wind. Their black leaves melted into the darkness, blending so seamlessly they could have been shadows come to life.

Her eyes fell on the tiny bat sleeping peacefully in his cage. His body was curled up, utterly still.

"How can you be so relaxed?" she murmured. "You barely know me, yet you sleep as if nothing in the world could harm you."

She watched him for a moment longer. And without realizing it, her own body began to relax, too.

Sleep took her like ink dissolving into water.

But her dreams were anything but serene.

A roaring fire erupted before her eyes, flames licking at the walls, consuming everything in their path.

Yet she didn't flinch.

The heat wrapped around her, familiar—like an old friend's embrace.

For a long moment, she stood still in the flames.

And for the briefest second, Emha let herself smile.