The stone steps spiraled downward, each footfall, while muffled by the layers of dust, echoed in the silence, second in loudness only to Annabeth's own breathing, which seemed deafening to Annabeth's ears, so even though she knew it was just the fault of excess silence, she tried to keep her breathing under control. The little light she had soon vanished as the statue above shifted back to cover the stairwell, trapping her below in the darkness.
Thankfully, her predicament soon changed as the torches on the sconces attached to the walls lit up, providing enough light for her to safely walk down the steps, though she wondered why there was no smoke from the fire, Annabeth controlled her mind to stop wondering, wanting to stay focused; she had no help and no backup, she needed to be ready to react to any danger.
The stairwell was not only caked with dust but also with the occasional spider web, causing Annabeth to drastically avoid them and shift to the opposite wall from where they hung. Soon, the stairwell stopped descending, instead opening into a passage where torches lined the walls again, allowing Annabeth to see depictions of what she could describe as the history of the place's construction.
From what she could gather, looking at the depictions, some Greek demigods, disillusioned with their current life under Olympus, left Greece and joined the growing Roman Republic. The pictures soon went on to explain how the Athena Parthenos was stolen, and how these traitorous demigods were sent to guard the stolen statue and bring it back to Constantinople, where it was to be hidden. But the demigods wouldn't leave it at that, their hatred wanted more, so they killed the legionnaires that helped with the protection and brought the statue to Rome, far from the power of other demigods could reach at the time, and hid it in the heart of Rome, hiding it from the divine, and trapped a great beast to guard it.
Though when it came to the identity of that monster, the image had faded with time, not allowing Annabeth to receive any clues of what she might find ahead, but at least she now knew the statue was sure to be here. So she took one of the torches from the wall out of caution and followed the corridor, arriving at a bronze door similar to the ones at the entrance to the Curia Julia.
As she opened it and entered, the door slammed shut behind her, not unlocking even when she tried to open it. She had no choice but to follow this to the end.
She turned, returning to view the room she was in. It was a square room with a low ceiling, made of brick, and featured a large glass mirror occupying one of the far walls.
Annabeth's first thought was that it resembled a tablinum - a Roman study. Shelves of ancient scrolls lined the walls, some partially burnt, others pristine, their Greek and Latin titles written in faded ink. A pair of stone benches flanked a central table, atop which rested a set of wax tablets and a dusty quill. Behind the table stood the intricately framed mirror, floor-to-ceiling.
Its frame was imperial bronze, etched with olive branches and spears. It was undoubtedly out of place for such a room. Annabeth's brow furrowed. She passed it slowly, glancing at her reflection; it was indeed a mirror, and nothing seemed wrong. Still, with her knowledge of architecture, she knew such a thing shouldn't be in a Tablinum, but there was no need to focus on the mirror as she located a wooden door that she believed was her exit, so while the rooms seemed strange, she had other matters to attend to.
She reached for the handle, trying to open it, but it didn't budge. She tried shouldering the door, putting all her weight into the attempt, thinking maybe it was rusted and just needed to be forced open, but it still didn't budge.
With a hiss, glowing words carved themselves into the wall beside the door, silver lines spreading like cracks in the stone:
Two worlds, bound - one of truth, one of lies. Only when truth becomes false, the way shall be revealed.
Annabeth read the words and was confused, thinking through many possibilities before realising something: if there was a riddle, there was a puzzle, and if there was a puzzle, there needed to be something off about the room to start the puzzle. And there was one immediate thought.
The Mirror.
She studied the mirror, finding nothing of note in the frame, but when she examined the reflection, she noticed.
The reflection was wrong.
Nothing glaringly obvious, but when she focused on the details, she noticed. A painting on the right wall hung at an angle in the mirror, but was perfectly straight in the room. A scroll on the shelf above the bench was slightly burned in the reflection, but in real life, it was pristine. Even the wax tablets - in the mirror, one was open, with ink visible. But here, both were closed.
And then she saw it.
A figure.
Behind her reflection.
Hooded. Cloaked. Standing still.
Her breath froze in her chest. She spun around.
Nothing.
She turned back to the reflection.
The figure was closer, shuffling towards her, hand outstretched, and the robe was pulled up enough to reveal a ghastly pale, almost skeletal hand reaching for her.
Annabeth stepped away from the mirror, and shifted to place the table between her reflection and the cloaked figure, seeing it pause then shuffle around the table Annabeth allowed herself some time to breathe, it seemed the claoked figure was slow, so she could always outrun it, and though she didn't know what would happen when it touched her, it certainly wouldn't be good.
She glanced at the glowing riddle again, running through some possibilities before confirming her next decision, matching reality with the image in the reflection.
She reached over the table and opened one of the wax tablets, matching it with the reflection, all while keeping sight of the cloaked figure, making sure it wouldn't reach for her extended arms.
She ran to the painting and adjusted it to match the slant in the reflection; fortunately, it was behind her. Although she was nervous about turning her back on the reflection and losing sight of the figure, this adjustment was necessary. Her heart hammered. She glanced again, correctly positioning the painting. She caught sight of the figure; it had moved around the table and was closing in on her.
She turned her head toward the real space. Still nothing. She could hear nothing. No footsteps. No breathing. Not even the dust on the ground was disturbed.
Yet every time she glanced at the mirror, the figure was closer - one slow, relentless step at a time.
Annabeth moved faster.
She ran around the table, near where the figure first appeared, and grabbed the scroll. She looked around for a candle to burn the scroll so that she could match the reflection, but found none. Then, she scolded herself for her stupidity; she was holding a torch. It seemed that in her panic, she had forgotten; she turned, and in the reflection, the figure had followed, once again coming closer. She quickly started burning the scroll, being careful not to reduce it to ashes, but enough to match the reflection, then moved on to other small discrepancies she had noticed.
She found a vase turned the wrong way, a chair misaligned. She hurried to do the corrections before the cloaked figure caught her.
Then she made the final correction.
For one breathless second, nothing happened.
Then the room groaned. The mirror flashed blinding silver. The words on the wall vanished.
The door clicked open.
She turned to look.
The figure in the mirror paused a few feet away from her, no longer moving, before it gradually dropped its arm; then it slowly started to turn to dust.
Annabeth released a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.
She walked to the door, her hand trembling only slightly as she gripped the handle and stepped into the next challenge.