This was it. A way in. The thought was a prayer, a song, a desperate, defiant cry against the darkness. Isadora looked at Orrenai's earnest, hopeful face, and for the first time since this nightmare began, she did not feel entirely alone. She had a companion in this madness, a fellow soul fighting his way back to the light.
She nodded, her throat too tight for words, and turned to the ancient iron door.
She raised the obsidian key. Its unnatural cold seeped into her bones, a stark contrast to the warmth of the hope that was a wild, fluttering bird in her chest. She took a deep, steadying breath and slid the serpent's head into the matching lock.
It turned.
