4338.210 · July 29, 2018 AD
The Door in the Mountain
Joel thought he understood his captors. Knives and mules. Hand signals and luminescent thread. People who'd built something ancient in isolation, far from the technology he knew. Then the path crested, and the mountain opened, and every assumption crumbled. There's a door ahead. Ancient symbols frame it. But the metal reinforcing the stone isn't ancient at all. Neither is the voice crackling through the speaker.
The path grows steeper. The grey labours beneath him, breath coming harder, picking its way up terrain that tilts toward something Joel can't see. The sky narrows to a ribbon. The cold seeps from the rocks themselves.
His captors move without hesitation. Their clothing glows brighter against the gathering dark—patterns of light that outline each figure, that turn the formation into something almost beautiful. They know this path. Have walked it countless times.
Joel is cargo. Cargo doesn't need to understand.
But then the entrance appears, and understanding becomes impossible anyway.
The arch is massive. Twenty metres wide. Carved with symbols worn smooth by centuries of wind and time. Ancient stonework that speaks of generations who built something meant to last.
And framed in steel. Modern steel. Bolted with industrial precision. Electric lights humming beside organic luminescence. A panel where the Capitaine speaks clipped words and receives a response through speakers.
These people fight with blades. Travel on mules. Communicate in a language blended over centuries.
So why does their door have motors? Why do cables run along the ceiling beyond?
Joel is about to find out.
