"The Key of Oblivion"

XII

The air in the castle was thick and varied, like a layered cake of eras and sounds. From the courtyard, bathed in neon floodlights, thundered the powerful chords of a rock band, gathered by hundreds of young townspeople. Electric guitar riffs pounded against the ancient walls, mingling with the cries of the ecstatic crowd. Meanwhile, from the narrow windows of the monastery tower, a steady, monotonous chant drifted - a solemn service was underway, and flickering candles cast the dancing shadows of dark-robed parishioners on the walls.

This division played into the hands of all who had come here with hidden agendas. Most of the exhibition halls were closed. Only a few corridors remained open to the public; the rest were plunged in semi-darkness. The caretakers were few, and most of them had either left for the concert or joined the service.

Lothrip Longreath acted with calculated cruelty. He arrived two hours before midnight, leaving the bulk of his men in the concert crowd in case Alan and his team decided to make a break for it. He had only three men with him: his loyal bodyguard, Marlowe's terrified henchman, and a bribed caretaker who was nervously fiddling with the keys to the service quarters. "Faster, damn you," Longreath hissed as they crept down the deserted corridor deeper into the closed part of the castle. He didn't understand the subtleties, but he knew he had to reach his destination before midnight.

Alice was one step ahead of everyone else, hiding in a niche behind a massive statue. She had calculated everything down to the last detail. During the day, disguised as an enthusiastic tourist, she had infiltrated the castle and hidden the artifact in a secluded alcove near the gallery with the bas-relief. Now, returning in the evening, she bided her time, remaining invisible as a true shadow. She knew the guard routes and which doors remained unlocked. Having made her way into a closed gallery, she hid, keeping quiet until midnight. She had everything: the artifact, the knowledge, the moment. All she had to do was bide her time.

Alan, Olga, and Jake chose the riskiest, but also the most discreet route - through one of the old underground passages, known only to local historians and the occasional explorer. Using an old map of the sewer tunnels that Jake had found in the city archives, they entered the castle dungeons an hour and a half before midnight. The air here was stale and damp, smelling of mold and centuries-old dust. "I think we're under the east wing," Jake whispered, checking the compass on his PDA. "The main thing is, we're not under the stage of that idiotic concert," Alan grumbled, squeezing through the narrow opening. Olga walked silently, her pistol at the ready. They knew they were heading into the unknown, but there was nowhere to retreat.

Everything came down to this moment. The gallery, where the bas-relief had lain silent for centuries, became an arena where the past, the present, and something ancient that knew no time collided.

The air seemed to freeze. Alice, standing before the ancient stone, held the "Key of Oblivion" in her hands. The dull green crystal glowed faintly in the near-total darkness, and she prepared to hold it to the very crack the shepherd had pointed to.

At that moment, two groups appeared from opposite ends of the gallery, almost simultaneously. On the right were Lothrip Longreath, his hulking bodyguard, and his pale henchman, Marlowe. On the left were Alan, Olga, and Jake.

The tension reached boiling point in an instant. Olga and Arkton simultaneously raised their pistols, the barrels of which were aimed at each other. Alan and Longreath locked gazes like two tigers about to spring, their bodies tensed for combat. Even Jake and Marlowe, clearly neither of them fighters, clutched their pitiful "weapons" - a stun gun and a folding knife.

"Stop it!" Alice said sharply, but without shouting, her gaze never leaving the bas-relief. "If a fight starts, no one will gain anything. Let's finish what we came here for first, and then we can sort this out."

Alan grunted skeptically, but nodded to Olga, who lowered the gun slightly. Longreath, gritting his teeth, snapped to Arkton, "Don't touch him yet."

And then, from the depths of the gallery, from behind Alice, a new group emerged. Ten heavily armed mercenaries with cold eyes parted to allow a wheelchair to pass. The Puppeteer, entwined with wires, slowly rolled into the center of the hall.

"This artifact belongs to me," creaked a synthesized voice, filled with icy triumph. "You were all my pawns. And the secret of the Oblivioned Shadows will soon be in my hands."

He gave a silent order, and his mercenaries took a step toward Alice. But Longreath, seeing a true enemy, barked at Arkton:

"Protect her!"

Alan, meeting Longreath's gaze, nodded. For a moment, the enemies became allies. The two sworn adversaries charged the mercenaries. Jake and Marlow, forgetting their enmity, stood on either side of Olga, who, having changed her position, began to methodically shoot back, covering the attackers, Alice and Arkton.

A furious exchange of gunfire, interspersed with hand-to-hand combat, ensued. Bullets ricocheted off the stone walls. Arkton, shielding Alice, took a bullet to the shoulder and fell to one knee with a stifled groan.

Alice, still clutching the artifact, looked at the bas-relief, at the woman with the sun in her womb. "Not he who asks will the secret yield..." her lips whispered. "But he who sees the sun within the veil..."

She hesitated, and that moment of indecision proved fatal. Two mercenaries pushed Morlow and Jake back, and another managed to wound Olga several times. Arcton was hit the hardest - if not for his bulletproof vest, he would have been a sieve by now.

"No!" Alice screamed, her voice filled with desperation and determination. "I won't let you get an answer!"

She threw the "Key of Oblivion" hard onto the stone floor.

"Stop!" the speaker managed to wheeze.

With a dry, ringing crack, the crystal shattered into hundreds of sharp fragments. A bright green flash blinded everyone for a moment, then faded, leaving only darkness and silence.

And from this silence, from the very walls, from the shadows behind the columns, they appeared. Not monks - their movements were too smooth and silent, and the silhouettes beneath their robes seemed not quite human. Oblivioned Shadows. They appeared as if out of thin air and, in a matter of seconds, immobilized all of the Puppeteer's mercenaries. Their actions were swift, precise, and unopposed. Soon, the only person left in the gallery besides the heroes was the Puppeteer in his chair, surrounded by silent guardians of the very mystery he so yearned to unravel.

The silence in the gallery grew thick and ringing, broken only by the ragged breathing of the wounded bodyguard. Arkton, pale as a sheet, clutched the bleeding wound on his stomach with one hand, the other still clutching his pistol. His glassy gaze was fixed on Longreath, expressing not pain but a readiness to die on command. Longreath himself dropped to one knee beside him, casting aside everything - both rage and lust for possession. He silently removed his jacket and tried to press it to the wound, his usually cold eyes fixed intently on his soldier's face.

Jake and Marlow, casting aside their former hostility, helped Olga to her feet. She gritted her teeth, clutching her wounded shoulder. Alan stood a little distance away, his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze, full of familiar irritation, slid over the silent figures of the Oblivious Shadows, but there was no challenge in it, only wary curiosity.

The Puppeteer's speaker crackled, trying to produce a sound, but one of the Oblivious Shadows raised its hand - and the speaker choked on static, falling silent forever.

"As was said, the Gates of the Oblivious Shadows are open. Do you wish to descend into the Darkness?"

Olga and Mark exchanged puzzled glances.

Only Alice, standing closest to the site of the artifact's shattered remains, nodded understandingly.

"Into the Darkness?" Jake asked, his voice trembling.

Alan spread his hands.

"Into what Darkness?" he muttered.

"Into the Darkness that guards the truth," came the reply.

Alice took a step forward, her gaze clear and determined.

"I wish to descend into the Darkness that guards the truth."

The shadow pointed at the bas-relief. A stone slab depicting an arched bridge slid silently aside, revealing a black, bottomless pit from which emanated the scent of cold and centuries-old dust. Alice, casting a final glance at the others, stepped into it and vanished into the darkness.

"And you?" a voice called out to the others.

"We're leaving," Alan said irritably, but without challenge.

The shadow silently pointed to the side passage from which the Puppeteer and his pack had emerged earlier. Alan nodded and took a step, but suddenly stopped and turned to Longreath, still kneeling next to the dying Arcton.

The shadow also turned to Longreath.

He slowly raised his head and spoke in a quiet but firm voice:

"I want Arkton to live."

"What about the treasure?" Alan asked, his voice more puzzled than mocking.

Longreath looked at him wearily but sincerely:

"There's no treasure here."