The stone door loomed over us. Hinges of what looked like iron were bigger around than my thigh. This antechamber was lit by crystals mounted like torches on the wall, emitting their own light from somewhere within.

“When we enter,” said Benji, “it will be hot—much hotter than this.”

Lilly and I groaned simultaneously then looked at each other. Clearly, we were soulmates.

“But you won’t notice it,” said the monk. “I’ll burn holy dust, and its smoke will make everything…” He searched for a word. “…unimportant. Through this door, you’ll enter the shrine at one end, I’ll be waiting for you at the other. You’ll see what I mean.”

“What does the shrine look like?” I said.

“That,” said the monk, “is something words will never do justice to.” Experimentally, he dragged the Morl by his ropes a few feet. “He’s not heavy. I’ll drag him to the other side myself.”

Asuana handed over Sir Mau’s sword to Benji and said, “Do not take your eyes off of him. And do not listen to him. Under no circumstances should you let him go, no matter what he says.”

“With all due respect, Asuana,” said the monk, “do I look like an idiot?”

Sword in one hand, he gently touched the door’s glowing symbol with the other. Somehow, it swung open noiselessly and effortlessly, without the screech of ancient metal that I expected. Red light filled the tunnel. The monk led the way, dragging the Morl behind him.

Asuana followed first. I felt Lilly’s sweaty fingers entwine with mine. Together, we followed Asuana’s small form into a room that dwarfed everything.

***

The heat and magnificence of the shrine possessed my hand—propelling it into my pocket. The pencil and paper shook in my sweating fingers. Huge, I wrote—then crossed it out. Beautiful, I tried. Horrible. I crossed it all out. A draft of hot air soared out of the abyss, fluttering the wrinkled scrap of paper. Ultimately, I crumpled up the half-dozen pitiful attempts and threw the ball over the edge of the bridge.

The shrine wasn’t just in the column of a volcano. It was the column, in its vertical entirety, massive cylindrical magnificence from the rim of the geological structure down to the core of the earth. The tunnel had transformed into a narrow bridge that shot out over an endless drop. The black clouds of the sky stretched overhead, only to be imprisoned by the circular rim of the volcano miles up. A constant updraft made me feel like I could spread my hands and fly. The heat baked my skin and dried my eyes.

But all of that seemed unimportant compared to the volcanic walls—a mile-wide, impossibly deep cylinder. Every inch was a carved tribute to long forgotten gods. Twisted faces flowed in the stones, seeming to move. Or maybe that was a hallucination caused by the foul-smelling gasses that gusted up out of the depths. Rocky dragons fought colossal panthers. The roar in my ears seemed to be coming from the carved mouths. An entire history of battles, lovers, kings, paupers, wizards, and warriors wrapped around me and made my own notebook, my own way of recording history, seem like the stupidest object in the universe. The faces carved in the walls had been baked black over centuries of exposure to the fury latent in the center of the earth. Their eyes, though, were wide and piercing—set with crystalline pupils. Volcanic walls twinkled like a starscape. The red glow brightened as the clouds in the sky darkened—giving the crystals a ruby glimmer.

In awe of the scene, I barely noticed Benji light an incense burner and drag the Morl the rest of the way across the bridge, through another stone door. As we huddled near the incense burner, the rocks came to life. I saw a dragon blink. Did it blink? I wondered. Or did I?

“Did anyone see that?” said Lilly. Her voice was slurred, and her eyelids looked heavy.

I thought about answering but realized I had no desire to open my mouth—no desire to move my body at all. In fact, I suddenly could think of nothing except lying down at the edge of the bridge. So I laid myself on the warm stone.

I looked for the dragon, but it was nowhere to be found. In its place—or what I thought was its place—was a stone panther, ruby eyes watching me. It was as tall as a building—and the rest of its body was lost in the distance beneath the bridge. The depths of my mind rose upward, born by the volcano’s updraft, drugging my consciousness. The colossal stone panther licked its lips with a black tongue. Igneous rocks grated together—a grinding rumble that shook the bridge. My eyes were closing, no matter how much I fought. I have to see! I thought. Yet when I closed my eyes, I discovered that I could still see; my eyelids were transparent. My lips tingled. My face was numb. The rocky panther snarled, showing black teeth. When it pounced, I tried to scramble backwards—but it was too fast. One hundred tons of rock detached from the rest of the flowing shapes and crashed toward me. I saw down its deep gullet—into the molten core of its body. The stone fangs closed around me.