Key of the Threshold Keeper

Robin Hood leads them off the stone circle and into the trees, where the trunks stand close as prison bars. The key pulses at Dax's side, each throb answering with a low shiver in the ground.

Ahead, the bracken parts by itself. Wet earth folds inward, and a narrow seam of moonlight opens between two roots like a door trying to remember its shape.

A tall, antlered shadow slides out of the seam, half bark and half bone-white mist. The air chills around it, and the forest goes silent as if listening to a lord speak.

The creature fixes on Dax's pack and begins to lean toward him, drawn by the glow. The hunt is no longer hidden. The company must strike now, or the woods swallow them first.

Dax steps in, shield first. The threshold-keeper recoils as steel rings off its antlered frame, and the root seam shudders with a dry, startled crack.

He drives forward again, sword flashing under the moonlight. The creature staggers back into the split roots, its misty shoulders folding as the key’s glow slips out of its reach.

Hearn snaps his bow higher, but the shot is no longer needed. The threshold-keeper gives ground, dragging frost and bark with it as the opening in the roots shrinks to a narrow wound.

Dax's final shove sends the creature clear of the seam. The moonlit opening slams half shut behind it, and the forest breathes again, though the key still pulses like a warning heartbeat.

Dax presses into the split roots, and the wounded seam parts under his weight. Cold earth gives way to a narrow hollow, breathless and black, where moonlight knifes through in thin strands.

The Threshold-Keeper tumbles free of the closing wound, scrambling sideways into the open wood. Frost shakes from their limbs, and their antlered silhouette twists toward the deeper dark.

Hearn lowers his bow a fraction, eyes fixed on the hollow. The bone charm at his throat flickers once, answering the key’s pulse.

Robin Hood shifts to Dax’s flank, one hand up for silence, the other pointing into the exposed roots. Beyond the seam, something vast stirs below the forest floor.

Dax lifts two fingers, then sweeps them toward the hollow. The signal is plain enough for the others to read, go in, now.

Robin Hood answers first, stepping down into the split roots with his shoulders turned sideways. Hearn closes in behind him, bow tucked tight, the bone charm brushing his throat as it flashes once.

The Exiled Prince follows last, jaw set, one hand covering the glow in Dax’s pack as if to hush it. The key pulses anyway, and cold light licks the hollow walls.

Dax ducks under the root lip and slides into the earth. Damp soil tears at his cloak, and a sharp root scrapes his forearm while he keeps his shield angled forward.

Behind them, the seam tightens with a wet creak, half-closing around the moonlight. From outside, the Threshold-Keeper gives a frightened hiss somewhere in the dark wood.