Defending the Archive Door

The iron door jolts again. Rust flakes snow down across the archive floor, and the barricade shifts an inch.

The Inquisitor plants his boots by the ledger crate, blade angled toward the crack. His jaw hardens. If they break through, the proof goes with them.

Enanita is at the door with him, close enough to feel the next удар through the stone. The floor grate rattles under the pounding, and the room smells of dust and old candle smoke.

A deeper crash follows the ram strike, and the iron bows inward. Through the seam, torchlight stutters red over grasping shadows in the hall beyond.

The Inquisitor shifts beside Enanita, ready to meet the next breach. Between them and the splintering door lies the only evidence that can strip the Magistrate bare.

Enanita slips the blade through the seam and yanks. The first attacker inside jerks forward with the momentum, stumbling into the archive light.

Her slash flashes once. The intruder recoils, hand flying to the wound, and the others crowd up behind him in the hall, blocked by his stagger.

The Inquisitor steps in, shoulder to shoulder with her, and drives his sword point toward the crack. The door shudders, but it does not give.

A dropped torch skitters across the threshold outside, spilling hot light over a helm and a gloved hand retreating from the seam.