that no normal person could ever be. And having to become that person was somehow connected to finding his son? That wasn’t fair. That was crazy!
Yet, something felt... Something tugged from within. Was he missing something?
"Come look at this," Rinacht beckoned. He pointed at another set of stairs at the other side of the room. Instead of leading up, this one lead down. Like the other, it had an ornately carved pedestal that marked the beginning of the railing. And, like the other, it had the same Token carved in the marble that adorned its top. But it wasn't clean white. This was a semi translucent purple. Its color spread into the white marble below in thick, dark veins that thinned with distance from the top.
Handers peered down the steps. At the bottom he could see a small landing and another open doorway leading to another room. A faint yellow glow spilled out of the room below and onto the lower landing.
"I think I know where we are," Rinacht explained. "This stair case," He approached it slowly, running his hand in the air over the railing, careful not to touch it. He turned to room behind them. "The markings on the wall. The circle of statues. It all fits."
"Fits what?" Handers asked.
"The Keepers."
"Who?" Handers's asked.
"You don't understand," Rinacht stepped away from the stairs cautiously. "This room," he looked around, "this place is supposed to be symbolic. I never thought it actually..."
"Symbolic of what?"
"The Keepers are supposed to have created the Reds. It's beyond..." He paused.
Handers stared at him. "How do you know all this?"
"I think we've found their temple." Rinacht said.
"Don't tell me my Butler's a religious scholar." Handers jested.
Rinacht scowled. "My Grandpa had an affection for traditional Petra mythology."
"So what's down the stairs, according to this mythology?" Handers asked.
"In the myth people come to this place when they have problems they can't solve on their own. When the complexities of life get in the way of getting things done, things that need to be done, sometimes the only way around is through brute force.” He punched his fist for effect. “If you believe your cause is just, then you have the inherent right to claim the power concealed below."
Handers raised an eyebrow. "And who determines who's cause is just and who's isn't?" He asked.
"You are your own judge." Rinacht shot back quickly anticipating the question.
Handers eyed Rinacht for a moment then moved towards the stairs. He put a hand on the pedestal and took a step down.
His vision fogged then burned to white. As the white faded Handers saw himself standing in a dark room staring at the back of what appeared to be a large marble throne. He watched himself approach the back of the throne then cautiously move around to the side.
Sitting in the throne, with its body slumped forward, was an old and tattered figure. It had the same smooth hairless skin as the temple statues. It wasn't Petra, Zo, or Botann. This one wore a large purple crown and held a scepter loosely in its rested arm. It seemed wholly unaware of his presence.
He watched himself sneak up to the side of the figure and put his hands on the throne. With a swift move, he lifted the crown off his head.
The figure jolted up right, roaring and hissing wildly. It held Handers in a fiery stare as he stood there holding the stolen crown. Then, with blinding speed, it lunged at him.
The vision changed and he found himself watching a Botann militia standing guard over a bridge into Shishkameen.
He swooped down to the ground level and saw himself push into the crowd of soldiers. They turned as they saw him then stumbled backward in panic. Those that could, ran in terror. He quickly overtook one of the soldiers and tossed him to the side like a rag doll. He caught another by the tendrils and threw another into the air.
The crowd of soldiers separated in their flight, revealing an officer standing in the middle of the bridge. Handers recognized him immediately. It was the Botan who tortured him in the swamp, who wrapped him in vines, ripped the skin off his arms and almost squeezed him to death. Suddenly, he found his hands in a tight grip around the officers neck.
Everything vanished. In its place rugged mountain landscape with sharp bare rocks lifted up to fill his view. A sea of soldiers, a vast Petra army, blanketed the jagged land as far as he