Mike Winters's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Mike reached the ruins by dusk and found the first sealed door waiting in the clearing. Moss filled every groove of its carved symbols. The arch loomed twice his height, packed with script he could not read. He dropped his pack and pulled out the birch cipher key he had traded three months of wages for. He held it up to the inscriptions. The symbols on the key did not match. Not one. He turned it over, tried again, and felt the cold truth settle in his chest. He could pick a lock. He could swing a blade. He could not read this. Mike circled the door, hunting for a seam he could pry. Near the base, half-hidden under a flat stone, he found a weathered notebook. Pressed leaves marked its pages. Ink sketches showed this exact arch, the symbols copied out in neat rows, with small translations scratched beside them. The mud on the cover was still soft. Someone else was here. Someone who could read what he could not. Mike closed the notebook, tucked it under his arm, and turned toward the tree line to find them.