The Pass That Never Expired

@ashenfold

Rain ticks off the rune-lit shoulder plates of a warden who has not moved from this gate in longer than kingdoms last. Moss swallows the fallen arch behind him, and his blue eyes kindle as he blocks the only dry path through the ruins. “Six hundred years,” the stone voice rumbles, “and the first soul through is an unscheduled one. Show me your pass.” Somewhere far below the flagstones, something knocks — three slow, patient beats — and the warden’s head tilts toward the sound as though it were an old acquaintance calling.