There is someone coming. Old eyes open, old lungs breathe stale air. Old bones pop and creak but obey, and I rise.

In the wall, a carved out hollow has wood, cloth, and oil. The wood is still fresh, the cloth is still soft, even the oil has not dried. Old fingers stiff and numb struggle to make a torch, until the fire catches and light floods the room. I am blinded, but wait patiently until I can see.

The small chamber is the same as it was. Smooth rock floor and walls, and empty, save for the small mat I sat upon. The stone door remains sealed. Opposite the door, an opening in the wall reveals stairs leading up. I take a deep, wheezing breath, and dust dances in the torchlight as I limp up the bloodied limestone steps.



I emerge from the doorway, and the cave opens up before me. I see people, the light of their torches barely repelling the pressing darkness, and they see me as well. They shout to each other in a language I do not understand. I remain before the path down, my torch held high, as the three of them walk amongst the bones toward me.

They talk hushedly to each other as they approach, cautious. I see it is a woman and two men, all with torches and dressed in strange clothing. One of the men holds an instrument of wood and metal pointed at me, and the others let him walk first.

They come to a stop ten steps away, and the man speaks up in a harsh tone, asking something. I do not understand, and shake my head slowly. I know it is futile, but I raise my own voice, raspy and dry, and say the words.

“This is a holy place –” I am interrupted by the woman, who barks something to the man in front. He repeats what he said before, and I shake my head again.

“Leave,” I say, and I can tell they do not understand.

The woman urges on the man again, and he raises his device and walks toward me. I nod, and fly to meet him, sword drawn. Lightning flashes and thunder claps, and when it stops the man is dead. In one motion, I pull my sword out of him and leap at the woman. She screams as I cut her down, and then I turn to the third. He has dropped his torch, and is pleading in the strange language of theirs, with his open hands held up in front of him. His lifeless body joins his companions’ on the ground, and I wipe my sword before sheathing it.

The cave is silent once again. I look around, before noticing the holes in my chest and how much they hurt. I grit my teeth, and turn around. “This is a holy place. You who disturb it shall find only death,” reads the warning above the door, and I descend once more. My breathing is heavier now, as if the air is escaping through my wounds. I stain the limestone steps further.

In the small chamber, I stumble forward and fall. The pain is overwhelming, and in this moment I want nothing more than rest. But I crawl forward to the mat, and drag myself to my knees. I place a broken hand on the sealed door, and raise my head.

“I do my duty. Anapa, give me strength.” I feel my flesh twisting and wounds closing. The bleeding stops, but the pain remains.

“Your servant, now and all eternity.” I lower my hand, and close my eyes.