The temple was empty. Not a soul was present, from the servants to the priestesses. Yes, it had been necessary for them to incapacitate the guards who stood sentry at the gates, but no one else had to be injured aside from those men who had been knocked unconscious and tied up before being transported to a secure location. This was good. The fewer casualties, the better.

Still, despite the ease with which his plan was being carried out, he felt a twinge of anxiety. The temple floors creaked beneath his feet in some places, each sound like a warning. Go no further! If he had been a less rational man, Declan might have heeded the threats.

Two of his soldiers behind him, the personal guards who were the closest things he had to a friend, jumped back suddenly as a statue toppled over. Shards of marble scattered across the labyrinthine mosaic floor as a thunderous crash reached their ears, causing Mark to yelp in alarm. 

"What was that?" Luke asked, his gaze darting between the shattered stone and Declan. Above the wisps of his mustache, his brown eyes almost looked frightened, like a pinned rabbit wanting to flee.

Declan had to admit that he was not a foolish man and so, he did not believe that the wind could so easily fell a statue. But he had no explanation for the event, frightening as it was. He could not rule out the supernatural, for that was what they were here to find.

"Perhaps, we are not alone as we thought we were. I am sure you are both armed, gentlemen, with swords. Use them." Declan patted the hilt of his, now, where it hung from his belt.

Mark, the more intellectual of the two, pushed his spectacles up his nose as he looked at the empty pedestal. "Statues do not simply fall over on their own."

"How astute of you, Mark," Declan said, the unintended sharpness in his tone reminding him of the very reason that he did not consider the guards his true friends--or why those were in short supply. "What do you suggest caused it, then? A stiff breeze?"

Luke kept his blade up as he cautiously neared the alcove where the statue had previously rested. His blond cap of hair stuck out in tufts beneath his helmet, making him appear like a baby bird that had fallen from its nest. "Isn't everyone up the hill, at the spring festival?"

"Someone could have suspected something and stayed behind," Declan pointed out as he, too, took out his shield and went to investigate. The leather strap of the shield was tight against his forearm, its bronzed surface reflecting back at him in distorted images. "Jack could have informed on us."

"The man has no tongue," Mark pointed out, holding his dagger out in front of him in a practiced stance as the three men neared the statue. "Who could he tell?"

Suddenly, he felt a point of sharp pain searing his leg, almost like a burn. "The two of you continue your search without me. I shall go a different way. We can cover more ground in shorter time."

"Are you sure?" Luke asked, a concerned furrow forming between his brows.

"Positive," Declan replied, gritting his teeth as the pain grew stronger. He did not want to--no, he could not--show weakness. Not to his men, and certainly not to Mark and Luke, who were still boys. "We shall meet back here in three hours at sunset."

The two men nodded, saluting, and they went their separate ways. The minute they were out of sight, he ducked into an alcove. Declan sat on the small stone bench, drawing the curtains tight before him, and massaged the muscle of his thigh before he realized it was not a pain that came from his own doing or even from his own body. It was the keys he had taken from the market, which he fumbled, cursing, and dropped to the floor.

They gave off an ominous red glow and felt hot to the touch, as though heated by a fire. He hissed as he picked them up, feeling them scorch his fingertips. Declan slipped on his gloves, clutching the keys in his hand. He'd known the vendor was a fraud and a liar but was he also a magician or a sorcerer? Were these the keys he had been sent to look for? He uttered a silent childhood prayer. Stars, guide me.

None of this made any sense. He gripped the keys more tightly, fisting them in his hands, and felt them... spin. They pointed him toward a hallway, as though the keys were some sort of compass needle directing him toward true north. Declan analyzed his decisions: if he followed the directions of the keys, they could be enchanted by someone who wanted to hurt him, kill him or even a part of the magic that must have been imbued into the temple.

Yet somehow, this felt... right. He had never been one to believe in things such as intuition or emotions, but he believed in two things: rationality and magic. Growing up, his friends and tutors had always disdained his simultaneous faith in two seemingly opposed subjects, but he had never viewed it that way. Magic was not orderly, perhaps, in the way that most people thought science was. But it ordered the world. It made it beautiful and harmonious. The magic that pulsed in that wrought piece of metal right now felt like a new beginning. A fresh start. A grand adventure.

So, he followed them down the corridor. Declan's footsteps echoed against the tiled floors, the breezy curtains billowing with more force than usual as they snapped against the arched windows that were set between white marble pillars. Grey skies, smoky haze, and the distant orange glow of fire were visible through the glass panes. When he reached the end, the keys directed him to the right and down a flight of stairs.

Torches flickered as he watched the steps descend in a spiral formation, taking him deeper and deeper into the heart of the temple. He felt almost as if he were venturing into the jaws of a tiger, facing uncertain danger. But face it he would.