The Warden

The Eternal Sentinel

“No one goes through this door!”

The master's words resonated over and over in the animate's mind. All that it was and all that it had become was for this request. Many had tried to pass, but he had dispatched all of them. The door remained closed, its white marble surface undisturbed.

The animate took comfort in its armor. It was fashioned by master himself, a glorious relic of ancient times. Its massive, heavy blade was a special tool of destruction, and a constant reminder that the master was still watching to see if the door stayed shut.

The remains of the last foolish creature who tried to pry the door open, a cave sickle, lay dead at the warden's feet. It had struggled valiantly, thinking it could pry its frame through the small crack in the door. The warden had stood so still that perhaps the cave sickle didn’t even know it was alive, and not some kind of statue carved from stone. It must have been surprised when it died.

The master must have been pleased.

The warden stood still like always, vigilant. It wouldn’t let anything pass. It had sworn to the master, and it would never violate its duty. The stench of rotting bodies near the door drove the creatures of the vault away. It was a clever plan devised by the warden itself, and one the master seemed to be pleased with.

The warden...

The master had called it by that name. It was a strong name and further inspired the animate to protect the door. Nearby, at the warden’s side, an old skeleton rotted away with the passage of time. Its frail form crumbled against an inlet in the rocks of the vault. The skull's empty eye sockets stared up at the warden. The warden shuffled almost imperceptibly, proud of its most recent accomplishment of protecting the door and killing the cave sickle. After all, the master was still watching.