As she dangled there, gasping for breath, Zeni realized how massive the figure was – they stood at least eight feet tall, towering above her like a living colossus.

What alarmed Zeni the most was the eerie silence that enveloped the figure. They'd made no sound while they slept, but that wasn't exactly odd, but even now, was silent as she was held suspended, a cold, unyielding grip around her neck.

Zeni weakly clawed at the armored hand and let out a string of choked, panicked curse words in a desperate attempt to free herself.

"Shit! Damn! Ass! Buttholes!!"

Summoning her Ka, she managed to unleash a blast of fire at the figure, hoping to break their hold on her. The Ignition of Ra flared up, but without being able to take a deep breath, she knew the effect was weakened. However, fire was fire, after all, and it was better than nothing.

To her dismay, the fire attack merely bounced off the armor, harmlessly ricocheting into the chamber's darkness. The figure tilted its helmeted head to the side as if studying Zeni curiously. They were still noiseless as the grave, adding to the unnerving atmosphere.

After a tense moment, the figure slowly lowered Zeni to the ground, releasing its grip on her throat. She collapsed to her knees, coughing and gasping for air, her heart pounding. As she struggled to regain her composure, she wondered what had just happened – and what the hell this guy was up to?

Rubbing her sore neck, Zeni coughed again and glared up at the towering figure before her.

"Why the hell did you do that?" she snapped, then her tone softened slightly. "I mean, I'm sorry for startling you, but that's no excuse for trying to strangle the life out of me!"

The individual in the armor remained silent, simply staring down at her as she vented her frustration. Their unwavering gaze made Zeni feel increasingly foolish, and she realized that her anger was getting her nowhere.

Deciding to change tactics, Zeni took a deep breath and attempted a more diplomatic approach.

"Alright, let's start over," she said, sounding calm and composed despite her incredible frustration and anxiety. "My name is Zeni. I didn't mean to disturb you; I'm just exploring this dungeon. What's your name?"

Zeni felt a growing sense of unease as she waited for a response. The figure's speechlessness was unwholesome, and she wondered why they were unable or unwilling to communicate with her. Still, she held her ground.

Zeni launched into a torrent of words, her excitement making her a bit tongue-tied.

"So, how long have you been in this dungeon? It's, uh, pretty cool, isn't it? I didn't expect to find someone else here—I mean, I kinda thought that would be a possibility. Still, I figured I'd run into, like, an energetic young Rahhalah or perhaps a mega-attractive explorer with a penchant for losing their clothing at the most inconvenient, sexy times. Wait! Are you a Rahhalah? You probably would be, wouldn't you? Not exactly what I was hoping for, but, hey, the armor is cool."

She glanced up at the gateways standing ominously and rudely at one side of the chamber.

"Do you know how to get through those big-ass doorways? They're pretty impressive but also incredibly intimidating. I wonder what kind of mechanisms they use? Maybe there's a hidden lever somewhere or a secret password like 'open sesame' or 'pineapples' or something. Sorry, I'm rambling. I do that when I'm nervous or excited. And, honestly, right now, I'm both. So, um, any tips or advice you could give me would be greatly appreciated."

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She paused to take a breath.

"Why the hell don't you talk? The strong silent thing is only cute for so long—after a while, a gal needs someone to chat with!"

After enduring her verbal barrage, the armored figure finally seemed to have had enough. They grabbed their pack and moved away from Zeni without a word. Undeterred, she followed them, baffled.

"Wait! Where are you going?" she asked, but the figure remained silent.

As they walked, the individual eventually stopped and pointed to an altar high above on a precarious-looking stone…catwalk of sorts. Zeni squinted up at it, then turned to the armored figure.

"What's that?"

The figure merely pointed at one of the doorways. Zeni's eyes widened in understanding.

"Is that the way to open it?" she asked.

The individual offered her nothing.

Zeni sighed.

"Man, you're really into this whole 'air of mystery' thing, aren't you?" she asked.

In the dim light, she took a moment to get a better impression of the enormous individual taking up all the breathing space in this chamber. It was odd, wasn't it? The armor. It didn't really fit with the motif she'd grown accustomed to, for one. Though, as Zeni beheld the figure, she found that despite the anachronistic style, she was utterly entranced by its gleaming splendor. The titanic suit of armor was a bold chaos of sparkling bits and shiny whatsits, the various polished metals—possibly gold, silver, or whatever else was lying around, combined in a delightful mishmash that would make even the most ambitious Pinterest boards green with envy. Leather straps—those were cool—zigzagged across the warrior's expansive chest, hoisting a rather impressive satchel on their back as though it were a treasured prize from a carnival game.

The wearer's face remained hidden behind the glossy sheen of...what was that helmet made of? Tin? Probably tin. Anyway, it seemed difficult with only a pair of shadowy slits where eyes should have been. Zeni couldn't fathom how the wearer managed to see through those tiny peepholes, but perhaps wherever they were from in this world, fashion trumped function.

In fact, the whole getup exuded an air of a walking, clanking teapot—as if a particularly overzealous metal enthusiast had taken their love for shiny things to new, armor-clad heights. Zeni liked to imagine the creator of such a piece as a wide-eyed tinkerer, surrounded by piles of scrap metal, haphazardly welding together anything that sparkled.

"No, no, no," the crafter might have muttered, their sweaty headband askew. "If we can't see the wearer's face, then it must be all the more intimidating! And think of how the sun will glint off the helmet in battle! Marvelous!"

With a chuckle, she pictured her invented blacksmith, elbow-deep in molten metal, bickering with an apprentice over it.

"But master," the imaginary apprentice would whine. "If we can't see their face, they can't see us! Not a great look for battle if you're bumping into the scenery. We gotta make them holes bigger!"

"No, no, no," the blacksmith might say, shaking their head in exasperation. "If we make the slits any wider, it'll look like our fearsome warrior is wearing novelty glasses. And how will they strike terror into the hearts of their enemies then?"

Considering this, she turned to look back into the slits with a shrug.

"Okay, so the outfit adds to the allure," she said. "Everyone's allowed their aesthetic. But do you know if that's the only way, or is there possibly some other route to getting through here? It can't just be one, right? That would be silly—although, this is a dungeon, and a solitary result to solve an issue might be exactly the kind of thing it would pull to make things more difficult."

She turned an eye to the armored figure hopefully but, once more, received no response.

"Jeeze, fine! If this is how it's going to be, I guess this is how it will be," she grumbled, her frustration mounting and giving way to stern determination.

If this was how the creature before her planned to communicate, she'd still count that as a slight win. It wasn't as though they hadn't given her anything to go off of. Plus, it definitely beat them just staring at her behind a helmet.

So, there is something to do with the walkway, eh? Looks like a job only I can do!

She rolled up the long sleeves of her robe—borrowed from Neith in case she got chilly—and set her jaw as she prepared to tackle the daunting task of reaching the mysterious altar.

—

From deep within the dungeon, a consciousness flickered to life. It had been resting for some time, awaiting this precise moment, but not wanting to stay up in anticipation. Indeed, there were few things worse than suspense, and this self-aware thought liked a bit of predictability. For unending eons, it had enjoyed the relative cliche nature of its lot in the long life it had observed so far. Everything was better without surprises because being surprised was just a trick you pulled on yourself. Nothing beat good old-fashioned foreseeability—and not many things were more old-fashioned than this consciousness.

So, it got its bearings—by Horus; when had been the last time, even? No matter, its bearings were got, and it turned its attention to the squawking individual making such a clatter near the foyer of the deep catacomb. My, their soul was loud. It was a simple creature, full of the kind of rowdy determination that the consciousness loved breaking and wrenching out of them. Delicious ambition—it was truly one of life's most delectable spices.

Oh? Hardly any meat on those bones—in a figurative sense. This creature's life force was minor, and its power even more minuscule. But, it didn't matter whether big, small, strong, weak, or even noisy; all would meet the same end: gnashed beneath the incredible might of…

What was this? Another presence. Much meatier. With an undercurrent of quiet calm. Well, that was nice. Perhaps this would be more interesting of a meal than it thought.

Rise, minions o' mine! The consciousness commanded. It is time! Bring to me the trespassers within my domain!