The land in the paintings teems with life—fertile fields overflow with crops under a bright sun. The tiefling-like people live in harmony, farming, hunting, fishing, and mining. A peaceful, idyllic existence.

Until one fateful night, a celestial event unlike any other unfolds. A giant red moon, a celestial anomaly, emerges from the darkness, casting an ominous glow upon the land. The people, accustomed to the familiar moon, are filled with awe and trepidation as they witness this extraordinary sight.

“Wait a sec… this planet didn’t always have two moons?!” I exclaim, turning to Bailey.

“Not that I know of… never heard tell of such a thing,” Bailey replies, scratching his head. "And these folks don't look much like Mesoselenians, neither."

The massive new red moon casts an eerie glow, and then… the floods. Massive waves of water wash over the land, depicted in vivid detail on the walls. Everything is swept away—houses, fields, even trees. The daily flooding comes and goes, again and again, the paintings showing the relentless cycle.

The ancient tribes, desperate, flee to the mountaintops, the paintings showing tiny figures scrambling up steep slopes. One group finds a large cavern high on a mountain, extending deep inside. With nowhere else to go, they venture into the darkness.

The paintings depict their struggles in stark imagery—figures huddled together in the dark, some fading away, symbolizing those who perished. There are scenes of what look like… sacrifices. Grim stuff. But then, fortune smiles upon them—a massive deposit of adamantine is revealed in the cavern walls, depicted as shimmering veins of metallic ore.

Using their knowledge of magic and the adamantine, they not only survive underground but thrive. The paintings shift to show the construction of a magnificent underground city, glowing with magical light. This temple, the very one we stand in, is depicted being built in honor of their deity, Nyotha, whom they believed had granted them this chance of survival.

“So…” I say, glancing from the wall painting to Bailey. “How long ago do you think this was?”

“Uh…” Bailey rubs his chin, looking thoughtful. “There’s absolutely nothin’ about this in any of our histories. Not a word.” He elaborates, explaining that humans have over ten thousand years of recorded history.

The Mesoselenians, on the other hand, hadn’t developed writing until relatively recently. All their knowledge and history was passed down through stories. “But,” he concludes, spreading his hands, “nothing resembling these paintings exists in any of them.”

“Do you have anything to record all this? Like a camera?” I ask.

“Cam…era? Hmm… never heard of such a thing. Though this contraption does take pictures, and… well, it records what it sees,” Bailey replies, holding out his device.

“…That works…” I mutter. It’s basically a smartphone… just… not.

We continue exploring the hall. It seems to have once been used for rituals, but there isn’t much left.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“That’s odd. Did they really clear everything out?” I ask Bailey.

He glances at his device again, then points at a wall at the end of the hall. “There’s fresh air comin’ from that wall… I wonder where it’s leadin’?”

We walk over. I tap my knuckles on it; it sounds hollow. Bailey reflexively grabs my arms.

“Don’t worry, I won’t break the place,” I reassure him. He gives an awkward chuckle and releases me.

My gaze snaps back to a painting on the wall. “Bailey, stand back,” I instructed, reaching out to touch the artwork. The painted red moon feels… loose. As if it could be rotated.

I turn it slowly, a distinct click echoing through the vast hall.

Suddenly, the ground beneath me transforms into quicksand, trying its best to swallow me whole. I leaped out of the way just in time. The ground returns to normal after a couple of minutes.

Okay, so there are traps for doing this…

Bailey rejoined me, shaking his head. “Aye, that’s a bust.”

“Any clue what I did wrong?” I asked.

Bailey starts examining the painting with me. He runs his fingers over the red moon, tracing its grooves. “That moon looks a bit peculiar. The markings are all wrong. If you turned it… about like that…” He rotates the moon’s image roughly thirty degrees. I quickly yank him back, bracing for traps. No clicks, no quicksand. Good.

Next, my attention lands on the depiction of an Adamantine bar. This one seems designed to be pressed. I oblige, a couple of times, another click confirming the action.

The air above me shimmers, then erupts in a torrent of flames. These weren’t ordinary flames, though. A genuine warmth spreads through me—a sensation I hadn’t felt in… well, since I got this body. Then, as quickly as it begins, the inferno vanishes, leaving behind the distinct absence of my clothing.

Indestructible body, yes. Indestructible wardrobe, not so much…

Bailey joins me again, holding out some new clothes. I explain to Bailey that I’d pressed it seven times last time.

“Try four this time,” Bailey suggests. “There are four altars upstairs, so maybe four’s the magic number.”

Knowing the flame trap was particularly nasty, I tell Bailey to stand well back. I slowly press the image: one… two… three… four… Nothing. No searing jet of fire.

Okay, my new clothes are safe for now…

The last thing that catches my attention is the depiction of Nyotha. It looks like it can be pulled down. So I do, pulling until a click echoes, and instantly sharp icicle spears shoot out from the walls. They still can’t pierce my body, of course.

“That’s new,” I mutter. “How could there be ice here, especially after all this time? Well, it’s still no match for my resilience, I suppose.”

Bailey rushes over to join me, his eyes wide with concern. “That looks like some kind of elemental magic trap,” he observes. “I’ll be… I’ve never seen anything like it. Come to think of it, those last two traps weren't exactly ordinary, either.”

“I pulled it down last time, trying to make it look…rooted,” I explain to Bailey. “That didn’t work.”

Bailey squints at the wall painting, then places his hands on the tree. Before I can stop him, he grips the edges of the image and pulls it straight out. The trap doesn’t trigger!

“Just didn’t seem right, somehow,” Bailey says. “The image…it looks out of place. Like it doesn’t belong in this painting…or even in this world.”

A quick glance upward reveals the keyhole we’re missing: an empty slot high on the wall, directly above the mural.

"Bailey, you're a natural puzzle solver," I tell him, "You should consider a career in it. Or maybe just stick to being a fabulous chef."

I step back and gesture towards the wall. "I'll handle this one," I say, a confident grin spreading across my face. With a nimble leap, I ascend the wall, my body effortlessly navigating the vertical surface. I carefully place the tree image into the slot

Click. The wall at the end of the hall develops a thin slit.