The night had finally settled in and dusk was no more. Fat raindrops fell slow and steadily upon the party’s heads. Alaric tread carefully on the damp and overgrown paths laid out by Fennic as they traversed the treacherous garden paths.

The ranger pointed out at several instances otherwise inconspicuous mounds of grass covered earth - barely perceptible from the rest of the gardens. “Animated Sods” he warned. “Great for pest control, terrible for ankles.” Alaric and the others took special care to stay in line and not deviate from their order. Strange bulbous flora - “Pitcher Plants” - Fennic named them, ranging in size from a small child to a full grown man swung lazily from vines in the canopy. Caustic juices dripped from their lids, causing sizzles in the earth wherever they fell.

And so it went. The adventurers worked in oiled precision as their column progressed. Any potential treat was identified in kind, announced, and expertly avoided. There were no obvious traps - but the occasional environmental hazard persisted. Fruits and berries hung plump and prime from nearly every bough and branch, many of them poisonous or better yet altogether unknown to Fennic’s forestcraft. Tall trees with interlocking branches and hedge rows of bushes shaped the garden into a veritable maze.

Even though the sun had forsaken them, the gardens were abundant with vibrantly glowing ferns, mosses, and blooms to light their way with soft blue and silver-white radiances. Dagna in particular seemed excited at the presence of a small, dark green plant with pale, heart shaped leaves. Looking closely at the weed, one could just make out dark red veins running through the leaves. “Wild Heartshade” she called it. Apparently it was an herb of some value - used by alchemists to brew recovery potions. Once the dwarf leader had pointed it out, Alaric could not help but notice that it was present in some great volume throughout the garden.

“The gardens alone are a great find!” she exclaimed. “The Guild will pay handsomely for an updated report on its contents.” There were few things that made their rugged guide smile as widely as she was now, but the promise of large sums of easily acquired gold certainly did the trick.

Professor Galen seemed less enthused. “You’re right of course my dear friend. But I cannot help but wonder why the scout’s report mentioned none of this. It makes me fear the interior will be just as unpredictable.”

Dagna’s grin was instantly replaced with a frown. She sighed. “I was wonderin’ that myself. By all accounts it makes no sense.” She took a swig from her canteen. “My only guess is those chuckleheads set something off as they were leaving. But whatever it was can’t have been subtle. We should learn more once we’re inside.”

They made their way through the remaining growth before the path eventually widened and the surrounding flora gave way to an open space. The packed earth and loose gravel beneath their feet was soon replaced with cracked limestone pavers leading straight to the great doors before them. Twelve feet high and fashioned from heavy oaken beams banded in iron, the Sanctuary’s doors were set into a curved archway encrusted with runic carvings. The wood was dark and weathered in places, but there were no indications of rot or even rust on the bands and hinges.

They stood as a group in awe of the sight before them. The structure of the Sanctuary was solid. Only the occasional shingle was missing, or slight cracks in the facade. The building was altogether much more intact than they had originally thought. Professor Galen visibly licked his lips. Surely the thought of untouched artifacts inside had him enthralled.

Soft green and purple light flickered along the channels carved into the runic inscriptions above the door. Angular and precise, the words inscribed were of Old Archon. Some were easily recognized as wards of endurance and protection from elements - shockingly still powered and keeping the building intact. Others were…older - and didn’t seem to have any particular spell behind them.

Dagna took one look at the inscriptions before clapping Alaric on the back, hard.

He stumbled forward.

“Alright Rune Rat, you’re up.” She said. “What do them fancy words say? Because it’s really going to put a damper on my day if those doors are set to blow up once I open them.”

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The other murmured their agreement with that sentiment.

Alaric couldn’t help but notice that when it came to runework, Dagna had turned to him and not the Professor. Their time together for the past several weeks had done much to expose him to ridicule for his failings at casting, but had also done much to prove that few others could best his knowledge of runework and the old language of the first wizards.

He set down the pack once more and pulled out his notebook. He squinted up at the archway, charcoal pencil in hand. The words above them glowed softly in the dark, but were still difficult to make out. “Could I have a little light?” he asked.

Fennic moved to light a torch, but the professor stopped him. Instead, with the flick of his wand, three ghostly orbs of soft white light were conjured before them. Alaric expressed his thanks and got to work.

It took only a few minutes. Galen’s orbs floated up and down at Alaric’s direction, shedding light on every rune for examination in turn. Soon enough, he was able to transcribe each and every charm, ward, and message upon the doors. Most were the simple preservation and protection spells he had first noticed. Others were more complex, with marks of rejuvenation and correction. Assuming the spells remained functional, they would likely repair over time any significant damage the building sustained.

The Professor’s eyes widened as he reviewed Alaric’s transcriptions. He furiously stroked his beard. “That is not casual magic. Truly incredible,” he said softly. “What about the main inscription above the doors? What do they say?”

“The largest of the carvings carried no spell, Master. Merely a welcoming message.” Alaric parsed through the grammar. “Although it is phrased awkwardly, and not all of the verb tenses align properly, but it goes something like: ‘By the Grace of the Magos, Welcome. Enter and Find Rest’.”

The hair on Alaric’s neck and arms stood up as he read the words aloud. But he could not identify any cause for alarm. The dialect used for the inscription was old, archaic even. But Archon history spanned thousands of years. Most of which was lost to time. He had double and even triple checked his work. There were no glyphs of alarm or damaging wards upon the doors. Dagna’s fears of explosive traps could be assuaged. “We should be all clear,” he decided.

That was enough for their hired hands. Pushing open the doors, Grayson and Dagna braced to jump out of the way of any traps or magical effects. None such threats came. Cool, albeit slightly stale air flowed forward as the doors opened - providing a refreshing relief. It was a reach on her part, but Dagna stretched up to tousle Alaric’s hair. “That’ll do. Now let’s see what we’ve got on our hands here.”

The interior of the Sanctuary’s main hall was a grand space, if relatively simply decorated. Cavernous and lined with thick stone pillars, a long carpet ran the length of the central aisle under a high vaulted ceiling. At the back of the hall, curved staircases led to an overseeing second floor balcony, while an inverse set of stairs led down to an undercroft level. More doors sealed tight led presumably to the North and South wings of the building.

Fennic and Lysa made a lap around the room just in case, but no traps were found. While the condition of the space was far better than the scout’s report had indicated, this section at least appeared to have been correctly identified as a place of respite. At Dagna’s direction they set to laying out their bedrolls in a defensible corner near the doors.

Alaric was entrusted with drawing their magic circle. Taking the place of a campfire, the charm was designed specifically for providing heat and light without producing an open flame (or smoke) while indoors or underground. It only took four tries for the wizard’s apprentice to channel enough energy into the chalk pattern he had sketched on the floor.

Another circle, drawn by Professor Galen in a much more timely fashion, encompassed the entire space of their encampment with room to spare. Barely visible strings of golden whisps crisscrossed in a web-like dome around them before disappearing from view.

Alaric quietly hoped there were no rats or other small pests in this place. During one of their previous dungeon dives in an abandoned monastery basement, a mouse had crossed the protective line. The magical screeching alarm that resulted still echoed in his ears at the very thought.

Finally settled, they broke bread and had a meal. Hard-tack softened with beer, salted meats, and a few rinds of cheese made for an adequate, if not exemplary meal. While they ate, Alaric perused his notes. He was certain of his translation for the doors' inscription and yet...he could not shake the feeling something was not quite right. No matter which text he checked, no answers availed his curiosity and the books were returned to their bag.

The others used the mealtime to strategize. A watch was set and rotations were split up between them. It was decided that on the morrow Fennic would scout the outer walls for changes against the scout report, and possibly try to harvest some of the non-poisonous fruits from the garden. Meanwhile, the others would proceed with their main mission of clearing each of the Sanctuary’s wings and searching for any artifacts of interest to the Professor.

Satisfied with their plans and eyes heavy with exhaustion, Alaric turned into his bedroll and allowed the swift darkness of a dreamless sleep to take him.