Cloaking himself in shadows as his Master had taught him, he moved with deliberate strides through the torch-lit halls of the sanctum. In his hand, he clutched the same dagger he had used to end the life of the old man.
There was no reason things had needed to come to such brutality, he mused, but he could no longer abide the Council’s assertions he was still not ready to explore the poisoned lands beyond the sanctum’s protecting stone walls.
Taking the ornate key from the pocket of his robes, he inserted it into the ancient portal’s mechanism, saying silent prayers it would make no noise to alert the Brotherhood of his intent.
Turning the key with a firm and resolute hand, he went forth to claim the powers of the fantastic machines, artificial creations and fearsome weapons this collection of doddering old men had proven too weak to exploit.
This story was written for the weekly Visual Dare flash fiction prompt: secret