Before him, Percival saw a strange door.
The massive thing loomed out of the bog, enormous and sealed, its surface buried beneath layers of swamp vines thick as ship's rope.
They weren't random growth. From what Percival's weary eyes could see; each vine was tensioned, braided, and anchored into the stone beneath, forming a living lock.
Dark sap oozed from the knots, dripping slowly into the mud below.
At the base of the door lay a sunken basin, half-swallowed by mire. Inside it, the vines converged into seven bound loops, cinched tight around a swollen core of root and bone.
Percival studied it, then stepped into the basin.
The mud swallowed his boots.
With as much energy as he could manage, he pressed his weight down.
The basin sank.
A deep, wet groan echoed and the pressure traveled upward through the vines.
One by one, the seven loops loosened, their tension released as sap burst from the seams like ruptured veins.
Then, the door responded.
