Gwayne wasn't sure if the girl, Rebecca, had taken a hit to the head during the fighting earlier, but he still held his patience and explained:
"Look, I may have been 'living' here for a long time…but I was dead, alright? You ever know what your grave looks like after you're buried?"
Rebecca opened her mouth, wanting to remind him that the first King of Andraste had designed his royal tomb personally before dying—but after thinking it over, she realized that if she said that out loud, Aunt Hestia would probably kill her on the spot. She wisely swallowed her words and just laughed awkwardly: "Ahaha… that makes sense!"
Hestia sighed and analyzed the situation calmly: "We can't return the way we came. The castle courtyard and the entrance to the ancestral crypt are completely overrun. To go back would be suicide."
"We need another way," Gwayne said, piecing through the memories he'd inherited. "It's been seven centuries—the castle probably isn't laid out the way it used to be, right?"
"The upper levels have been renovated several times," Hestia confirmed, "But the foundation remains the same. The entrance you spoke of should still be there."
"Good." Gwayne turned to one of the soldiers and held out his hand. "Give me your sword for a moment."
Receiving the sword, he crouched and began sketching on the dusty floor—first drawing a rough top-down view of the castle's layout, then a quick side view divided into three levels. The drawings were crude but clear enough to see the general structure.
"The tunnel entrance is here, two levels down—next to the wine cellars and the old grain storage. Back in my day, anyway. There were two surface routes leading into the tunnels… but if the ground level's overrun, we can't use them."
Rebecca crouched nearby, watching Gwayne's work with fascination. "Those are still the wine and grain cellars today! But… I never knew there was a third room between them…"
"It's not a room," Gwayne corrected her with a smile. "It's a hidden layer—built between the walls and support beams. In times of war, having secret tunnels and hidden spaces was essential. Seawright Keep was a frontier fortress during the chaos after Gondor's fall—there were monsters, madmen, and bandits roaming from the Wastes every few weeks. We built this place to survive sieges, not to look pretty."
Ser Byron leaned over the map and added a few lines of his own: "So we need to reach the second level without passing through the courtyard or any surface halls. This is where we are now—the southeast crypt complex. About a third of it overlaps the castle's foundations…"
"Exactly," Gwayne nodded. "And that overlap should include a hidden route. The tomb was built to fortress standards—there must be an escape passage."
He turned to Rebecca, frowning slightly: "And you really had no idea this was here? This knowledge should have been passed down through the Seawright line."
Rebecca blushed and lowered her head. "I…"
"It's our failing," Hestia said grimly, biting her lip. "The Seawright family has… faced many hardships these past seven centuries…"
"I understand," Gwayne waved it off. "We can talk about it later. Right now, we need to find that tunnel."
Rebecca, Hestia, and Byron huddled over the rough maps, trying to puzzle it out. But though they knew the upper castle well enough, the inner structure of the crypt was a different story. Even before the tomb was sealed off a hundred years ago, descendants only entered the ancestral halls a few times in their lives—always for solemn ceremonies, never to explore.
No one knew where the hidden entrance could be.
Even Gwayne's memories were no help—after all, when he was laid to rest, he hadn't expected to get back up again and need an emergency exit.
Just when everyone was starting to lose hope, a soft voice piped up: "Uh… I might know the way…"
Everyone turned toward the half-elf thief, Amber, who immediately shrank under their stares.
Hestia frowned. "And how would you know?"
"I, uh…" Amber looked scared at first, but when Gwayne gave her an encouraging nod, she mustered her courage. "I actually crawled in from that direction. So, uh… I think I found the tunnel without realizing it?"
"Good," Gwayne said simply. "Lead the way."
Amber patted her chest and muttered, "As long as no one blames me for… you know, grave-robbing and all…"
Hestia glared at her but wisely said nothing. Instead, she turned sharply toward the door, motioning the others to move.
Just as Gwayne stepped forward, he paused.
"Ancestor?" Rebecca asked curiously.
"I need a weapon," Gwayne said calmly. He might not be the same man who once carved a kingdom out of wilderness, but even common sense told him he wasn't stepping into danger unarmed.
He glanced around the tomb. One soldier moved to offer his sword, but Gwayne shook his head. Following instinct—and memory—he walked back to the blacksteel coffin.
Inside, he found it: a heavy black sword, its blade dark as night, but with a faint crimson glow near the hilt.
The moment his hand wrapped around the hilt, a shock of familiarity surged through him. As if the sword recognized him, as if every line and groove matched perfectly to his grip.
He swung it experimentally—each motion smooth, powerful, natural.
The body remembered. Even if the soul was different, the muscles still knew.
In his mind, he could feel it: not just the swordplay of a mortal knight, but traces of the supernatural power that had once made Gwayne Seawright a living legend.
Tempting as it was to test it all, now was not the time.
First, survival.
Rebecca gasped as she recognized the weapon. "That's… that's the Pioneer's Blade! The legendary sword of the founding!"
Hearing her cry, Hestia, already at the door, turned sharply and stared wide-eyed at the blade in Gwayne's hand. "The Pioneer's Blade?!"
"It's just a sword now," Gwayne said, shaking his head. "Seven centuries… Even elven-blessed weapons lose their magic after that long. It'll need recharging. No telling how long that will take."
He turned his gaze toward the front of the coffin. A small stone pedestal stood empty. His frown deepened.
"Wait a minute… There used to be a shield here too. Where's the Guardian's Shield?"
Hestia's face turned pale. She stumbled through her words: "Ancestor… we have failed you again. The Guardian's Shield was taken a century ago—by your descendant, Groman Seawright. It was lost in battle soon after…"
Clearly, there was more she wasn't saying—likely something about betrayal or disgrace—but she was terrified that if she told him the full story, he might just keel over from rage. (Well, at least the coffin was still nearby.)
Gwayne scowled but didn't press. Instead, he grumbled: "Idiots… Good thing Groman didn't pry open the coffin too, trying to make a matching set."
Hestia and Rebecca lowered their heads in shame, sweat beading on their foreheads. Getting scolded by your ancestor who just popped out of his grave—that had to be a new low.
Thankfully, Gwayne didn't dwell on it. They had bigger problems.
He sheathed the black blade across his back and led the group out of the tomb chamber.
When they entered the stone hall beyond, Rebecca glanced around and suddenly waved excitedly at a shadowy corner. "Betty! You can come out now—it's safe!"
Gwayne turned in curiosity and saw a small, skinny girl—probably even younger than Rebecca—shuffling timidly out of hiding. She wore a simple roughspun dress, freckles dotted her youthful face, and a mess of flaxen hair hung down her back. In her hands, she clutched a battered frying pan like it was a holy relic.
When her eyes met Gwayne's, Betty froze, uncertain and nervous—no doubt wondering where this "new" stranger had come from.
"This is Betty," Rebecca explained cheerfully. "She's a castle maid. No idea how she missed the first evacuation wave, but somehow she tagged along and ended up here."
Before Gwayne could say anything more, a low rumble vibrated through the stone above them.
The tremor was slight but unmistakable.
"Not the time for introductions," Gwayne said sharply, raising his blade. He looked to Amber.
"Lead the way."