As Douglas's voice fell, it was as though a king had issued a command.
The discordant music stopped abruptly.
Bill's body jolted. That familiar, steady voice was like a bucket of ice water, forcibly dragging him out of the hell of illusions.
He abruptly severed the magical connection.
The shrieking stopped dead.
The illusions receded like the ebbing tide.
He bent over, gasping for breath.
Bill's back was already soaked in cold sweat. He leaned against the cold stone wall, his face pale, traces of lingering terror still in his eyes.
"Have something to drink." Douglas handed him a bottle of lemonade.
The icy liquid slid down his throat, and Bill's taut nerves finally relaxed a little. "Thank you." His voice was hoarse. "It isn't just a combination lock..."
"It's also a soul filter."
Douglas finished for him, calmly brushing nonexistent dust from his shoulder.
"It examines intruders' hearts and magnifies their deepest fears."
His gaze passed over the six pottery urns representing different emotions and fixed firmly on the central urn, the largest of them all.
The urn that, from beginning to end, had repeated the same word over and over in an utterly emotionless tone.
Key.
"No."
Douglas spoke softly, his voice carrying the clarity of sunlight breaking through clouds.
"It's telling us..."
He paused, then spoke each word distinctly, as though stating a cruel truth that had just been proven.
"The key isn't merely the final step."
The air in the burial chamber was so heavy that water could have been wrung from it.
Bill's failure weighed on their hearts like a boulder.
The echoes of the shrieking seemed to linger on the stone walls, making the surrounding silence particularly grating.
Bill leaned against the wall, his forehead pressed to the cold rock, the replica papyrus map