Do Not Touch the Door at the End of the Hall

Sorwen did not speak much on the return journey, but she ate, and she slept, and on the third morning she pointed out a hawk riding a thermal above the scrubland and said it was a good omen, and I said I had never believed in omens, and she said she knew, and smiled. It was a small smile, the kind that costs something to produce, but it was real. I had seen enough false smiles in enough commanders’ tents to know the difference.
We reached Verath Dun on the fifth day at dusk. The city gates were lit with oil lanterns, and the smell of the city — bread and horses and woodsmoke and the faint salt-edge of the distant sea — came to us on the evening wind. Sorwen rode through the gate ahead of me, her back straight, her notebook tucked under her arm, her long Vael-pale fingers loose on the reins. The lantern light caught the side of her face. She was looking forward, toward the city’s interior, toward whatever came next. Not back.

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About the Author

Grom Thar'Ghul – was the commander of the Iron Shadows — an elite orcish unit. He lost his eye in a battle against hydras. His warhammer “Bloodbreaker” is a legend.

— Grom Thar'Ghul

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Categories: Fantasy, High Fantasy

Tags: 10min stories, ancient fortress, atmospheric, fantasy, grief, Grom Thar’Ghul, high fantasy, loss, magic door, quest, short story

August 19, 2026

10min-stories