Laronius hovered upside down in total darkness, his feet pressed against the ceiling of the dungeon. It was one of his old childhood games brought to life. As a young boy he had spent hours lying on beds, chairs, and boulders with his head upside down, imagining that the whole world was upside down with a dirt ceiling and nothing but an endless abyss below. Laronius was disgusted at the memory of the snot-faced boy he once was, but the game still amused him. He even found it useful.

Since becoming a vampire, his skin burned and blistered when exposed to direct sunlight, and even under thick robes on stormy days he could not stay out in daylight for long. So Laronius had been forced to stay underground during the day. He resented any kinds of rules or restrictions, and so at first he had tried to defy the limitation by staying within the inner rooms and secret passageways of the fortress above the ground. Unfortunately, even rooms in the heart of the stronghold had some kind of window or other access to the sky outside, and he found that he spent far too much time trying to maneuver within constantly shifting shadows.

Recalling his old game of turning the world upside down had proved a valuable tool in maintaining his pride. Once safely underground by himself, he would float to the ceiling and rotate himself to reorient his perspective. He would then tell himself that the door he had come through now led to a bottomless pit that only fools would stumble into, and he would then begin “climbing his way up” through the seemingly endless underground levels of the fortress.

No one bothered Laronius when he explored underground. Vdekshi and his servants all called the area belowground the “dungeon” of the stronghold, but only the three levels closest to the surface actually had any doors or locks, and those had all been added by Vdekshi when he claimed the stone keep. In reality, the rooms below seemed to be an intricate network of cellars and storerooms. Some rooms even had wells and underground springs, which annoyed Laronius with the way they disrupted his upside-down game.

In fact, it was the game that had caused Laronius to explore so much of the subterranean halls. Normally he would have been wary of being confined so deep below the ground, even as a vampire, but when playing his game, Laronius imagined himself ascending higher and higher through a great tower. It was by venturing so “high” that Laronius had discovered his favorite rooms.

“The Mausoleums,” as Laronius called them, were something of a curiosity. The first time he had come across the various plaques, medallions, and stone carvings inside, he thought he had found a collection of great trophy rooms. Certainly there were depictions of individuals performing incredible feats and challenges. It was the repetition of names and the unusually advanced ages of the people recorded on the markers that tipped Laronius off to their true nature. These were not rewards for the living, but memorials for the dead.

They were certainly no royal tombs, by any standards. For one thing, there were no bodies, bones, or even ashes to be found anywhere, despite considerable searching by Laronius. Nor was there any display of wealth or status anywhere. No jewels or precious metals, not even a single coin. The markers themselves all seemed sturdy and expertly crafted, but none of them could be called ornate. It was if not a single one of them had tried to show up the others. Pity.

Of all the Mausoleums, Laronius’ favorite was the one he called, “The Tunnel to Ruin.” The door outside the Tunnel to Ruin appeared little different from all the other doors, except that it had a lock. It had taken Laronius countless attempts, and more than a little patience, but he had finally managed to pick the lock. And when he stepped inside, he considered it worth every moment.

Unlike the majority of the rooms that had the shape of proper rooms or cellars, the Tunnel to Ruin was remarkably long and sloped slightly downward. For the first few steps into the room, it was about as wide and narrow as a hallway. The stone walls were smooth to the touch except for the hundreds of names, ages, and lines painstakingly carved into them. From the way the lines seemed to connect each name to another, and the way they seemed to be grouped into family units, Laronius had gathered it must have been some kind of extensive pedigree.

Continuing further into the room, the quantity of names grew from hundreds to thousands, and the width and height of the room increased to fit them all. At the most spacious portion of the Tunnel to Ruin, the walls and ceiling were actually high enough and wide enough to fit the entire cottage where Laronius had grown up. It did not stay that wide for much further though.

Continuing downward, the room quickly became narrower, the walls rougher, and the names far less carefully carved on. Several family lines seemed to end abruptly, while others diminished with each additional generation. The room itself came to a jarring end to a wall of cold, jagged, naked stone. At the end of the room, lying on the floor, was an old broadsword.

It was not polished, but it was certainly not in disrepair either. The blade was sharp and it showed no signs of rust or decay. Like the memorial plaques, the sword appeared sturdy and simple, except at the handle. Engraved on the wood of the handle as well as the metal hilt was an intricate carving of wheat growing on a sunny field.

The sword was not hanging on display or even resting against the wall, but was lying crookedly on the floor as if simply discarded by its owner. Laronius had tried to lift the curious sword, but had been disappointed at every attempt. Not only did the sword fail to even budge, no matter how hard Laronius strained to lift it, he always experienced the unnerving sensation whenever he grabbed the sword that he was being watched and judged. Laronius hated to be judged.

Above the spot where the sword lay was the final name in the great family tree. This name had not been carved carefully or neatly. Indeed, unlike the other names, it did not appear to have been carved using any kind of chisel at all. Instead, it appeared as if the sword below it had been used to slash out jagged letters into the rock, spelling out the name, “Seth the Traitor.”

It had been several years since Laronius had discovered the Tunnel to Ruin, and he had all but given up on his seemingly useless search for any clues about the fate of the room. Now, he hovered next to the sword and final name again. He grinned wickedly as his words echoed in the empty room.

“Well Seth, if you won’t let me pick up this remarkable sword of yours, it looks like I’ll have to get your great-grandson to do it for me.”