The Bronze Key

I pulled my blade free from the morning loam, wiped the damp peat from the steel, and pushed beyond the fern grove. At the threshold where the mulch meets the paved stone walkway, an object caught the low morning light. A heavy iron gate key lay abandoned between two paving flags, dusted in pine needles and weathered brown. I knelt, braced my shield against my thigh, and tested its heft. It carries real balance—sturdy enough to pry open stubborn barriers or serve as an anchor spike. I brushed away the clinging grit with my gauntlet and set the iron key upright against the curbstone to mark the transition toward the open patio.