The Brass Sentinel

At the end of Veyran's gallery, the passage constricts into a circular chamber of pale sandstone. A broad ring of intricate brasswork lies underfoot, its tiny teeth and counterweights glinting in the amber light. Before the far door stands a towering desert warrior fused to the floor, bronze helm bowed, both hands resting on a blunt polearm. The air smells of dust, oil, and sun-baked metal. Somewhere below, gears tick with patient rhythm. As you near the ring, the bronze head rises and the floor begins to turn.