It was a small and innocuous thing with it’s two teeth and three sprocket holes on the head; the sort of key that could be for a simple padlock, maybe to a shed, or perhaps a cheap and unimpressive lockbox. But that isn’t what it opened.

The little thing opened something larger than could be imagined, with ease and with confidence. The problem was that it had not been used for such things in so long that none alive remembered exactly what lock paired with the little key, and the little key itself may have even forgotten.

It was a bit rusty, as they say.

The way it had been passed around between powerful, foolish men had left it a powerful thing to covet, but not necessarily to use. It had hung around many fat necks, rested in many folds of many wallet, been locked away in safes for… well, the little keys sense of time was a bit skewed.

Which leads to where it currently resided. The little key rested in a dirt groove shaped very much like itself, carved into the earthen floor of the cellar over months and years of simple existence. It knew someone would come along someday, they always did, but for right now, it would remain still and silent, ignorant to its true purpose and alone without it.