Time slowed. Emmet moved beneath the enormous table, making his way toward what looked like a shrine. It called to him, just as the dagger had but far more loudly. The rest of the world faded away. Only the key and the altar existed. He understood now. Everything became clear. The other people in the room moved in slow motion, and Emmet took his chance. All his life he'd yearned for magic, and finally it was before him in all its glory. A foot of rock stood in the way, but he had the key. Though it possessed magic of its own, the key was but a gateway to the real thing.
Not hesitating, Emmet placed the golden artifact within the impression that had waited a thousand years to receive it. The fit was close and clean. Torches, their flames dancing slowly, illuminated gray liquid in an intricate glass vessel on one side of the altar and clear liquid on the other. Those apparatuses fed long necks embedded in stone.
The key seated fully. A bright flash and a loud pop made Emmet cover his eyes. Pungent smoke drifted in tendrils above the altar. The liquids drained from the glassworks into the rock wall, the gray liquid forming a sparkling vortex, as if the liquid were somehow metallic. Nothing happened at first, but then a low grinding sound that Emmet could feel in the soles of his feet emanated from stone. It grew louder over time, and finally the granite altar moved. The thick slab retracted into the wall with agonizing slowness. Inside, a glistening object shone. Before anyone else could get close enough to see, Emmet slipped his hand inside, grabbed the gleaming object, and stashed it in his coat.
Inexorably the altar slid open, and soon the men reached him, pulling him back until time compressed once again. Everything happened at once, and Emmet curled into a ball, waiting for it to pass.