Zeke crouched in front of the door, hands on his knees, staring up at the massive skull carved into it. Empty eye sockets. Grinning teeth. Zero chill.
"Okay," he said, nodding solemnly. "That door definitely eats people."
Juile leaned against the wall, twirling a regular key between her fingers. "Relax. It's just a Skull Door."
Zeke looked at her. Looked back at the door. "You say that like those words are reassuring."
She stepped closer and tapped the skull with a knuckle. Thunk. "Rule one: Skull Doors don't care about normal keys. You could bring a whole janitor ring and it would still laugh at you."
Zeke tried anyway. The key bounced off with a dull clink. Nothing happened.
"…It did laugh at me," he muttered.
Juile grinned. "Skeleton Key only. Different shape. Different rules. World's very picky about its metaphors."
Zeke slung his bazooka off his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "Okay, but what about aggressive persuasion?"
He fired.
The rocket hit the Skull Door, exploded beautifully… and the door didn't even flinch. Not a crack. Not a scorch mark. The skull just sat there, smug and ancient.
"…It judged me," Zeke said quietly.
"Rule two," Juile said, counting on her fingers. "Bazookas don't work. Skull Doors are immune to explosions, bad attitudes, and your personal growth."
Zeke sighed and tapped the A button on his wrist console. The inventory flickered up.
"Skeleton Keys," he read. "Special items. Separate from regular keys. Counted separately. Because of course they are."
Juile nodded. "You always know exactly how many you've got. No excuses. No 'I thought I had one.' The game will remember."
Zeke glanced around the level. "So… where do Skeleton Keys usually show up?"
"Late," Juile said. "Endgame stuff. Hidden corners. Boss monsters. Places that say, 'You don't leave until you've really been here.'"
He looked back at the Skull Door. "And behind it?"
"Usually the 'Always There' Victim," Juile said. "Locked up. Waiting. The level won't let you finish without dealing with this."
Zeke frowned. "So the key isn't really the reward. The permission is."
Juile snapped her fingers. "Exactly. Skeleton Keys are less 'tool' and more 'design lecture.'"
They started walking.
"Most of the time," she continued, "you're forced to use the Skeleton Key on the level you find it. One key, one door, no hoarding."
Zeke brightened. "Most of the time?"
Juile smiled. Dangerous. "There are exceptions."
She held up two fingers.
"Level fifteen," she said. "Skeleton Key on a tiny island. Easy grab. No Skull Door required. You take it with you."
Zeke's eyes widened. "A free-range Skeleton Key."
"And level twenty-two," Juile added. "That key opens something very worth it."
Zeke nodded reverently. "I will treasure it like a dragon with a finance degree."
"Second exception," Juile said. "Level twenty-five. Boss drops a Skeleton Key. You can use it right there for an Extra Life…"
She let the sentence hang.
"…or," Zeke said slowly, "save it."
Juile's smile widened. "Now you're thinking like a survivor."
Zeke stared at the Skull Door one last time. "So every Skeleton Key is a choice."
"Yep," Juile said. "Spend it now, or save it to skip something awful later. A maze you hate. A fight you're bad at. A level that personally insults you."
Zeke nodded. "The real monster is opportunity cost."
Juile blinked. "…I don't know whether to be proud or worried."
Behind them, the Skull Door waited. Patient. Unblasted. Unimpressed.
Zeke tightened his grip on the Skeleton Key in his inventory.
"Okay," he said. "Let's earn the right to use this thing."
Somewhere in the level, a boss monster probably sneezed.
The door did not blink.