The Patient Stonemason's Door

You find a small circular chamber carved from gray stone. Dust hangs in the torchlight, and the air smells faintly of dry grain and old metal. A sealed door fills the far wall, its three narrow seams dark and cold. Beside it stands a waist-high plinth with an open eye, a flame, and an outstretched hand. A brass dial clicks softly under its own weight, while a bronze poem plate glimmers whenever anyone approaches.