The Tower Door

My master is dead. Found in the workshop at the top of the tower, a cold cup of potion still in his hand. The village calls it an old wizard's accident. But I know better. Three days before he died, he set every lock in the tower anew. The way a man does when he is afraid of someone coming in. Even the magic lock at the tower entrance had been sealed again. The inscription cut into the door is in his hand — the first test, one any apprentice could pass and no outsider would know.