I climb to the top of the nearest grassy hill. A lukewarm wind blows by and bristles the verdant grass, that rustled far in the distance, in the miles between me and the Fogwall. Farmhouses and ranches lost to time. The phantom outlines of fallen fences depress the grass where the dividing lines between the properties would have been. When looking over this vast, idyllic plain, a single question comes to my mind.

Why was it so big? The doors I had entered so far had been relegated, at most, to a small section of a city street. But now there were miles to explore. A thousand other questions shot through my head, but that was, perhaps, the most important. I had been working under the assumption that the sections within the doors were relegated to the spaces between the doors. But what was this? Was this other world bigger than Earth? By how much? It would make the absurd number of, ‘doors,’ make sense. I made a mistake.

“Can I go back?” I ask the Shard.

“Once the temple is destroyed.”

“No other way?”

“No.”

I sigh.

“Where is it?”

“I don’t know.”

Step by step I climb down the grassy knoll. Careful not to slip and fall down the dew-laden slope, and roll down to a stop at the bottom. How many miles lay between me and the temple? Once there how the hell was I going to destroy it? Lastly, what kind of creatures roam these lands? Across the rolling plains, no life stirred; all I could see was grass and the remains of those ancient steads. Remains that I would probably have to look through.

I set myself straight on the ground and pick a direction to walk in; using a distant structure as my waypoint. It was as good a guess as any. For future dungeons like this, perhaps I should learn some sort of divination. Or perhaps bring a compass.

“For something this large, how long would it take to collapse before I have to get to the door?”

“Ten hours.”

That was short, too short. Perhaps the temple was closer than I thought. Even then, the thought of ten hours of walking seemed unreasonable. Though, I had noticed last time when I leveled up, that the weariness I had been feeling vanished, and the pain from the accumulated injuries hurt a little less.

While walking, I heal myself over and over again. The pocked scars on my hand from the first Ratman’s teeth were now gone completely, and the scars from the stab wounds no long threatened to split open.

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Along the way to the barn, I notice certain areas of the grass are thinner than the surrounding. Boulders bury themselves in the blackened soils. I step into the area and stop as something crunches underfoot. I reach down and pick it up and recoil.

It’s a long bone. About the size of my forearm. The top of it, where I had stepped, was snapped in two. It was brittle. Incredibly so, and yellow with age. How long had it been here? I place it back in the grass. Next to it was another bone, jutting out of the ground, and partially buried beneath a large stone. Sticking from the soil, hidden from view, were white feathered, dark wooded shafted arrows. Wooden shields and rusted weapons litter the ground.

At the far end; away from the walls, and like everything here, buried beneath the grass, was a large wooden beam. No, not just one wooden beam. Lots of them, surrounding the largest one in a square-like imprint in the ground. I dig around this area and find a cut cord of rope and a large stone that had been propping up the beam ever so slightly. At the other end were the remains of a woven basket; almost as large as the end of the wooden beam itself. Near it, were uncountable stones ready to be loaded into it, to be flung into the city. A siege camp. I tell myself. Had this belonged to the Ratmen? No banners, no bones, and no insignia, that’s all I was left to assume.

As I explore this circular area, I find a chest beneath a pile of burnt and smashed wood. Strips of canvas cloth clung to the heavier blades of grass here and fluttered like tiny, pale flags. I pull it out, and the burnt wooden poles clatter on top of one another as they fall to the ground.

Whatever lock there had been had long since eroded and fallen off, all that was left was the golden latch barely hanging on. I pull open the top — it nearly buckles and falls off its hinges. A pair of steel gauntlets with a square note of parchment sitting on top. I lift up the note and examine it. The language isn’t unlike the ones that I found within the city; though this seemed to flow and curl a little bit more than the rough, straight lines of the other, I shove it in the front pocket of my hoodie next to the wand. The gauntlets are light. Five leather buckles line the underbelly; two buckles to go hug the upper bicep and triceps, two to fasten it to the forearm, and one to fasten the ‘glove,’ portion to the hand. Individual rings of elastic leather rest within the fingers of the glove to keep it in place.

Bronze accents line the seams between the segmented plates that are made up of the armor. Curled letters were engraved neatly within the bronze. I wrestle the two of them on. It takes me a good ten minutes to adjust the buckles until they didn’t slide. I examine them by turning my arms over and over. I probably look really cool now, I tell myself. I hold them up and take a couple of punches in the air. I really should have chosen to focus on martial arts.

I go on my way; taking heed not to step on the bones, or the rusted metal blades, spears, and arrowheads as I reorient myself to the barn. As I step back on the section of ground unmarked by the scar of the siege camps, I step on another bone. It snaps in two loudly. The sound carries across to the scarred area of another section of the camp.

From the deep grass, a pair of pointed black ears stick up, followed by the large head of a hound that looked comparable to a Doberman back on earth. Black eyes dart and then look to me. It snarls and barks commands as it stands to its full size — comparable to that of an average man.

I notice, at first, the white tunic it wore over its coat of silvery, shimmering mail. Then the pointed-tipped helmet on the top of its head; with a nasal guard that covered the entire bridge of its large snout, and then, finally, the red insignia on its neatly white tunic — that of a blood-red dagger with a black hilt piercing a skull.