Kyra rode up and down the hills and as she was perhaps a hundred yards away from the entrance, she passed a curious marker. A circular staircase, carved of stone, rose perhaps twenty feet high and ended in nothing. It was like a stairway leading to the sky, an unfinished stairway that led to nothing, and she wondered what it signified.

She continued riding, drawn to the tall golden doors, like a magnet pulling her in. As she approached the tower she looked everywhere, searching for any sign of her uncle, of anyone awaiting her.

Yet, curiously, there was none.

Finally, only fifty feet away the entrance, Kyra stopped, dismounted, and stood there, staring, breathing hard, taking it all in, wanted to approach it on foot. It was even more awe-inspiring up close. The doors were etched in strange golden carvings, filled with words, images. She walked slowly toward them, wanting to take in their beauty, and as she neared she squinted and was able to read the ancient script, once she had learned in her youth. It was a lost language of Escalon, a language dead for thousands of years. It was a script the king’s tutors had taught her well. She had been the only girl allowed to learn, and she had always wondered why.

Kyra reached up and ran her fingers along the etchings, the words, reading passages which riveted her. Slowly, she pieced together their message. They were ancient sayings and parables aimed about the nature of honor, of valor.

What is battle? read one of them.

Where does your strength hail from? read another.

Do you aim for your foe or for yourself? read another.

There were secrets contained in these riddles, she felt, secrets that could take a lifetime to ponder and decipher.

Kyra looked over the arched doorway, and high above read something etched in gold over it:

Only the worthy may enter here.

Kyra wondered who had carved these. It looked as if it had been done centuries ago, yet it resonated with her as if it had been written yesterday. She stepped forward and placed her palms on the doors, feeling the energy radiating off of them, then leaned back and craned her neck so that she could look straight up the tower. From this angle, it seemed to stretch into the heavens themselves.

Kyra stepped back and slowly turned, looking around, getting her bearings for this strange place. It was utterly silent, except for the crashing of a wave, Leo’s whine, or Andor’s snort. The wind ripped off the ocean, whistling and howling in her ears. She looked everywhere, but to her surprise, saw no sign of her uncle—or of anyone else. It was hardly the welcome she had expected. Had this place been abandoned? Was she in the right place?

Finally, she could wait no longer.

“Uncle!” she cried out, unsure what to do.