They raced along a narrow path that snaked across an enormous pool of black-crusted lava. Bubbles gathered and burst on the surface, sometimes spitting firework-like streamers of liquid rock high into the air. Occasionally, the ribbons would fly high enough to touch the ceiling far above, and then the molten threads would stick and dangle for a moment, swaying, before crashing to the ground below like fiery hailstones.

“This way!” Marethyu shouted, pointing to the narrowest of nine openings in the huge circular cave. “These are the Nine Gates to the Shadowrealms. From here, you can travel throughout the myriad realms.” Although all the gates were decorated with archaic glyphs, Shakespeare noticed that the designs over the gate they were running toward looked older, cruder than the rest. “The zero gate,” Marethyu said before he plunged through.

They followed him…

Into a crystal world, where even the sun was glass, and the ground was made of shards of broken crystal. Thirteen translucent gates stood on a mirrored lake.

“Through the first gate,” Marethyu said, pointing to a delicate tracery of spun glass. They raced through…

Into a realm of green sand that rippled and shifted in hypnotic patterns. A giant red sun dominated the sky, close enough that they could see the flares curling off it. The solar flares matched the pattern in the sands. Here the thirteen gates were shaped from sparkling silica.

“Again, the first gate,” Marethyu said, darting between two squat pillars.

And now the world was ice and stank of sour milk, and the thirteen gates were like curdled cream.

“Through the second gate…”

Into a world of metal, where the ground was steel and the sky the color of lead, and the thirteen gates were slabs of rusty iron.

“The third gate…”

A world of noxious yellow fog filled with what sounded like the piteous crying of babies. The thirteen gates were amorphous shifting pillars of smoke, barely distinguishable from the fog.

“The fifth gate…”

Into a world of black oil and sticky tar, where metallic insects ate the oil and the thirteen gates were intricately carved from single blocks of coal.

“The eighth gate…”

A world devastated by a cataclysm, an empty shell of a city, and rain that tasted of ashes. A building that might once have been a hotel had thirteen gaping doorways.

Marethyu pointed. “The final gate, the thirteenth…”

They came out onto a gently sloping hillside covered in tiny yellow and white flowers. The sky overhead was the palest blue, streaked with white clouds, and the air was warm and tasted of salt.

They all breathed deeply, clearing their lungs of the noxious odors and tastes of the Shadowrealms. Marethyu walked up the side of the hill and stopped at the top, looking into the distance. One by one, the immortals climbed the hill to stand beside him.

They were looking down over an island paradise.