“Let me guess. Looking for the Golden City?”

“Yes, yes,” Arn said. “Finally, a man with answers. Can you tell me how to get there?”

“You have already arrived,” the man said, sweeping his arms. “You’re standing amidst it.”

With that horrible proclamation, a veil seemed to tear away from Arn’s sight. He suddenly beheld pieces of stone, long-forgotten walls, and other manmade shapes that had been twisted up in the overgrowth that lined the King’s Road.

“Yes, the city fell close to a thousand years ago, but stories do not always reflect this,” the man sighed. “The road is only kept clear because it is on a direct route from Eversong to Fillkirke.”

“W…why are you here, then?” Arm mumbled.

“I came here long ago, a young man in search of the Golden City. I learned of its history and fall, and in my twilight years I like to give counsel and aid where I can–learning the languages of the seekers that still come, and offering them a roof overhead before their return.”