Castor found himself in the palace of Pyropolis. In the place where he grew up him. The wide corridors and high ceilings. The walls and floors were covered in colorful tiles in geometric mosaic patterns. He placed his hand on the walls and touched the cool tiles as he walked sown the corridor. The pattern and color of the tile slowly changed from an ordered hexagonal pattern of reds and browns to a chaotic pattern of pale yellow triangles. Before he realized he had walked to the end of the corridor which opened up to the beach and the warm equatorial sea. He walked across the grainy sand and into the gentle water that lapped the shore. Castor wades further and further into the sea and until the water was up his waist. He felt the hard shells below his feet and the seaweed tangle around his legs. He looked over the sea into the distance and in the azure ocean was a small deserted island on which grew only one defiant palm tree. As he watched the waves roll in the ocean he realized he was now flying. Flying in the sky above ocean far and fast with clouds of white wisps. The clouds cleared and Castor saw not an ocean but a bare rocky mountain peaked with snow. From the base of the mountain he watched the white peak. The mountain and himself was surrounded by only hard red ground. White smoke began to billow from the head of the mountain. The heavy smoke sank down from the mountain and covered the ground with a thick white fog.
Castor felt something behind him. He felt something which was old, large and had only sinister intent. He looked around him but the fog was too thick that he could not see it. He took a step forward even though he could not see what was before him. He walked into the unknown.