The door slammed shut behind them. There was no discernable floor, ceiling or walls, but it was solid underfoot. The metal door through which they had stepped, and pulled their cart through, was now just one of hundreds that dotted the blank landscape in a vague pattern of expanding circles. The doors were freestanding, with simple frames but no walls supporting them. They seemed pointless. They couldn't possibly lead anywhere. And yet they did. Each door was an entry point into this white limbo. Tark circled the now closed door through which they had entered. ‘There!’ Zyra pointed to a pedestal in the distance. It protruded from the nonexistent floor in the centre of all the doors. They walked between the doors, leaving a trail of green sludge behind them. ‘We mades it,’ Tark said, as they approached the metal plinth. ‘Not quite,’ said a familiar voice. Tark and Zyra looked up to see Princeling Galbrath step out from behind a nearby door, where he had been waiting.
