As if this place wasn't full of bizarre things, this next area left her scratching her head. Normally there was a flag and a hole. But this time, there was a flag, but six holes. The flag was in the center of a ring of holes, which made absolutely no sense to her. The total area was also fairly small, the size of a local pub. What was this maze going to pull this time? Silently she set the ball up and hit it towards the ring  of holes. Aiming for one, it rolled a bit too much to the side and was about to fall into the hole beside her target. This would have been fine, until a pole sprung out from that very hole and blocked it from entering. The ball was bounced off and slowed to a halt outside the ring of holes. Alright then, if that one was wrong, she could just try every one until something worked. Simple, right? This turned out to be easier said than done, as the spring-loaded poles would pop out to obstruct the ball if it came too close, sending it rolling all over the place. Was this even considered 'fair' anymore?

After much, much more frustration, she finally got into one of them. Then the hole disappeared. The way to the seventh location was still blocked, so what was this supposed to mean? "…You want me to get this ball into all of the holes. All of them. You jerks…" Shiloh griped as she figured out what this was all about. She repeated the same action several times, probably under at least forty hits with the club. The spring-loaded poles made the ball ricochet, further dragging out the time needed to finish the challenge. At last, she was left with one hole out of six. She rolled it in, then crossed her arms as it disappeared too. The hedges parted, and led to a set of stairs going down a grassy slope. That was probably the worst thing she had to do so far. Hopefully in the later sections that particular obstacle wouldn't come back again. 

He was wary of what the maze would have in store for him this time. The past few sections it had been lenient and toned down the sudden-death punishments, but he was afraid that thinking about it would jinx his chances. He had a spell of protection active on him at all times now, just to be safe. Again he was presented with a wide pedestal, but with a circular pattern of six spheres. They were buttons, and there was a line of instruction above them etched in the stone. "Falter not on the path of memory. May your mind's eye always be true." Cymbel read. "I'll assume it has something with memory and sight, though I believe I may have an idea of what will be required from me this time…"

This was a memory game. He would have to follow the pattern of the buttons, and each time it would grow more complicated. If he made a mistake, he would have to restart from the very beginning. These sort of things were familiar to him, as he recalled playing such games as a child. Though there weren't six things to keep track of, however. Starting the sequence, he watched the buttons light up as follows: one, five, three. This was simple, and he finished it easily. Then the second started: two, four, five, three. Not too difficult, and fairly straightforward. The third came around: six, one, three, five, two. This was giving a bit more of a challenge with more random spacing. This continued on for several minutes, and so far he had done well to stay on track. Around the twelfth sequence, things suddenly took a turn for the worse.

The speed of the flashing increased, and the number of things to remember stayed constant. His fingers were flying across the board, doing his best to keep up. Then more to the sequence was being added, with repeats and unexpected changes. He had been fairly confident a while ago, but now it was really making him sweat. How many of these did he have to complete for it to consider the challenge done? This was the sixteenth now, and it wasn't letting up. They gave him a bit of mercy by not continuously adding on more starting from the first sequence, but it wasn't any less difficult. He needed to blink, his eyes were getting dry. But he was afraid to, as it might cause him to miss seeing one of the flashes. Straining, he pressed on–aiming to finish this in one go. He finally had encountered something he was decent at; he wasn't letting this slip through his fingers now!

The twentieth sequence was done, and the spastic flashing stopped. Closing his eyes at last and letting out a long exhale of a sigh, he rubbed his wrists. There was the sound of six musical notes, then the pedestal began to retract into the floor. "I-I beat it! On the first try…oh gods. It's finally done." With much relief, he waited until his eyes were less dry to move on to the seventh chamber. How many more must they pass through to see the end?

Another area where the flag was across a body of water. This time it wasn't so bad, as the bank she was aiming for wasn't so narrow like the first time she encountered this type of hazard. The only problem was the peninsula had become an island, while the river was less swift and more calm. She'd been thinking about a way to better control her shots, particularly for ones like these. If she sent the ball high, but not far–then it would bounce onto the grassy island. With a fast and powerful swing, she slammed the club against the ball shooting it into the air! But before it could even reach its apex, it vaporized! "WHAT?!" How was that even fair? How on earth was she going to hit it she couldn't make it arc? This was unreasonable! Every other area before this one allowed it, so why not here?

It was forcing her to take the harder route–a lower but longer shot across the water. If the maze thought high shots were too cheap, then fine. They'd at least allow a mid-height shot right? Another swing sent it sailing, and it looked like it'd make it onto land. But halfway across the river and the waters frothed, and Shiloh had a feeling whatever was coming out would make her scream. A massive tuna fish leaped out from the surface and swallowed the golf ball whole! Almost as long as a man's height, the fish's glassy eyes blankly stared into the distance as it ate the ball, then fell back in with a splash. Shiloh had no words to describe how she felt watching all of this. It just…ate the ball. It ate it. Wasn't this even more impossible now? Holding onto her boiling emotions, she sat down and laid the club on the ground. Burying her face into her hands, she sat for at least five minutes in that position. Never before had she possessed such unbridled hostility against a fish.

As long as she hit the ball across, that fish would try to eat it again. There was only one logical course of action: get the fish out of the way. She prepared a second ball, this time as a lure. When it leaped out of the water to hinder her progress, she'd fry it before it could return. The second ball flew just as well as the first, and sure enough–the water's surface bubbled before the great white tuna was coming from below to intercept it. "I've got you now–you gluttonous thief!" Charging towards the riverbank Shiloh had electricity crackling along the length of the club. Raising the metal club high, her attention was drawn away by a group of shouts and rushing water. "Thar she blows! Get 'er, boys!" A flash flood of water surged down the river's course as a wooden raft with four cait sidhe were barreling downstream. With a flick of the wrist, one of the felines flung a harpoon attached to a rope, and skewered the tuna clean through. The fish flailed in the air, struggling–but things didn't stop there. The mighty flow sweeping down the river carried the raft bearing the four past Shiloh in a flash!

The cait sidhe all grabbed hold of the rope and dragged the impaled tuna along with them, out of sight. The palm of her hand smacked her forehead as she grit her teeth in exasperation. This was her third attempt at this already. She hoped that fish was the only one in the river, and that there wouldn't be any more 'surprises' until she was done with this hole. She'd tried aiming high and in the middle, and both failed spectacularly. If she was going to be set back anyways, then why not try aiming lower for kicks? Swinging the club like a croquet mallet, the ball skipped across the water. As it began to lose momentum, she worried it would sink. But to her shock, just as it was going down a jet of water spewed from underneath sending it back into the air! This continued all the way to the island, and the ball bounced lightly on the trimmed grass as it rolled into the hole.

That was…the easiest drop into the hole that she had. The hedges on the right side opened up, leading to another section surrounded by dense forest. The upcoming one was the eighth challenge she would encounter.

The room was cold and a bit damp, and he was standing before four long glass gauges with varying water levels. Each gauge was connected to a wheel which would increase or decrease the water volume in the gauge accordingly. There was an image of the channel between the island and riverbank on the opposite wall, and it had jets of water with heights corresponding to the amount in the glass gauges. What was he trying to aim for this time? Watching the image of the water jets, he noticed it wasn't stationary. Every now and then, the image of a white little ball would bounce across, but if it fell on a jet that was too low or two high, it would plummet to into the water or shoot up into oblivion. "Ah, I just need to make them all the same height then?" Returning the wheels, he turned one of the lower gauges up. The water level rose, but as it did so–the gauges to the right and left fell by a level. When he tried to raise either of those gauges, any others beside them would fall or rise. This was…quite the conundrum.

After each adjustment he would go back and forth trying to get all of the gauges to the same water level. Soon he figured out a strategy, and slowly changed them to the height he desired. At last, they were all even! Wiping his brow, he turned to check the picture behind him. The water jets were level, and when the white ball returned it bounced off them like a flat stone skipping across the surface of a lake. A resonant chime sounded, and the water from the gauges began to all drain down in unison. The wheels were locked in place, and wouldn't budge no matter how much he tried. Was that correct? There weren't a limited number of tries he could use to solve the puzzle, right? Anxiously he watched from above as he watched Shiloh prepare to hit the ball again. While he had been busy adjusting things he heard shouts and screams from below. Hopefully she was alright.

The ball sailed over the channel, and like the picture had depicted jets of water rose in time to keep it going. With perfect timing, the ball bounced all the way to the island, and rolled straight into the hole before the flag. It was a success! Now the ninth area awaited them both, and he saw his section of the maze had become much larger than the single rooms he had been working in earlier.

This was becoming a slow descent into madness. How far had she progressed? How far did she have left to go? Where was she? Why was she still playing this godforsaken game? Unfortunately none of these save for the last one had an answer, and the only way to get out was to get through. By the gods she hated this infernal torment of pockmarked balls and metal clubs so much. The next challenge was simple at a glance but she no longer trusted anything anymore. Before her was a marsh with several small islands, creating a circle. In the center was a large island where the flag fluttered in the wind. She was now walking across the bridge to the first one, and shaded her eyes to see where she was aiming. 

In the other islands there were small rings of toadstools in various colors. She had no idea what they were for or why they were there, so she lined up her ball to aim as close to the central island as possible. She swung with a quick thwack–sending the little cratered ball sailing to the inner ring of islands. It bounced, and rolled into the fairy ring of mushrooms. Wondering how she was going to get over there, suddenly she was teleported to the very island her ball was on. It was abrupt and very disorienting, and she nearly fell backwards into the watery morass behind. Good thing she didn't, or else there'd be more than one tree burnt to cinders today. She was now closer to the main island, and it appeared she could hit it over with another swing. The problem was overshooting it, which was more than likely to happen. With a grimace, she made her next hit. Her response was the watery plop of a white pockmarked ball sinking into the tangle of aquatic grass. In a blink she was returned back to the beginning. 

She worked her way back to the inner ring again, this time on the left of the central island. The gap to it was shorter here, but that meant it was more difficult to make it stay on land. Shorter distances were actually worse than longer ones, as precision was nigh impossible. With a halfhearted prayer she hit high, hoping it would slow down enough to make it. It didn't…hitting the edge and rolling down into the muck. This was the third time she was doing this. How many islands had she hopped across now? Each time was just as frustrating as the last, leaving her at the mercy of fickle fortune. And no, she couldn't manipulate luck so it would end in her favor. If she could, she would have tried–and would have finished this accursed challenge a long time ago. The ball was two islands away from the inner ring, and the fluttering flag waved as if beckoning her to come and finish the hole. It was taunting her, teasing her. 'Just try and win me,' it was saying. It was just sitting there, flapping about like it had not a single care in the world.

One island away now. It was right there, just a few meters away. She could literally cross the gap with a well-timed pole vault, but she had to use this unwieldy metal club to send this irregularly shaped object there. Still not quite abandoning hope for some mind-boggling reason, she tapped the ball with an upswing and hurled it onto solid ground. Finally, a bit of progress. Now standing on the final island–thank the Conclave–she had to aim for the flag. There was a circle of extremely large fungal specimens glowing with a phosphorescent sheen, and something about it made her consider keeping her distance. Trying to send the ball directly through the glowing caps, it went off by a slight angle and bounced off the stalk of a rather springy mushroom. Panicking, she managed to stop the ball from falling off the island, and nearly gave herself a scare. Inhaling and exhaling a few more times, she carefully guided the ball to the stalks, then held her breath. Touching the ball with the least amount of force humanly possible, it went rolling into the large fairy circle and fell into the hole.

The mushrooms then twitched, and proceeded to double in size, creating a much larger gap for her to squeeze through. The flag and hole disappeared, only to be replaced by a swirling portal to who-knows-where. Still holding her breath, she quickly went in to limit her exposure to these magically-supercharged fungi and disappeared.

For the first time since their arrival, Cymbel was now in a proper maze. He was confronted with nothing save for winding passages. No chambers with instruction, no riddles on the walls, no odd puzzles to strain himself over. After seven chambers of this the sudden turn of events was rather jarring. With no time to lose, he began running down the corridor. He hugged the right wall, making right turns and only going back if he encountered a dead end. After a while he stumbled upon a lever in the wall. Out of breath, he grasped it and leaned to pull it down. When it was lowered, the sound of something moving rumbled beneath, and he went to search for more. As he passed the crossroads, he noticed something on the floor he hadn't seen before. 

In previous chambers the walls and floor were translucent, but this time he couldn't see below where Shiloh was. And on the floor was a spiraling design, with eight spheres embedded into the stonework. One was lit, so he assumed there were seven more he had to located within the passages. Catching his breath, he dashed down another path he hadn't taken yet. It was a good thing that mosaic recorded his progress–otherwise he wouldn't know how many he had left. Going in and out of these winding halls and serpentine tunnels left him completely disoriented. He was already terrible with directions, and it was impossible to tell where north was. Somehow he managed to get them all, returning to the spiral pattern to collapse onto the ground. Breathing rapidly, he could feel his lightheaded dizziness ebb away as he sprawled out on the cold, hard floor. His legs were sore, his arms were burning. Everything hurt, and he just wanted to leave. He didn't know how Shiloh was doing, and it was terrible. Was there a way for them to leave if they wanted to quit?

That question would forever be left unanswered, as before he could even stand the floor opened up and he fell down a tunnel to the next area. It then closed up, just like nothing had happened. Rolling down the smooth stone, he was deposited out a chute onto the floor. It wasn't a maze this time, but there was a set of tracks with a metal cart bearing some kind of level mechanism. The tunnel leading down was dark, and dimly lit. He really did not want to go any further, but going back wasn't an option. He still couldn't see Shiloh from his location, and the coldness of the chamber was seeping in through his cloak. There must be some sort of opening further down, as a strong draft was coming in from that direction.

She was out of the marsh and back in the forest. Before her was a rocky cliff with a lookout post. Climbing it, she was greeted with a bird's eye view of the surrounding area. A very winding stretch of rolling green was sandwiched between densely forested woodland. It was a larger version of a past encounter, but with no gaps in the trees. She loathed to think of what kind of trickery would be thrown at her, but she wasn't going anywhere by standing here. Begrudgingly she climbed back down and took the stone stairway off the cliff. Long rolling meadows with plenty of quicksand traps were present. It also had small patches of water, which were bottomless like the sand. It was a combination of some of the most annoying obstacles she had seen before the difficulty took a steep incline upward.

There were two options here: she could putter around for an hour moving the ball through the obstacles, or go for a long shot and send it across the forested area in hopes that it'd make it to the other side. Doing this would bypass the loop, and cut straight through–saving time and distance. It would also save her a lot of trouble. And since that was what this entire place consisted of, she wanted as little as possible. Moving to the point she had mentally marked before descending, she positioned herself so her swing would direct the ball over the woodlands. Winding up and swinging the club far back, she spun and slammed the ball with all the kinetic force she could. It went off like a firework across the treetops, and she began running down the grassy green hoping to make it in time before it landed. Once she knew where it fell, she could better adjust following attempts. Zigzagging through the quicksand patches and ponds, she immediately began searching for the ball. A little spot of white against green should be easy to find.

Approaching the approximate area where it should have landed, her eyes came upon a sight that made a chill creep into her bones. There was a tall, dark-haired man with a powerful, muscular build. He was armed, and had a wildness to him that triggered her instincts to keep away. But that wasn't the worst part…in his hand was the spot of white she had been looking for. He must have picked it up right before she arrived. That man was probably another participant in the maze, just like Serci earlier. And if that was true, then it was probable that he couldn't see her either. With fingers crossed she desperately hoped the man would lose interest and drop the ball. "Just leave the ball…leave the ball…drop it and leave it…" Shiloh muttered under her breath. She didn't need any more problems to crop up today. By all that was holy, if he could please ignore the ball and move on….

With unthinking nonchalance, the man tossed it aside with a flick of the wrist right into the woodland underbrush. That single dismissive act lit a fuse inside the deity, and made her absolutely livid. The next sound the man heard was an ear-piercing shriek like the screams of an infernal banshee before an enraged storm deity rammed into him at gale-force speeds–sending him flying into the distance. Eventually she made it to the flag, and putted the ball into the hole after doing a few more runs.

"How does this thing work again?" Never having operated any form of transportation other than a horse or carriage in his entire life, this was completely foreign to him. Hesitantly he had gotten on the metal cart, and was trying to get it to move. It was too heavy to budge, and moving the lever on it didn't do anything. There were brakes on it, but he didn't know. Cymbel began fiddling around with anything on it he could see, with little success. Finally he spotted some sort of metal pin, and pulled on it. Several good tugs were enough to get it loose, and he was wondering what purpose it served when the cart started rolling. Lurching forward, the metal cart leaned as it dipped down the slope…then very quickly began to pick up speed. 

Hanging onto the lever in the middle of the brakeless cart for dear life, Cymbel barreled down the tracks at breakneck speed. The tracks in the tunnel led to a wide open cavern with several branching pathways for the track he was currently riding on. Screaming, he squeezed his eyes shut as he doubled up near the cart's bottom platform. The speed at which this was going was terrifying! It was much faster than even the fastest of horses, while the shaking and squeaking wheels didn't make him feel any safer! His cries were muffled by the noisy rattling of the derelict cart. He had no idea how far he had gone or where he was, hyperventilating when it finally came to stop. Shivering from fear, he let go of the lever and laid down on the cart floor with his face in his hands. It took him a while to calm down enough to uncurl from the fetal position he had been in.

Wiping his face, he saw that he was back at the beginning. How was this possible? What about that terrifying ordeal he had endured minutes ago? Back at the tunnel's entrance again, he had come full circle. The tracks had to go somewhere, and before he shut his eyes, he saw there were four branching paths that were offshoots from the main line. He didn't know which one he had taken in his first ride, but it didn't lead out. He then realized he had been holding onto the metal pin he had pulled out earlier, having grasped it tightly as soon as the cart ran wild. Putting it back in, he now understood the pin was part of a larger mechanism which could pivot around the pinned joint. This pin would make the cart stop, making it slow down when in place. Depending on when it was inserted, you could either stop the cart entirely or bring it to a slow halt. Maybe he could use this to help him see which path was the correct one to take?

Pulling the pin out halfway, he nudged the front end of the cart to move slightly. This time, it began to roll down in a much controlled pace. Dropping the pin in all the way as it started picking up speed, an awful grinding of metal against the ground filled his ears. Covering them, he winced while noticing sparks flying. He was approaching the crossroads again, and saw the other paths more clearly. One went straight, two went directly left and right, and one sloped off to the right slightly. Lurching to a halt, he found himself stranded at the slope's bottom. What now? Careful observation revealed some old weathered wooden signs with something painted onto them. He couldn't read their contents, but he did notice some subtle differences around the paths. 

The left and right paths led up, and had drier ground. The two paths leading forward were similar up to the split. The one leading straight ahead was the same as the ground behind him, while the one slightly right had more damp soil. Hotter air was coming from the left pathway, an odd smell came from the right. The middle-right had a cooler draft, but it wasn't as strong as the currents out of all four. He decided to take his chances with the middle-right, and hope he was correct. That didn't solve the problem of getting the cart moving, however. Trying to fiddle with the mechanisms again, he took the cart's lever and began pulling it up and down. Slowly but gradually, it began to move the cart in the direction where he was facing. With much effort and patience, he shifted the cart towards the exit of his choice. Fortune must have been smiling on him, as he found himself out and into the maze again.

This particular area was much smaller than the past few she had trudged through. The lay of the land was simple: rolling hills surrounded by sand, with the only way to the other side blocked by a windmill that had a tunnel through its base. The only problem aside from the quicksand border–this windmill had large paddles attached to the sails. The tunnel which she was aiming for wasn't very wide,and the paddles blocked the entrance completely when they moved in front. This would all hinge on timing. …Oh joy. This was several times worse than the previous hole. This area was explicitly designed to be infuriating. With how lightweight that ball was, hitting the paddle would send it flying back. And the rotating paddles would push the ball off to the sides too. This would be a headache and a half. 

Not expecting her first shot to succeed, she went through the motions of getting prepared and waited. When she saw the gap between the paddles approaching, she gave a quick swing sending the ball straight ahead. Unfortunately her judgment on the speed of rotation was off, and the ball was fired off a bit too slow. The edge of a paddle made contact, sending the pockmarked ball rebounding into the sand. Back to the drawing board…again. A second shot went off too early, and the paddle smacked it backwards. She tried hitting with less force, making a faster swing, rolling the ball with a putt. Neither worked for various reasons. Just as she was about ready to hack off the windmill's sails, she heard a chuckle from from nearby. Turning to look, she saw a familiar dark-haired woman lounging on a cushioned reclining chair on the grassy area past the quicksand moat, off to the side. There was a glass in her hand, and a table with a bottle of some sort of alcoholic drink–half full. "Hey kiddo, having fun yet?"

"…Dalanesca." Shiloh was wondering when she would show up. With this being the ultimate combination of everything awful the four orbs had to offer, there would be plenty of casualties. Giving the goddess a beleaguered look, she asked: "…Is it time already?" The Reaper waved a hand, dismissing her assumptions. "I'm not here to kill you, I'm here to watch you be miserable." There was a long pause as she narrowed her eyes into a glare, before Shiloh replied. "I would say make yourself comfortable, but you've done that already." Slightly disappointed that she wasn't being relieved from this mortal coil, Shiloh returned to the battle against one of the most iconic and irritating obstacles ever to grace the golf green. Knowing somebody was actively watching her suffering did not improve the situation one bit.

Attempt four–the ball was aimed too high and hit the sail, falling down only to roll backward. Attempt five–aimed too low, was hit back immediately. Attempt eight–bounced too much and lost momentum before it could be inevitably knocked back by the paddles. With each failure, she was growing more and more frustrated. In one nonvocal outburst, an especially hard hit caused the ball to ricochet at a dangerously high speed, embedding itself into the trunk of the trees forming the area border. By now she had stopped keeping track of the count as it would just make her angrier. Eventually, she figured out a strategy. Instead of trying to time her hits from afar, she putted the ball closer to where it was less than a meter away. Now all she had to do was aim straight and true–at the right time. With mid-strength hits, she tried getting a feel for the timing of the windmill's rotation. It had to possess enough momentum to not only clear the paddles, but make it through the tunnel behind. 

Staying still for minutes, she waited. Watching the rotation of the sails, she stayed put until she could sense the speed at which it was moving. Then, when she had the rhythm down–a forceful, controlled tap. The ball rolled smoothly through the gap, past the paddles, right into the tunnel, and disappeared to the other side. Continuing down the slope on the backside, it entered a winding chute that led directly to the hole. The silence was finally broken with the musical clink of success.

Here he had been expecting a return to the puzzle rooms, only to find himself into another mess of winding corridors. The wall which he entered through sealed itself, making retreating out of the question. There was a lantern on the floor, with a piece of parchment. 'May the light guide you through the darkness.' As soon as he took the lantern, the entire area fell into a pitch black. The only area that was visible and lit was in a three meter radius surrounding the lantern itself. Even with his enhanced eyesight in low light conditions, the distinct absence of it rendered that ineffective. He was alone, in the dark.

"I need to find my way out of here…" He said to himself. His levels of anxiety were very high now, and talking to himself helped vent some of that stress. Clutching the lantern, he quietly walked through the maze's passages. There was a palpable chill in the air, and not simply due to a drop in the ambient temperature. He was afraid. As he walked he heard noises. The sound of something moving within the labyrinth. Worried, he stopped moving. Was it just his imagination? The noise, however persisted. It was gradually growing louder and sweat began to form beads on the back of his neck. Frantically searching for a place to hide, he quickened his steps away from the sound. Finding an alcove, he ducked in and smothered the lantern so the light wouldn't show. Then, holding his breath and shutting his eyes, he waited.

The sound grew closer, and something was stalking the passages. Soon it was gone, but he waited a little more just to be sure. What was that? There was something terrifying of the unknown, and it was too late to turn back. He prayed a silent prayer for the gods' mercy, to anything or anyone benevolent enough to grant him safety. Creeping about, he kept an ear out for any strange sounds, guided by the lantern. He had to hide several times, muffling the light so he wouldn't be found. Why he felt the need to was something he couldn't understand completely either. But it was almost instinctual. Carefully, covertly he continued on like this. The silence was probably the worst part of it all. Soon, he saw a doorway. Unsure if it was the right one, he approached with caution. Drawing his sword, he reached out tentatively and touched it with the tip. While he did so, he heard the shuffling again, and was seized by panic. Quickly rushing towards the door, he grasped about in search for a handle with the lantern's light brightly burning. The sound was approaching faster, and terror was overwhelming his senses.

"Please, please open! I beg of you!" He implored, pressed against the stone. Then, just as he was sure whatever that thing was had turned the corner–the stone door swiveled around sending him elsewhere. The lantern's light was blotted out by a sudden brightness, forcing him to cover his eyes. But…the shuffling sound was gone. Slowly readjusting his sight, he saw he was no longer in that dark collection of tunnels. The lantern was glowing faintly, and a pedestal with an impression perfect for the base of the lantern was present. Now safe and sound, he took it and set it in place. The door to the true eleventh location opened up, welcoming him to a slightly less fear-inducing area.