The first thing you notice is how golden the harvest is. You watch as townsfolk sing and work, sickles swift through the wheat. Eternal-autumn leaves toss about in the wind, fire overhead, ashes below. The roads are heavily trod; prints of all kinds scattered through the sandy dirt leading everywhere and nowhere. You, of course, have your own path. You unfold your map and study it, looking for the answer. There, just over the hill, among the ruins of an old mausoleum, lies what you're here for.

You pass sagging stone walls and bright blue and yellow wildflowers. Granite steps lead you down into the earth. The air feels colder here, but not unwelcoming. You push the old wooden doors open and duck your head politely as you enter.

As you descend deeper into the crypt, the air grows colder and colder. Good thing you brought a jacket. Then, a thought occurs to you-- I'm not alone here. You glance up at the ceiling, down at the ground, deep into the cracks of the darkest dark, looking for something, anything. There's nothing there. Perhaps it was fleeting. But whatever the feeling was, it wasn't hostile. It was curious.

You come to a main chamber of sorts. Torches light up one by one as you enter, your presence enough to trip whatever magic had been set here. Finally, you can see ahead of you-- and past a gate is a room made of gleam and glimmer, with strong crystals growing like flora, creeping and crawling like thick ivy. But how to bypass the gate? You rummage your bag for an answer.

The air grows ever colder around you. No key, no clear way to open the door, and the feeling is back, breathing frigid next to you.

You call out to them.

The gate slides away, ancient gears rumbling and clicking, counterweights flying. You bow, then enter the chamber ahead. It's dazzling-- lights and color from every direction. You are momentarily blinded. Then you see what you came all this way for.

A creature appears from a nook of crystal. It happily makes its way over to you, wonderous and excited. You smile, and extend your hand toward it. The ghostly feeling fades. You've made it.