TŪMBṂĀR kept on running and ascending faster and faster, and he made his movement quicker with air. Flying from foothold to foothold, he soon began to see trees, very tall ones, that had a thick base and small branches peeping out from its zenith. And when he passed them and went on further, he came to the summit and halted. There in front of him stood a strange house. Alike to all other buildings in Ārhmanhaḥ, it retained its cylindrical structure. But its base was small and its top was large and there were small structures in reverse form that surrounded it, spiraling toward the top. And atop all of them were inwardly curved conical roofs, with windows at seemingly random locations.

Tūmbṃār approached it and in front was the door: a heavy wooden frame and a gigantic lock that was about three times the size of the boy. It leaned forward as if to almost fall upon him; he stood like an ant before it, and the boy wondered if a giant instead of a sorcerer lived here. But it could also have been a sorcerer who happened to be a giant. Without caution, he smacked the door.

“Is anyone there?” called Tūmbṃār.

He flinched when he heard his voice echoing past. He had not noticed it before, but there seemed to be hills situated in the distance and a vast forest of the same tall trees. But they were all shrouded within mist and it seemed he alone was the only person to be had there. Other than the trees and the grass, there were no other signs of life. It was then that the door opened slowly, creaking as it did so. He entered through the sliver into darkness and then suddenly there were flames that lit up the interior.

Now, one would think it would be best if he had just turned around and walked out while the door was still open. But Tūmbṃār being as he was with his interest having returned in full force, ran through with a large smile.

Though it seemed unlikely, he hoped he would see the old smith again. And with that hope, he raced through the wide hall with its tall ceiling and massive paintings. He looked around himself to see just how large everything was and when he reached the stairs, they likewise were as well; being tall as they were wide, and he had to propel himself to scale the steps.

Above, he could see that the steps seemed to move on in endless fashion into a deep darkness. As he climbed them, the lights slowly became dimmer till he could barely see in front of him.

There were many hallways and floors that he could scarce make out, with only the light from windows of outstanding height far in his view serving as an anchor. But his curiosity was directed toward what lay at the house’s uppermost floor.

Continuing on, he could see the space shift and warp. The grip he had on the steps began to fade, and it felt as if he was floating. He quickened his pace to not lose what little feeling he had on the stairs and climbed higher and higher. It seemed he had already crossed some hundreds of floors but the end never came. And then he noticed, that all around him was dark. He could not see the end on any side, becoming wary of his surroundings.

He heard low whispers, and those low whispers moved the air, and suddenly all around, lamps became alight. The dark space was now with dim light. Looking around, he wanted to see what he thought were apparitions that had given him their help, but the whispers had died and silence was set around him. He gave his thanks, shouting into the air, and continued onward.

The space slowly normalized for not long after he came to a towering door. Looking at the side of the steps, he could see the bottom, though it was very far and lit as a small spec of light in his view. From bottom to top, he could see many chandeliers, suspended on their own. And the lamps across the round walls lit with great effulgence. All save at the top, the darkness seemed no more and Tūmbṃār could not help but find this unusual. Behind the door, he could sense someone, and there seemed to be little light escaping through the crevices. He pushed the door, expecting it to be heavy. But he had put too much force, for the door swung in swiftly and he stumbled into the room.

The dust of the space lifted and through it, the boy could see the dim light of the candlewicks and lamps. Sitting cross-legged on the floor was a man with his back to Tūmbṃār, who was writing rather fiercely. The papers flew one after the other from his desk into a hap-hazard pile on his side, and each paper that fell upon the stack lifted a great degree of dust.

Tūmbṃār patted himself and created a barrier of air to sweep away the dust. As he had discerned, the man was indeed tall—taller than the smith even and his clothes were different. It seemed Tūmbṃār would not be able to see the smith again. He let his disappointment wane; for he came to the realization that this man could have been the mage that the townsfolk talked about.

With silent steps, the boy approached him, inching closer and closer until he was in reach of a baggy portion of the man’s robe. He reached to tug at it, but just as he was in reach, he heard a loud voice resound: “Disturb me not! I’m not yet done!”