It had been another several days of walking. Celestyn’s legs ached, his paws turned raw from the rough leaves, his nose stung bitterly from the pollen. Thinking about it, I haven’t seen any animals except for that one rabbit. Not even a bird singing, he thought. Whatever.
With a sigh, he closed his eyes, taking in the sound of nature. The leaves crinkled in the breeze. The branches clicked and clacked overhead. Serene. Quiet, he thought – not for the first time.

Suddenly, pain surged through his foot. He fell forward, nose slamming against rotten old wood. “Ow!” he exclaimed. Crawling onto his hands and knees, he grumbled at the feeling of the grain against his hands. Wait, he realized.
Looking up, his eyes locked on the purple banner, overhanging an open doorway. A disgusting scent of rot wafted from inside. What is that smell? Walking into the shrine-house, he found the air too thick to breathe. His lungs burnt in protest. He quickly stumbled backward out of the doorway, the scent of rotting food and old wood searing in his chest. Damnit. What do I do? He wondered, but only for a moment – as his eyes locked on the cloth above. A purple banner with a white eye trimmed in gold – Visuisa’s banner. Perfect, he stood in a heartbeat, grabbing the old cloth and wrapping it around his face to cover his nose. Re-entering the shrine-house, he found his chest clear. He quickly surveyed his surroundings. Disgusting, rotted food littered the floor. A large chair sat in the center, near the back wall – it had purple white-tipped mushrooms growing from the seat and a large purple banner on the wall beside it. A sizable bed against the side wall, the blankets torn and moldy. A large stove sat against the opposite wall, rusted. How has all of this degraded this fast? It’s only been a few weeks, he pondered.

Carefully stepping through the food, he avoided touching any of it.
Finally making his way to the back wall, he noticed a strangely off-center, ripped banner with what looked like... Is that a door? He tore the old banner down with a struggle, the fabric ripping loudly before he stuffed it into his bag. Behind it sat a large rusted door – easily one-and-a-half times Celestyn’s height. He reared back, prepared to slam his shoulder into it, before pausing – Wait.
“Square up. Lift your leg. Aim for the lock, then–“ his father’s lesson flashed in his head from when they had gotten locked out of their barn. He inhaled, then – with a hard impact the door slammed open, his raw paws stinging in protest. Thank you dad, he thought.

Turning, he found himself in a long hallway, the purple mushrooms coating one wall. The scent of rot pushed through his makeshift mask and seared in his sternum. What the hell are these? He hissed internally. Pressing himself to the opposite wall, he made his way around the mushrooms. Crack!
Suddenly he felt the floor give way, his right paw plunging into cold, squishy mushrooms. They squirmed disgustingly around his ankle. Heaving, he thought himself lucky he could feel stone under them. “Gross,” he growled. He pulled his leg out with a heave of effort, stumbling slightly forward. Sighing, he leaned backward on a wall-

Creaaak!

Falling backward, he landed roughly on his back, hissing as tingling pain stabbed through his spine.
Growling as he stood, he glanced around – relieved to find it lacking any of the mushrooms. He closed the door behind him and cautiously lowered his makeshift mask.
Closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath, his lungs seared in disgust at the slight of the decay that stayed in his chest.
He opened his eyes, now really taking in the environment – a chair was sat in a window, red late-day light beaming in. His aching paws throbbed and he found himself almost throwing himself into the chair. Finally.

The feeling of nothing. The grain of the chair was gone. Celestyn slowly opened his many eyes. The world spun around him – where am I? Frantically, he looked around, the world a spinning purple blur. Objects around him moved and shifted incomprehensibly. A chair? A sword? A person? None of it made any sense.
“Celestyn,” a voice called. In a whirl his head snapped in the direction, and he locked eyes with his father – or, rather, a shadow of his father. His form, made of purple dust, twisted and changed, but was nonetheless definitely his father.
“Father? What are you… doing here? Where am I?”
“You are right where you need to be. Trust your gut.”

The smell of dust and rot returned to him. The world still spinning, Celestyn snapped upward in the chair. The feeling of grain in his palms returning, he gripped the arm-rests of the chair. Did I fall asleep? He slowly looked around – the room was just as he had left it, but the red light behind him had turned purple. Turning, he was blinded for just a heartbeat by the purple moon, hanging low in the sky, shadowless. The hills and trees framed the moon like an orb being held in an intricate stand.
Huffing, he stood, his legs shaking. He growled at the tingling in his legs, lasting only momentarily before feeling returned. Getting his balance, he walked to the door, and pushed through, turning to the right yet again. Continuing down the hall, it slowly faded into darkness – a darkness so thick, not even his true-sight could pierce it.
Pain surged in his face as his nose met wood. Damnit. He blindly traced his arms on the wall – when he found a door handle. Gripping and turning it, the door creaked open, and inside the darkness broke, giving way to the sight of descending stairs to a rusted old door.
At the bottom of the stairs now, he noticed the lack of a door-handle. Damn you, he thought, then reared back, lifted his leg – SLAM! The door creaked, and gave way.

Trust your gut, he thought.