The former High King of Fillory wakes surrounded by stone. The walls might remind him of the castle he’s so familiar with, stones carefully laid and worn even smoother by time, but that is where the familiarity ends. The hall he is in feels cold, a sense of dread drifting through like an unearthly draft, and the only illumination is from a collection of candles already pooling wax beneath them.

He is at the end of this hallway, propped against the empty dead end wall, but ahead and to his left is a door. Further on, a second door, and then a third before the end of the hallway and the double doors that stand there.