Iakara stepped into the void, and his swords were wrenched from his grasp by his other sister that he hadn’t known about. There were three of them! If only he could convince the other to join them… He was hurled to the other side of the room…

Then he remembered his guardian… use me if you have need of me…

“Gleon fassot dri voordûr!” He spoke in the ancient language. The power grew in the air as his father appeared in the center of the room, the demon swordfighter of old whom was acknowledged as the best master of his art to ever walk the world. The sword blazed in his hands as he battered his daughter back.

“Run!” the demon yelled.

He did so, not pausing to look back as he charged up the Stairs of Doom, where no mortal had passed and lived to tell of it. He had no choice. He had to run now. He shunted the thoughts of doom from his mind and looked for something to open the door with. His eyes settled on a quarterstaff placed near the top of the stairs. It flew into his hands, as if it were magic. He wielded it, spinning the staff in the air in an upwards movement. The blast of air that followed split the door.