“What world is this?” 

Familiar double explosions rock an unfamiliar circular stone room. The Shifting Sword dutifully hangs from your hip and chimes. 

They come.

You take it in quickly; Oil lamps glow between floor-to-ceiling book shelves, fallen leather-bound books litter an ornate rug, and an iron helmet in a glass display case looks toward a tall window darkened by billowy black smoke outside. You stand facing a single massive oak door, then it implodes sending you backward. Shards of wood slice into your bare arms raised to protect your eyes.

Let’s go!

The Shifting Sword rings with joy and the first rusty golem’s head falls with a klang. Its rotund iron frame rolls forward, spilling fire over the rug.

Quick like wind.

Leaping through the doorway a second head drops, then a third. Confusion gives way to frenzy. Smoke is an ally and fear a motivator.

Like water over rocks, don’t stop.

The blade slices its perpetual path, down the stairs, around a corner, your body spinning and twisting behind the sword. Golems fall one by one as the fire grows and the hallway shrinks toward another door.

An explosion shifts the floor beneath your feet and the walls moan.

The door!

Your body hits the door and it flies open sending you against the noise of war, and the air that burns your lungs. But you can’t stop.

Never tiring, never relenting, the Golems continue to advance.

The Shifting Sword chimes again.

Twentyfour hours.

You sheath the sword and blend into the rioting populace. You look different from them but panic is all the camouflage you need.