A path leads away from the final door, into the hazy distance. Flowers and grass bloom around it in profusion as well . . . there are a lot of fandalias out here.

Mithos is standing on the path, something dark and struggling between his hands. He looks worried and tired, but he's standing strong. The presence, the intensity of this area, is centered in him.

"Hey, Spark," he says, coming up the path.