Tall sawgrass lined the crystal blue waters like a cape, leading to the guardians of the gates. Only a few have ventured here since the dawn of time, when the statues were constructed. Some believe it was done by gods, some believe they came from the skies and turned to stone when a monster was sealed away behind the gates; forever in a protected encasing until the monster is released. Some claim past the gates is the edge of the earth, where everything falls off into oblivion; forever destined to swirl in darkness and agony.

Orion places his walking staff against the sawgrass, pushing it down to avoid it cutting his leather boots as he travels to his cabin amongst the pastures. Venomous cobras hiss as he carefully treads amongst the scattered foothills. Gazelle tracks give clues to where the animals may have been travelling towards, leading straight towards the gate. With squinting eyes, a second guess has Orion turning away from the thicket of overgrowth in the gates entrance. Food is harder to get this time of year, since most animals seek refuge past the gate, giving motivation to break past the fear of the towns myths.