Handy, however, had come to the city’s end. The buildings just suddenly stopped, and he found himself running across a vast flat surface. Before him was a true sight to behold. In a wide arc stretching a great distance from right to left, he saw the Oaken Stairs. The name did not do the structure justice. Imagine, if you would, steps one would take to walk up to the doors of some grand administrative building of some fanciful empire. One would imagine steps of white marble, perhaps, wide and unnecessarily long. Perhaps there would be railings of gold. Perhaps the steps would be rounded so as to flow out, as if spilling forth from the doorway. The Oaken Stairs were arranged similarly, rounded and flowing from a single point far at its apex and made of simple wood, whitish-brown in colour. Each step was lovingly crafted with impossible care and detail to images and patterns that adorned the inside of each step, telling a story two hundred feet long and two thousand years old, for the vastness of the great stairs dwarfed most buildings, its thousand steps towering in grandeur despite not even being the tallest construction. And there, at its top, the apex shone silver doors and the means of salvation.