Among sorcerers, a legend bordering on obsession circulates. It is a story sown during the early years of tutelage that, once it takes root, can provoke unsettling dreams even in the most tempered apprentices. Surely you know what I am referring to. The Door.

They say, for instance, that the vengeful Salot did not undertake his conquest campaigns out of ambition for power. The conquest was merely a pretext: an excuse to move armies, tear down walls, and search every corner of the world for The Door.

What lies on the other side? No one knows for certain. Some speak of unimaginable fortunes, treasures that weigh nothing and take no space; others speak of sources of knowledge so vast they could collapse reason.

In taverns, it is still used, always drowning a mocking laugh between teeth. "What if The Door were there?" is the hook used to recruit sorcerers for any new venture.

But the most baffling case is that of Archmage Loch (yes, the one from the legend). They say he did find it. He stood before it, touched its wood, listened to the sound seeping from beneath. However, The Door did not interest him in the least. He looked at it as one looks at a stone on the path, shrugged, and went off to do something else. He never crossed it. He never even mentioned it in his memoirs.

How is it possible that something that drives some mad does not spark the slightest interest in others?