Had to dip and put out some fires in my life. But I'm back and with a new chapter next Saturday too.

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177A Bleecker Street

Peter raced with reckless abandon.

His webs clung to tall chrome towers and cement walls. Countless glass windows passing in his periphery reflected his jeans, t-shirt, and streaming hair smearing together. Wind bit into his red and misty eyes. He'd only carried himself two blocks before a deep trembling shook his hands, skewing his aim. His rhythm was off. His breathing came out as strained and shallow wheezes. It was out of sync with his movement and he couldn't match one to the other.

Mr. Stark was chasing him. Probably. Most likely. There was no ominous spidey-sense tipping him off, but Peter refused to stop and verify whether or not he was really there. That would waste time, if only moments, and he only had a short head start as it was. His slight advantage in the air would give him a chance. Mr. Stark, on the ground, was restricted by traffic laws.

Peter knew what he had to do.

He wasn't ready. He couldn't delude himself into thinking that he knew what he was doing, but he was cornered now with only one direction to go to get out. It didn't matter that he had nothing to rely on, save for his suit and his smarts, but maybe there would never be a time when he'd have a concrete plan. Maybe this was as good of a time as any to go.

He turned towards 79th street. A goal surfaced in mind. He visualized his… the bedroom window. He had left his suit inside, tucked away neatly in the dresser. The hypocrisy was not lost on him, and he wondered how pissed Mr. Stark would be when he realized that Peter had returned to take his suit after having refused his birthday gift. Heat churned in his gut, but he didn't stop. Ideally, Peter would have left with no attachments and no debt between them. But the lingering phantom weight of cinder blocks and metal frame work pressed on his back, crushing him under a building that had buried him years ago.

'Suit up, for sure,' he repeated to himself. It was a necessity.

A minute later, he landed on warm glass. Sliding the window open he clambered shakily into the room and landed on carpet with a heavy thud. He wrenched open the dresser drawer and stepped into his baggy second skin. A distant shuffling made him freeze.

"Peter?" Ms. Potts' voice called from the living room. A sharp twinge shot through Peter's chest. He gritted his teeth and slapped the spider emblem on his chest, cinching the suit around him. "Is that you?" She called again, but closer.

He slipped the mask over his head. A hesitant knock came just as he dove out of the window. Tinsel webs caught him. His stomach kept plummeting even as he threw himself high into the air.

He should've said goodbye. Ms. Potts deserved so much more than that basic courtesy, but that required a different kind of courage. One that Peter didn't have. He'd make it up to her later. Once all the dust was settled, life was restored, and all of this was behind them, they could go back to how things were. How they were supposed to be before he'd ruined everything.

The reassurance rang with weak conviction, and it would seem that he couldn't delude himself into thinking that was true either.

Peter let out a shuddering breath. Feeling all at once light headed, he came to a stop and crouched on top of a gabled roof. Balanced on the peak, he sunk his head into his palms.

It was too late. These months spent straddling a line, with a foot in two separate lives, had changed too much. He had said things that he couldn't take back, and the damage was irreparable. Mr. Stark had been pushy, but that was nothing new, he always had been like that. It was Peter who had turned mean.

May might not even know him anymore. Mr. Stark didn't seem to. Peter wished he could go back to a time before all of this. Back when the best people in his life still knew him.

'I love you, kid.'

"Shut up!" Peter hissed and pressed his eyes shut. He balled his hands into fists against his temples.

"Who are you talking to?"

Peter nearly shot out of his skin.

"Karen!" he squeaked and swayed to catch his balance. "Jeez Louise! You almost gave me a heart attack."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to surprise you," she said kindly. "Who were you talking to?"

"Uhhh… no one. Just, y'know… me. I was talking to myself." He straightened up stiffly. A pause followed his words and he could practically hear her silently judging his quirky mannerisms. It bristled against his grated nerves. "Human's do that sometimes when they're stressed. It's not weird."

"Are you stressed?"

"I- no, no. I didn't mean…" he sighed, cursing his inability to shut his mouth. Karen had a way of pulling things out of him. Sometimes he wondered why Mr. Stark had programmed her to be so inquisitive. He couldn't recall any time where FRIDAY had been so prying.

But that wasn't important. Peter forced himself to focus. He had a job to do. An incredibly daunting one that no one would help with. The prospect of going solo made his insides squirm.

'I know you're capable of doing more. I've seen it.'

Mr. Stark believed in him. Even if he was pissed at him now, that didn't detract from the fact that he knew Peter wasn't useless. And Peter had nagged him over and over again for every detail of the attack. He knew everything that Mr. Stark knew. He could do this… he just had to think.

He watched the busy intersection in front of him. The lights rotated through colors. Lanes halted and lurched forward in turn. His eyes flitted over them and then snagged on a traffic camera mounted next to the stacked traffic lights. A thought struck him, and he allowed himself a brief moment to wallow in his stupidity for not having thought of it sooner.

"Hey, Karen?"

"Yes, Peter?"

"Can you access the city's CCTV footage for me?"

Peter imagined that if Karen had a face, she'd be frowning.

"I can operate in conjunction with FRIDAY to access those archives, but I would advise against doing so as it violates-"

"Can you bring up all the footage that was recorded around the time of the attack on May 11th?" A barrage of traffic cam screens assaulted his lenses, filling them with little boxes. "Oh, wow. That's a lot," Peter breathed. Slightly overwhelmed and thinking quickly, he added: "Okay…um… can you narrow it down to footage of Mr. Stark? Like, where he was before and during the fight?"

Karen complied, narrowing down the results to a hand full of recordings. Peter glanced at the time codes and found the one with the time marked at the exact time that he knew the donut ship entered Earth's atmosphere. Mr. Stark was exiting a building, putting on his glasses, weaving through the flow of running people, helping up a woman who had tripped.

"There, that one! Stop!"

The grainy, black and white image froze. Even in crappy, low resolution footage, Peter could see how the five-story building stood out from its surroundings. It looked old, like a heritage building plucked from the turn of the 20th century and placed in modern day New York.

He could hardly believe his luck.

"That building, what's the address?"

"177A Bleecker Street."

A map appeared in the corner of his lens with a spidey marker pinging a spot in Greenwich Village. Peter grinned.

"Feel like going on a field trip?" He jumped off the roof without waiting for her answer.

"A field trip?"

"Yeah. No patrolling. No damage controlling. Just some harmless snooping around MACUSA."

"I'm not familiar with that acronym. Is it a legal, commercial, or nonprofit entity?"

Peter sighed and took a sharp corner.

"It stands for the Magical Congress of the United States of America. Never mind, it's a joke."

He followed the red marked path. Excitement roiled in him because finally he had something to go on. Then Mr. Stark's picture flashed across his lenses, and he went cold.

"Incoming call from Tony Stark."

"No, Karen, don't answer that!" He shouted, misjudging the distance between himself and a roof and landing on wobbly legs.

"I am unable to disregard-"

"I'm not ready to talk to him yet! Please, Karen, can't you do me a solid this one time?" She said nothing and Peter took this as a good sign. "I'm just gonna look around. It's no big deal. I'll go home right after."

He winced, but didn't break his stride. That was a lie. He had no intention of returning to Mr. Stark's home. Not after the scene he'd made. Shame burned under his skin, and he tried to forget the wounded way that Mr. Stark had looked at him.

The picture and the call receiving options disappeared, but the pit in Peter's stomach remained.

"Thanks, Karen," he muttered.

Sat on the intersection of Bleecker street and Fenno Place, the sanctum dominated the corner like a sentinel standing watch. It wasn't that it was an overly huge building, it didn't come close to touching some of the city's massive landmarks, but it exuded a formidability that gave Peter pause.

The squat, red-bricked building pressed up next to it was comically small and plain by comparison. Perched on top of a streetlamp across the street, Peter couldn't stop gawking.

He couldn't quite make up his mind about what kind of vibe he was getting from it. Inlaid in a sloping, oxidized copper roof, there was a line of equally spaced French doors attached to small wrought iron balconies. The kind that were only large enough to stand on, and which Peter had only seen on houses in movies set in the pre-war era. On the other hand, the rigid lines and overall hardness gave the building a bureaucratic feel. But maybe it could be all of those things: a home, an office, and a fortress. Peter supposed they didn't have to be mutually exclusive.

Then there was a giant round window sitting front and center of the green roof. Right in the middle of the balcony windows, with swooping lines cutting through it like the black lines on a basketball. It was interesting… and vaguely familiar. Wracking his mind for a moment, Peter realized that he'd seen that symbol in Dr. Strange's necklace.

Yep. This was the place.

How had he not noticed all this weirdness during the fight? They had been fighting in these streets, and Peter remembered the area well. He knew this chunky, block-like building hadn't been here before. Instead he recalled-

"Wasn't this a Dunkin' Donuts?" Peter tilted his head. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure it was. Before Scottie beamed me up, I got a good look at this place and it was definitely a Dunkin' Donuts closed for renovations."

"According to archived CCTV footage of the area, this building has always appeared this way," Karen said. Peter scrunched up his nose, eyes darting around cautiously to spot the traffic cameras. "Although, of the record databases that I'm able to access, I cannot find any legal documentation of its construction. Nor any licensing which might indicate what business or organization, if any, operates within it."

"Really? None?" Peter asked. He wasn't sure why that rattled him. It surely wouldn't be the weirdest thing he found out today. "Whose name is on the lease?"

"There isn't one."

"What about property taxes?"

"The IRS has no records for this lot."

Huh. Did Dr. Strange have this place listed as a church? Churches were exempt from paying land taxes, right? Peter thought that was a thing. But even then, the property would still be accounted for. It didn't simply vanish.

He was overthinking it. This was magic. Sneaky, hidden society magic. That explanation awoke both the fantasy/sci-fi loving nerd and the frustrated truth-seeking scientist in him.

"Wait a second…" Peter drawled. "If this building doesn't technically exist, how did you give me an address?"

"I deduced what the address should be based on its location in relation to the surrounding, verifiable addresses."

Peter nodded to himself and hopped down to the ground.

"Magic is nuts, huh Karen?"

He crossed the road. Cement steps lead up to teal double doors with windows in them. He set his foot on the bottom step and a warm draft washed over him, raising the hair on his forearms…

"Did you change your mind?"

Peter blinked. Karen's voice wafted around in his brain.

"Huh?" he slurred, "Whuzzat?"

"I asked you if you changed your mind."

"'bout what?"

"About visiting 177A Bleecker street. Did you decide to go home instead?"

Slowly, his shuffling stopped. When had he started walking? He groggily swiveled his head this way and that, peering confusedly down the long street.

"I-I don't… I wanted… coffee."

"You don't drink coffee because of your caffeine intolerance," Karen reminded him. "Peter, are you not feeling well?"

Gradually, the fog started to dispel, and through it he could see fuzzy instructions. 177A Bleecker street. The Sanctum. Smash ctrl Z.

Peter turned on his heel and sprinted back the way he came.

"I'm fine, Karen! Thanks, you saved the day!"

"Did I?"

"Sure did!" he laughed.

He ran up the steps in front of the sanctum. A warm wave hit him again as he crossed over the stoop to the thick wooden double-doors. Tingles grazed over his skin.

"Peter, where are you going?"

Karen sounded kind of annoyed. Was she annoyed at Peter? He slumped tiredly against a street lamp.

"Whut? Whut'd I do?"

"You were going to enter 177A Bleecker street, but you turned around and left again."

"Hmmm?" Peter glanced behind him at the road and the building that towered the corner. A dim reminder prodded him, like a half-remembered to-do list. "Oh, yeah. Whoopsie. Just keep saying that, willya? Thanks."

And she did. Karen repeated the instruction over and over again while Peter, feeling rather as he had that time Dr. Cho had to figure out through trial and error how much anesthesia was too much anesthesia for his enhancement, shambled drunkenly across the street.

Finally, as he grasped the door handle and pressed the latch with his thumb, Karen chimed in: "If they are trying to prevent you from entering the premises, perhaps you shouldn't-"

"Forget it. This is happening." He pushed open the door with ease. "They're all coming home, just wait and see."

The sanctum was not what Peter had expected the meeting place of a hidden magical world to be.

He really hadn't known what his subconsciously formulated biases had expected. Maybe Harry Potter-ish candles, quills and parchment? Or darker, pre-enlightenment sort of satanic witchcraft? Perhaps middle earth woodland faerie stuff or cosmic motifs?

What he got instead was a dimly lit atrium, done up in a ton of teal-blue, orange, and brown. Standing in the middle of the marble floor, at the foot of a grand staircase, he twisted around in circles.

Wizards really got a thing for symmetry, he mused. Anywhere a vase or end table sat, a duplicate stood either beside or across from it. Similarly, chairs that were clear decorative and not meant for sitting lined the hallway walls with equal spacing between them. A bunch of bland paintings depicting the outdoors hung strategically on the walls. On the whole, Peter was surprised by how ordinary it all looked. It was grand and elegant, but given the establishment's reputation as home of the time stone it seemed to be somewhat lacking in the overtly witchy themes.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. The sanctum was deathly silent, so it had that going for it in the spooky witchcraft department. Not to mention there was an unsettling sensation that had pricked up the hairs on the back of Peter's neck.

From the moment Peter closed the front door, he'd contracted a bad case of the willies. Wood and glass shouldn't be able to muffle sound as effectively as those double doors did, but as Peter had quietly pressed the door shut, the ambient sounds of cars and people were muted completely. His breathing had sounded too loud to his ears and as he walked, he had kept his footfalls as quiet as possible. His head had bow down as walked, as though he were trying to duck out from under intense scrutiny.

"Do you smell smoke?" Peter whispered, too nervous to care about how stupid it was to ask an AI if it smelled anything.

"That cauldron next to the staircase appears to have been recently lit."

Peter turned and noticed for the first time a sturdy metal stand supporting a large cauldron. It was tall, and as he crept up beside it, he had to stand on his toes to get a good view into the basin. Smoldering coals coated the bottom, radiating a heat so powerful that Peter could feel it through his mask. The heat surged and ebbed away as the glowing centers fluctuated between bright and dim. Each cycle stretched out longer and longer, like a dying creature taking its final breathes.

Peter stumbled backward. Casting his gaze around nervously, he sought out the eyes that he felt on him, but there was no one.

"So somebody is home then," he mumbled.

"Perhaps it would be better to make your presence known to the occupants of the building, in case they mistake you for an enemy and attack."

Peter clenched his hands. Spotting another set of closed double doors, he set off toward them.

"I'll take my chances."

"Why are you whispering?"

"Gotta be stealthy," he said under his breath. "Can't have some wizard tossing me out before I even have a chance to set things right."

He wouldn't get another chance like this. If caught, and he knew that he would be eventually, these wizards would kick him to the curb without batting an eye. No one wanted the gimmicky neighbourhood Spider-Man when the stakes were this high. Then they'd fix whatever flaw was in their fake-Dunkin' Donuts spell, and that would be it. His only chance to save his family, gone up in smoke.

"Why would they toss you out? You're one of New York's heroes. It would be detrimental to their cause for them to refuse your help."

Peter smiled and relished the warm feeling spreading through him.

"Aww, thanks Karen. That's real nice to hear, but I'm not so sure they'll want my help. Better to beg for forgiveness than ask permission. That's the name of the game when you're me."

"Why?"

"Nothing gets done if I gotta wait for permission."

He set his hand on the doorknob but hesitated. He couldn't hear anyone on the other side, and he knew that he should be able to hear them clearly with his enhanced hearing, but this was a magic house. Thus far, it had displayed a remarkable lack of respect for the laws of physics.

"Can you scan for heat signatures before I go in? It would make the whole not getting caught thing way easier."

"Something is hindering my sensors. I'm not able to read anything beyond these walls."

"Great," he sighed. "These wizards really thought of everything, huh?"

"You could leave," she said. Her gentleness stung, though Peter knew that wasn't her intention.

He considered what life would be like if he left now. Returning to Mr. Stark, if he would still have him after he'd been so brutally unkind in his honesty, was unthinkable. Things wouldn't be the same between them, and Peter didn't know if he could stand to look at the rift he'd caused.

"No, it's too late for that."

Karen didn't press, though Peter could practically feel her concern seeping through the lines of code. He was grateful that Mr. Stark had programed her with tact. Even if he were brave enough to explain himself, he wasn't sure he could find the words for this.

Peter had walked cautiously through three different (and thankfully empty) rooms when he realized that his initial assessment of the sanctum had been correct; it was a space that seemed to serve every purpose.

The first set of doors led into a spacious hall. A number of squashy armchairs sat organized in a semi-circle, all facing toward a mahogany desk with a winged-back chair behind it. Clearly, a meeting room for magical crises.

The second set of doors led to a smaller room that appeared to be an infirmary. A row of cots stretched from one wall to the other. There were cabinets stocked full of phials and jars containing mysterious liquids. Some had indistinguishable floaties in it, others were glowing, and a few looked like they contained mud. None of them had labels, so Peter could only guess what they actually were.

The third door led to a pantry, and it was then that Peter became keenly aware that he was in someone's home. The door fell shut behind him as he surveyed with mild interest the bounty of shelved high fructose snacks. It was odd to see a wall of chips, coffee, and cookies in front of him, like he was at a corner store and not… whatever the heck this sanctum was supposed to be. His stomach rumbled and for a second, he was tempted to liberate a few Ritz crackers from the top shelf. But he held himself back despite his hunger because it didn't belong to him and it wouldn't be cool to pilfer Dr. Strange's impressively large snack selection… and also what if they were cursed and Peter became trapped in eternal bondage to the sanctum, all because he ate a couple crackers? The ancient Greeks had taught him all about curiosity killing the cat (or trapping it in the underworld) back in seventh grade.

Not worth it to find out, he decided. He turned and pulled open the door behind him.

"What the…?"

There was no infirmary. Instead, Peter stood in the hallway at the top of the grand staircase. Somehow, he had gotten to the second floor. He hadn't climbed any stairs… how…? He turned and pulled the pantry door open again. It led to a glass conservatory, sparkling in the sunshine. Lush and vibrant plants grew over ever surface. Vines climbed wooden trellises and seemed to reach for the glass roof. He closed the door and opened it again. Now it was a bathroom.

Peter stared wide-eyed into the small tiled room. Despite the massive inconvenience this posed to his search, he couldn't stop grinning. Sure, he may have unknowingly entered a labyrinth during the most important mission of his life, but he was looking at, and partially controlling, a portal! A gateway connecting two distanced spatial points! That was just so awesome.

Suppressing a laugh, he closed and open the door again. A study appeared before him and the smile slid from Peter's face.

A man sat hunched over a desk, elbow propped up with his forehead in his palm. A book lay flat on the table below his face, and a few strands of auburn hair fell into his line of sight. He didn't look up. Nor did he seem to notice the door opening. Peter, slowly and silently, shut it and backed away.

'Focus up, Parker!' his thoughts shouted as he sped down the hall. It unsettled him to discover that even after everything that had happened, the reprimand still came out in Mr. Stark's voice.

He turned a corner at random. The same dark teal walls and symmetrically lined chairs and lamps appeared, but at the end of the hallway there were three different views framed side by side in metal. They were… windows? Or maybe glass doors? Peter thought as he neared them, that they looked a bit like tri-fold mirrors. On the left was a tulip field. The center was a dark, snowy landscape, and the right was a jungle. A dial with odd markings around it protruded from the space between each window, and when Peter turned one of them, the jungle became a dirt road.

Huh.

It was like the door on Howl's Moving Castle, except not confined to four locations. Peter spun the dial, not even trying to suppress his goofy grin while he watched with fascination as the road became an orange sand desert, then a parking lot, then an ocean, and finally a murky swamp. He leaned in closer and eagerly studied the markings around it when a hushed murmuring voice made him snap to attention.

It came from far away, and Peter knew if it weren't for his sharp hearing, he wouldn't have heard it. But he followed the sound of slow and measured chanting down the hallway, around the corner, and to a flight of stairs leading up. The voice was much closer now. Peter eyed the squeaky looking wooden floorboards warily. He climbed the wall next to them instead, adhering his hands and feet silently he crawled up high enough to peek over the lip of flooring.

Golden light filled Peter's eyes, and the gasp it drew from him was lost in the hypnotic rhythm of song. The giant swoopy lined, basketball window bore down on him with a presence that felt alive. It projected a circle of sunlight on to the ground, which was out shone by glittering gold magic.

Sitting within the light on the raised floor was a man immersed in chanting. His back faced Peter, and he held a book up to his face. Leaning his body and craning his neck, Peter was just able to make out the same basketball symbol on the front cover. The man read from it and sang in a language Peter didn't understand. His voice punched some words harder than others, and with each strike the golden mandala creeping out from under his body inflated further, like a balloon filling between puffs of breath.

It was hard to look away, but Peter forced himself. The spectacle was mesmerizing, but it wasn't what he was supposed to be focusing his time on. Sweeping his gaze around the rest of the attic, he paused to admire all of the cool artifacts in glass cases. It looked rather like a museum curated by Elder Scrolls fans, and if he had the time, he would totally waste hours up there.

Ned would've loved this, he thought sadly as he crept down beside the stairs.

Since there was no rhyme or reason to this place, and Peter honestly couldn't predict where he would end up, he decided to go into the room on his immediate left and let fate take the wheel. He was only somewhat surprised to see a long staircase leading down below. There was no light and he couldn't see the bottom of the stairwell, but when he arrived on the landing and felt around for a light switch, he just knew that he had somehow wound up in a basement. The washer, dryer, and hot water tank huddled together in the corner of dingy cement walls was a dead give-away. In the opposite corner was, what appeared to be, a compact laboratory, complete with brass scales, mortar and pestles sets, and Bunsen burners. The odd juxtaposition made Peter laugh.

But then a heavy clomping shook the ceiling above him, and the laughter fizzled out in his throat. He glanced up at the exposed pipes and wood beams and saw dust falling in clouds.

"Karen, do you hear that?"

"Yes. Someone is walking above of us, but unlike you they are not attempting to keep themselves hidden."

"So they're supposed to be here." He scuffed his foot on the cement as he pondered the possibilities. "It's probably that chanting guy from the attic."

Muffled voices weaved together; A calm and quiet one clashing with agitated shouting. Peter tensed.

"I guess he met up with the guy who was studying?" he guessed, but couldn't manage to convince himself. "Karen, can you send droney to see who's up there?"

"I can activate and deploy the drone, but you won't be able to view the video feed until you leave this building."

"Why?"

"I am currently disconnected from the network."

Peter's eyes snapped wide.

"W-what? We're offline?" he spluttered.

"As soon as you stepped inside, your suit became disconnected from Tony Stark's private servers."

"Aww, crap," he whimpered and pressed his hands over his head. "Never mind. I know who it is."

Footsteps did kind of sound like clomping when they were encased in armor. And Mr. Stark had told him that he tended to get antsy when Peter went off the grid.

'Thought I'd check in,' Mr. Stark had promised. Or threatened. Peter imagined him tearing the sanctum apart and dragging Peter out by his ear. It would all be over then. His only shot ruined and with nowhere to go. What then?

He turned and raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

"Please work, please work, please work," he begged and crossed his fingers for good measure. He burst through the door and into the empty atrium. Clamping his mouth shut to hold back a triumphant whoop, he jumped and punched the air.

"-not possible for him to have walked in from the street. Only those who know of this place-"

"Which he does."

"- Can find it. We've also fortified the protective spells shrouding the sanctum due to recent disturbances."

"Huh. Disturbances. That's a good one. I haven't heard such a chillingly cavalier statement about the end of life as we knew it. That's some talent you got there, but your dark humor is, as the kids say, hashtag too soon."

"I do not mean the mad titan. The sanctum continues to defend, as it has for centuries, against magical threats. No one without the aid of magic could hope to find-"

"I don't have magic and I managed to find it just fine. Sure, I had to tag team with my AI just to get through the damn door, but it was doable. I swear, Spidey's personal mantra is: 'where there's a will, there's a way'. And he's got an AI of his own, so I know he must've figured out how to bamboozle your infallible magic." Mr. Stark spat the last word like it was dirty.

Peter's face reddened. He suddenly felt like a kid at a grocery store accompanied by a 'I demand to speak to the manager' parent. The back of his neck prickled again. He felt his gaze being coaxed toward an unexplored hallway at the other end of the atrium.

"You were able to break through mental manipulation with the aid of artificial intelligence?"

"Get out from under your rock, Wong! Technology is a gift to the world!"

Peter's flush intensified. Gritting his teeth he wound down the hallway and turned a corner as he heard Mr. Stark huff.

"Sorry, that was unnecessary. Look, it's been a shit day, and I'm not leaving without my pain-in-the-ass spiderling. So maybe you could quit flapping your jaws and boot up whatever passes for security around here? Because my tracker says he's either in here somewhere or he vanished off the face of the Earth, and I gotta say, I'm not thrilled with either of those scenarios."

An impressive floor-to-ceiling stone door stood in front of him. It had the basketball emblem carved into the center, and he knew this had to be place. Wherever he was supposed to go. That thought was further reinforced by how ridiculously heavy the slab of stone was. Surely, no one but a wizard could open it. He felt the strain, even against his enhanced strength. A film of shimmering magic sealed the frame. After giving it a passing apprehensive glance, he pushed through it.