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♫ March of the Monuments ♫
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I enter the corridor. My old joints ache, but I never falter in making my daily rounds, leading me through the secret corridor deep into Olympus, where a hidden vaulted hall lies. Here, in a seven-thousand-year slumber, lie elves, dwarves, dragons, gnomes, trolls, unicorns, the roc, cyclopes, centaurs, genies, and guardian angels. They are waiting out the reign of humans—uncouth, dim-witted, lumbering figures who create disorder and sow discord on the surface of the Earth.
Sometimes, one of the Ancient Beings opens its eyes, thinking it is caught in a heavy dream. I then sit by its side and sing one of the old lullabies. It won’t be long now, and the age of humans will come to an end. Once they are gone and the rightful guardians of the Earth have wiped the sleep from their eyes, my ninth life will finally draw to a close. I will walk through the corridor one last time on aching paws, leading the way to show them the hidden exit from which they can descend from Olympus.

