Aerials of Welkin: 4 of 7

'He is mortal. Your son is mortal. The child is mortal.'(The child is a portal.) The Stranger dreams of a battlefield: Morphing blackness, and a tattered shield. Dotted with milky stars, Chained and crossed like prison bars, Steppes up He to the First Door; He has no Key (Where's the key?), but knows there's more.