The fog thins, and we can see the tower’s entrance clearly. It’s an enormous door made of a single, enormous slab of stone. Rectangular, with an uneven surface. Carved into the natural rock face, however, are words.
“What is this?” Noemi asks.
I step up to the stone door and crane my neck to read the inscription. A poem.
THE FIRST WALK PATHS THE LIGHT CAN’T TRACE,
THROUGH SECRETS WRAPPED IN SHADOWS’ GRACE.
THEY SEE THE CRACKS IN EVERY LIE,
AND STRIKE BEFORE THE WATCHERS SPY.
THE NEXT ERUPTS WHERE CHAOS BLEEDS,
THEIR WRATH THE FORCE THAT BATTLE FEEDS.
THEY BREAK THE LINES, THEY SPARK THE FLAME,
SO OTHERS LIVE—AND SPEAK THEIR NAME.
THE THIRD MOVE AS A SINGLE TIDE,
WITH SHIELD TO SHIELD AND STRIDE TO STRIDE.
THEY HOLD THE LINE WHEN OTHERS FALL,
ALIVING WALL, AN ANSWERED CALL.
THE LAST BEARS WEIGHT NO SOUL WOULD CHOOSE,
TO COUNT THE COST, TO RISK AND LOSE.
THEY DRAW THE MAP WHERE LIVES ENTWINE,
AND SHAPE THE FIELD BY GRAND DESIGN.
FOUR AS ONE, THEIR PATHS ALIGN,
AWOVEN FORCE, A FATE DIVINE.
“It’s about us,” Venna says. She looks at me. “The packs. Right?”
“I’m not sure,” I reply. “It seems like it? But either way, we have to keep moving.”
I take a deep breath and reach out. When I place my palm against the cool stone of the door and push, the entire slab starts to shift. It makes a wretched grinding, rumbling sound as it swings inward.
And yet… no resistance. More magic, then.
I step forward and stare down into the revealed space.
Down, not up. How perplexing. What kind of tower goes down?
There’s a spiral staircase, illuminated by an eerie bluish light that seems to come from the stone itself. The glow shifts around us, brightening and dampening like the tower is breathing.
“In we go,” I whisper. And I take the first step into the tower’s depths.
45
