The spiral stone stairs leading to the top of the clock tower were dark and long.
The stone walls, eroded by time and weather, were rough and uneven, while the candlelight flickered in the airflow, stretching and twisting the shadows.
Seldon Calvin ascended step by step, his expensive boots making a steady "tap, tap" sound, echoing repeatedly in the narrow space.
Thousands of steps, and his breathing did not falter.
Not just because of the physique of a knight, but also due to the adrenaline surging through him at this moment, overwhelming all fatigue and discomfort.
The stone steps extended upward layer by layer.
With each step he took, Seldon could clearly feel a psychological disorientation spreading from his feet, as if he were slowly being lifted off the ground.
Leaving behind the hesitation of old nobles, the indecision of paternal figures, those outdated yet still revered decency and promises.
The scene in the square replayed uncontrollably in his mind.
