We stopped at the gate to take it all in, even as the rain soaked us to the bone. After what felt like a lifetime, a guard emerged. He was enormous, and I instinctively backed away in fear. Comforter tugged at my breastplate, urging me forward. My cheeks burned with shame as I tried to push the creeping sense of failure from my soul.
"They are intimidating. All mortals have your reaction. Don't overthink it too much, lad—just remember why we're here," Comforter whispered as we marched forward.
The Tower was translucent, refracting the rainfall and multiplying the drops until it was nearly impossible to see through the storm. The sight of the buildings ached in my soul, as though every wrong thought and evil deed I'd ever had was exposed by the Tower's gaze. A heavy spiritual weight pressed on me. I wanted to bow and weep. I felt undone.
With each step, the burden of my sin grew heavier. But then, Comforter spoke words from the ancient books—and suddenly, my heart steadied. I remembered who I was. I was an outsider by blood, but my soul belonged to the Author of Life.
The towering guard led us to the entrance, unlocking the door with a diamond-encrusted key set in a ruby-handled hilt. Another silent guard checked Comforter's wrist for the mark of the Tree of Life. He nodded and let him pass. I knew why—they were cautious. Long ago, during the Great War, a Nim who served Deception had infiltrated the Tower and killed many of the Author's servants.
I removed my bracer. When the guard touched my wrist, a surge of love coursed through me so intense I nearly wept beneath my armor. As we continued deeper into the Tower, I finally understood why mortals could not easily dwell here—it was soul-crushing in its holiness.
The guard sang in a deep, resounding baritone. I didn't understand the words, but all the other guards joined in as we entered an oval chamber carved from pure ivory. Onyx veins ran through the walls, mined from the distant Elamayan Mountains. I was afraid to breathe—every sound echoed endlessly in the room.
Twelve seats were suspended high above us, shaped like a crescent moon and held aloft by massive chains. How the structure floated, I could not guess. The judges reached their places via staircases that ascended from the platform to the lunar arc. It gave them a full view of the chamber below.
As the twelve judges—each from a different province of Nod—began their ascent, I noticed the floor of the chamber had been filled with onlookers from Furlin. Every eye was on me. What business did a mortal have in a court of eternal judgment?
Comforter stepped forward and addressed the judges, meeting each one's gaze with calm resolve.
"I come for a simple reason," he said. "I was summoned by Gunther, alchemist of Earlydale, of House Rook. He requested that I—and Rune, of House Briggor, who stands with me now—travel to Calideen to assist its citizens suffering from a plague of unknown origin."
For a moment, it was unclear if his words had moved them—or doomed us.
Then one judge stood. "I am Unger, representative of the Third Provincial Realm of Nod," he said coldly. "Why should Calideen receive help? They were absent during the Great War. Perhaps this plague is judgment for their failure to defend Nod. And why should this pilgrim abandon his training for a mere illness?"
His words sliced through the hall like a blade. Murmurs of grief followed. Many in the crowd had lost loved ones. Some races had been wiped out entirely during the War. The silence that followed was heavy with mourning.
Then came the sound of footsteps on the limestone floor.
The crowd fell to their knees. My own body dropped instinctively when I saw why—a brilliant light tore through the hall.
The Author of Life Himself had entered. He tapped His staff on the floor. Silence fell like thunder.
"In all the history of Nod," He said, his voice ringing with truth and sorrow, "I have not seen a pilgrim of such pure heart. He comes from the Island of Despair—a place which, beyond trade, has left little mark on our land. Calideen did not fight in the War—not because they were unwilling, but because the enemy destroyed them before they could reach Earlydale. The survivors tried to flee, but were abandoned at sea. Earlydale saved only its own."
He paused, sweeping His gaze over the judges.
"Yet Calideen bore no grudges. And now you would punish them for what was beyond their control? You ask why this pilgrim must go? The Trials of the Pilgrims were meant to test the hearts of mortals—he has passed. He has left his home. He has freed souls from darkness. And you would deny him because of rules? What has become of this court, that clings to law but closes its hand to compassion? For shame."
His voice broke the dam. Tears flowed freely. There was not a dry eye in the room.
A judge beside Unger cleared his throat, shooting a cutting glare in Unger's direction.
"Citizens of Furlin," he declared, "The Author of Life has spoken. Rune and Comforter shall go to aid the people of Calideen."
Cheers erupted like thunder.
Comforter grasped my arm. "We must hurry," he said. "The monastery library lies a day's journey from here. If their scribes recorded anything like this plague before, it might lead us to a cure."
He pulled me swiftly through the crowd. My mind reeled from what I had just witnessed. This was no time for reflection.
We hurried west to the Tower's stables, where Comforter secured two stallions. His face was solemn.
"We ride all day and night," he said. "We cannot stop. We carry souls in our hands."
I nodded. We mounted and galloped through the rain. My hips ached, but we only paused to water the horses. We said little to each other.
There was no time to talk. No room for comfort. Only a storm ahead—and the hope of mercy in a world full of plague.