The journey to the tower was a silent one. Juneau did not require escort or guard, and even if he had, few would have dared to accompany him. The night stretched out around him, swallowing sound, swallowing warmth. The road was a ribbon of cracked stone winding through the ruins of a once-proud city, its skeletal remains looming against the moonlight. Jord had been beautiful once. Now it was only remnants and echoes.
The tower stood as it always had, defiant against the dying world. Black stone, ancient and unmarred by time, rose against the sky, a monolith of secrets. The air here was thick with magic, humming with something old and patient. The doors did not resist him. They parted with a whisper, shadows curling away as if afraid to touch him.
