The tower rose out of the black floor as they approached.
Cracked stone and woven bone formed a sloping corridor inside it. Red veins moved beneath the walls in a slow rhythm. The mist around the Godless Crucifix retreated from his path as if the tower itself knew who owned it.
Elias followed as a sphere of blue light.
He had no legs, no lungs, no hands. The pressure of the fourth dimension pressed against the edges of his consciousness and kept asking him to dissolve. Holding his shape took effort, and effort felt different without a body. It was not strain. It was refusal.
The corridor opened into a circular chamber.
Sharp herbs, sterile alcohol, and copper replaced the dry smell of the outer realm. A long table carved from pale bonewood stood in the center. A woman leaned over it, auburn hair tied back in a loose braid, wire rimmed glasses low on her nose. Green and gold stains marked her fingers as she poured a thick gray liquid from one vial to another.
