The howling storm ravaging the Land of Vortex was kept at bay outside.
So was the human tide of Vortex People. They stopped at the edge of the square, not daring to set foot within the high tower's range.
People, temporarily afforded a chance to breathe, quickly discovered that the interior of the tower was not windless; countless tiny cyclones roamed the dim tower like wraiths, their dry gusts curling and cracking skin.
Porter took out a match and an oil lamp from his belly pouch, striking repeatedly.
Scratch—scratch—
A flame emerged, and the black smoke was swept away into the swirling eddies. Porter lit the lamp, extinguishing the match and covering the lamp with the shade.
The faint, diffused light dispelled the surrounding darkness, revealing a wooden staircase extending upward deep within the tower.
The others' attention was fixed outside—the slanting, scraping winds and the vortex people, shadow-like, halted outside the square, not daring to approach the tower.
