The last gate swung open with iron joints groaning, and the city spilled wide before Sonder and Lacuna.
Tokens were pressed into their hands, thin slivers of metal stamped with what Sonder assumed was Gloam's crest.
The city was alive and dusted in a thin layer of sand.
Buildings pressed close together and climbed high. Some were like the stone structures Sonder had seen before. Others looked as if they had been grown rather than built, shells of enormous creatures fused into walls and arches. They still reached upward, strange and tall.
Most people on the narrow streets near the gate were outlanders like Lacuna and her. A few were the tall, red-skinned sort she had seen at the booths and in the barracks. They shared a family resemblance: similar size, similar rigid posture, and skin in varying shades of red, sometimes blotched. Above the crowd, bridges and walkways crisscrossed between towers, crimson banners snapping in the wind.
Beside her, Lacuna's grin spread wide.
"Do you see this? This is Gloam! I told you, didn't I? They say anyone who makes it through those gates has a chance to rise. And now…" He spread his arms like he already owned the place. "…now it's our turn."
Sonder glanced at him, then back at the streets. She did not want to rise. She had come for one thing. Somewhere in this chaos lived Grimalkin, the finder of lost things the Yellow Mage had named.
Her hand tightened on the strap of her bag. "I do not care about rising," she said quietly. "I only need to find someone. Grimalkin. It's urgent."
Lacuna's grin softened when he saw her seriousness. "Grimalkin," he repeated, testing the name. "I think I've heard it once or twice. If that's who you're here for, that's where we'll start. But remember, we only have three days. If you do not have what you need by then, they'll toss us back outside."
Sonder nodded. She understood. Her path was clear.
They stuck close and wound deeper into the city. The streets narrowed, twisted, and then opened into small plazas. They asked after Grimalkin at markets and taverns, at shrines and street corners. People knew the name, but the directions were never simple.
By late afternoon they found the place.
Grimalkin's dwelling rose like a twisted growth from the earth, its walls spiraling upward in uneven coils. Half of it was stone, and half of it was some strange other material. It looked almost like a living thing that had frozen mid-growth. Its curves were unnatural, like a shell forced to keep growing, stretching higher than nature should allow.
There was no stairway that led cleanly to a door. Narrow, ribbed ridges wound up the tower's side, an awkward path that split into sudden rises and sheer drops. Far above, carved into the spiral, a single round opening gaped — the entrance. Reaching it meant a climb most would not bother to attempt.
At the base two cloaked figures stood with their faces shadowed. They watched the crowd like sentinels rather than people.
Sonder stepped forward, but one guard cut her off.
"No entry without appointment," he said.
"I only need a moment," Sonder answered, voice steady. "It is important."
The guard's reply was flat. "The next opening is in two weeks. Schedule your arrival, then send a servant. Until then, wait."
Two weeks. The words hit Sonder like a stone against the chest. She nearly stepped forward anyway; time pressed on her like a weight.
Magic prickled under her skin, eager and anxious. She wondered if she could force her way through.
Then the second guard spoke, tone sharper: "You must be new, so listen well. Performing sorcery in these streets without a permit will get you more than a closed door. You will sit in the dungeons until your bones ache. Outsiders are treated harsher here."