The carriage wheels seized against the cobblestone with a shuddering finality. Soren lurched forward, the strange chains binding his wrists rattling with the sudden stop.
Through the barred window, he glimpsed it, the Grand Cathedral of Solmir, rising like a mountain of pale stone against the night sky. Massive spires of flame-glass twisted upward, each one glowing with an inner light that needed no torch or lantern.
The tallest tower burned amber against the darkness, as if it had captured a piece of the sun itself.
Bells began to toll, slow and resonant, each peal vibrating through the carriage walls and settling into Soren's bones. Three strikes, then silence. Three more, then silence again. The ancient rhythm of arrival, unchanged for centuries, the summoning of faithful to witness judgment.
"The welcoming bells," Veyr said, his voice barely audible over the rolling echoes. "Traditionally rung only for those who may not leave again."
