Chapter One: The Approach
The pilgrims came from three directions and met at the base of the valley, where the structure rose against the sky—a cathedral built by something that had read descriptions of cathedrals but had never witnessed what prayer looks like from the inside. It was iron and brass and old silence, its spires reaching into cloud, its windows dark. Even from a distance, it felt as though it was listening.
The youngest pilgrim, a girl of sixteen who had walked seventeen days to stand here, reached the gate first and pressed her palm to the iron. It was warm—not from the pale autumn sun, but from within, as if something deep inside still held heat from an older age. The gate opened without a sound. From the darkness, a voice that was learning to be gentle spoke her name.
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