I was closing on the tower. It was round with a pointed roof cap a good four stories above me. It was completely black but not like dirty stone streaked with ages of dust storms and polluted air, no it shined in the tepid moonlight reminding me of obsidian. No, it was obsidian and the surface was covered with ancient words. As hard as it was for me to believe, the tower looked to be one single piece of stone carved into this shape. As I approached, it loomed overhead shining black like the natural glass it was. This tower had been forged in the heart of a volcano and born perfectly formed just for this purpose. The writing had been etched with painstaking accuracy onto the tower’s glass surface then fused with a power that made the
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