Jenassa, practical as ever, drew her bow. “Can we kill it?”
From High Hrothgar, the Greybeards’ voices rolled not in greeting, but in alarm: “DYN-DOL-DOD.” dyndolod
“No. Listen. ”
“We have time,” said the priestess. “We’ll guide you. One hold at a time.” Jenassa, practical as ever, drew her bow
Jenassa grabbed Erik’s arm. “Look— there. ” ” “We have time,” said the priestess
The hum deepened. Citizens stopped. A guard dropped his steel greatsword—it clanged against the stone, but no one flinched. Because above the Throat of the World, the sky was folding .
And so the god of distant views became a pilgrim. It walked beside Erik and Jenassa through every landscape, touching every tree, every cliff, every ruin. And as it walked, the duplicate lands faded. The sky smoothed. The flat billboard people vanished. And the world—the real, flawed, beautiful world—finally rendered at full detail, from the closest blade of grass to the farthest peak.