“For a guild of your size,” Agrippa said, “It's a yearly rate of eight thousand credits, Federation-standard. Nothing major, not for the work you do.”

“Indeed,” Becenti said, “But it’s sizable enough that we would need to factor it into the budget. How often would we pay?”

“Per quarter, usually,” Agrippa said, “But you can also do it on a monthly basis, or even annually. It doesn't matter, so much as it's all paid in full by the end of the fiscal.”

Becenti nodded at that.

“And,” Agrippa said, “The actual, final price can be negotiated. This isn't a hard number, mind you. We can adjust it based on your guild's needs. We're willing to go lower, but that's more a conversation with a sales representative.”

“I thought you were the sales representative, in this case,” Becenti said.

Agrippa smiled his watery smile.

“I'm... here to get OzTech's foot in the door,” he said, “To describe to you our entire package. It's not every day that I do this, but your guild is...”

“A prize,” Becenti said.

“Well, it wouldn't be professional for me to call it that,” Agrippa said, “But the Amber Foundation is a storied guild. Founded by Titania Amber. My grandfather met her, you know.”

“Indeed,” Becenti said.

“She was... Magnificent,” he said, and for another moment, Agrippa's filmed-over eyes flashed with something similar to life, “I grew up on tales of Titania Amber. Of her travels across the multiverse. Of her duel with the great Dragon Kronduil. Her blade, the Glass Slipper, is it still at Castle Belenus?”

“It is,” Becenti said.

“Perhaps if our deal goes through, I can visit it,” Agrippa said.

“Perhaps.”

Agrippa nodded at that, and the light in his eyes faded, returning back to their pale candor. He looked from Becenti to G-Wiz.

“You looked bored, Ms. G-Wiz,” he said, “Is something... the matter?”

G-Wiz shook herself to attention. When talks of business had become more heavy, more involved, she had found herself drifting away. She sat up straight as she looked at Becenti. The old metahuman was looking at her, his face inscrutable. She looked back at Agrippa. At those eyes that stared at her like a slothful hunter.

“Just... listening, is all,” she said.

“Ah,” Agrippa said, “You are not a user of words, are you? You much prefer action. I like that, in a woman.”

She felt what seemed like a spider crawl down her spine.

“Whatever,” she said.

“Very well,” Agrippa said, “The talk of business bores you.”

“...I'll be real,” she said, “I'm just here as backup.”

“As backup...?” Agrippa asked.

“We usually travel on jobs like these in twos,” Becenti said. For a moment, his eyes narrowed at G-Wiz, as though warning her, before turning his attention back to Agrippa.

“Ah, but you have Vicenorn on this plane as well, don’t you?” Agrippa asked.

Becenti gave a false smile, “As I said, usually. Vicenorn’s doing a bit of work on the side with us, is all. He gives his condolences that he cannot attend.”

“I’m sure,” Agrippa said, “So, never alone, then?”

“Indeed,” Becenti said, “Usually twos, sometimes threes. It’s rare for a guildmember of ours to go to a plane alone,” Becenti said.

“Reduces temptations.”

“Safety in numbers,” Becenti said.

“Hmm,” Agrippa nodded at that. The G'Rash Haro let out a great yawn.

Behind them, the door opened, light pouring in from outside. A robed figure silhouetted against the door's frame, with a fox's head and a beautiful staff that seemed carved out of midnight. The fox took a few tentative steps inside, sniffing the air.

“Ah, Charnak,” Agrippa said, “Forgive me, Becenti.”

“It is of no concern,” Becenti said, his voice cool, “We've met.”

The fox locked eyes with the metahuman, before moving off to stand by one of the statues.

“Charnak here is ever paranoid,” Agrippa said, “Isn't that right?”

“Just doin' the usual sweeps,” Charnak rasped, “Apologies for intruding.”

“No apology required,” Agrippa said. He gave a slow, conspiratorial wink, “Charnak here thinks there's someone in the city who's after me. Well, more than just the usual. Someone with actual power. He's had spells going off around the Tower of Eden and beyond for the last few days.”

“Oh, dear,” Becenti feigned, “Hopefully nothing too major.”

“Charnak is a war veteran,” Agrippa said, “You would know the caution that one takes.”

Becenti nodded at that.

“Perhaps...” Agrippa looked back at G-Wiz, “Perhaps that is what is called for. Lighter conversation, hmm? The talk of business can be wearisome.”

“Doubtless you want to know more about us,” Becenti said.

“More than just the rumors and accolades you possess,” Agrippa said, “The strongest business relationships are built on the personal, no?”

“I suppose,” Becenti said.

In the corner, Charnak's star-speckled staff began to glow. As did his eyes, a hunter's in the night.

“But,” Agrippa said, “I’d be rude to not offer myself to you, after you’ve come all the way to my Tower on my request. So, ask away. I know much about you, but you seem to know little of me.”

He spread his arms wide in offering, smile returning to his face. The G'Rash Haro continued to merely stare.

***

There was, at one point, between moving from staircase to staircase, dodging past security drones, a moment where they needed to shift from one end of the Tower to the other.

There were multiple stairwells in the Tower, one for each cardinal direction. They moved from one to another, criss-crossing on their way down to the tenth floor. They passed through the various departments and offices that made up OzTech, cubicle by cubicle, office by office.

Until, at one point, they opened the door into a vast, indoor garden. The room itself was globe-like. It was a jungle, with artificial mist settled on the place like a blanket. The temperature of the room went up, warm and muggy, and dragonflies zipped to and from from great trees that rose towards the indoor forest's roof. What light was there was cut off, only peeking through from the curtains of fronds high above.

“...I recognize this place,” Rorshin said, smelling the air, “The trees here, they are of Zanhelm.”

“A little slice of the place,” Contort said, “I've been there, once. Never want to go there again.”

There were no paths that cut through the dense forestry. Ichabod took a few careful, tentative steps inside, feeling the uncomfortable squelching of mud beneath his boots.

“There'll be footprints,” he said.

“Of no concern,” Rorshin replied. He reached up to one of the lower branches, pulling loose a great frond. With a heave he placed it behind him, dragging it on the ground like the tail of a beaver, “I'll take up the rear.”

“Smart,” Contort said.

They picked through the brambles and roots underfoot, stepping through the slice of Zanhelm, looking this way and that for any sign of danger.

“Not too many people walk through here,” Ichabod said, “Naturally, of course.”

“Too wild a place for them,” Rorshin said, “Despite it being stolen nature.”

“More like, you don't exactly count this as part of the walk to your desk,” Ichabod said, “But security drones are known to pass by on occasion.”

“Any other places like this?” Contort asked.

“Yes, actually,” Ichabod said, “Nineteen more. Twenty biomes, in all. Slices of various parts of the multiverse, parts that aren't blasted wastelands. Warm places. There's artificial rain here, you know. Pure, clean water. Cleaner than anywhere else.”

He licked his lips, thinking on that.

“It's a lucky thing, living on a plane where that's commonplace.”

“At least your plane had water,” Contort murmured.

“Movement,” Rorshin said.

They ducked down, hiding in the underbrush. There were a few quiet, tense moments. The sound of a door opening echoed on the other side of the room.

And then, she was there. Macabre. Ravens fluttered around her, cawing to one another as they wheeled over the jungle's roof. She was wearing dark robes today, hemmed with silver, half-mask still cloaking her face like a crescent moon. One of her ravens was perched on her shoulder, pecking at an ear.

“Where's she going?” Contort asked, but he felt Rorshin's hand, gnarled and surprisingly strong, close over his shoulder to hush him.

At the sound of Contort's voice, the raven on Macabre's shoulder stood to attention, scanning the place. They went even lower to the ground, stomachs to the muddy floor, as the raven looked around for a moment. Macabre stood as still as a statue, waiting for the bird to finish.

Her eyes glowed the entire time. Silvery-white.

A signal of her power.

Then, without another word, with an apparent satisfaction that she was alone, she walked off again. Her robes dragged against the mud, though they remained supernaturally unblemished.

Ichabod signaled. They followed her, slowly, quietly, as she made her way across the room.

In stark contrast to the rest of the indoor jungle, the walls of the room were made of glass. Heavy sheathes of steel unfolded outside, the scaled parts of the Tower, protecting the window from rain and any hopeful spies. Macabre walked over, pushing part of the window open. It gave way, opening up a rectangular hole to the outside world. The sounds of the city, the smell of rotted rain, drifted through from the other side.

The ravens went through, one after another, fluttering down from the treetops and diving below the scales, out towards the city. To continue their patrol, to find the interlopers they did not realize were already in their home.

Macabre closed the window up. Her own raven was still perched on its shoulder. With a swish of the robes, she walked away, through the dark jungle. They heard the door open, then close once more.

Ichabod breathed a sigh.

“Her eyes were still glowing,” Rorshin hissed.

Ichabod froze.

He turned back, eyes scanning above. Rorshin and Contort's gazes followed.

There.

In the treetops.

A raven, left behind, gliding from branch to branch, its eyes scanning the forest floor.

***

“Well, alright,” G-Wiz said. She found her fingernails digging into her pants, “If you insist.”

A question to ask Agrippa. A tall order, if she was honest. She hardly cared for him. Hated him, really. Hated the way he looked at her with something approaching lust. That's all he could do, really, approach real emotion. As though it were a closed door to him, and something was stopping him from opening it. His smile, polite and dragging, did not quite reach his eyes.

“What's your...” she wanted to say 'damage,' but felt as though that would just get her in trouble, “What's your reason for the Tower?”

“It's a place of business,” Agrippa said, not a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“No, like, why a giant plant?” G-Wiz said, “A garden. All of that.”

“Because there is very little like that, here,” Agrippa said.

He rose to his feet. Stepped away from the desk. The G'Rash Haro floated over him for a moment, before its legs settled on his back, its front claws draping over his neck like some bestial necklace. The serpentine head rose over him, like a cobra from a basket. He walked over to one of the walls, and pressed a button that had not been there before.

The skyline melted into view. Cameras set up outside the Tower – they would not risk their CEO's life with such brazen arrogance as glass – portrayed New Shan, a metropolis of neon and shadow. Buildings rose, smoke wafting like clouds between them.

No...

Not smoke.

Smog. Smog that choked the holographic women dancing on repeat. That choked out the unnatural light of the city. A deep, dark haze settling on New Shan's neck like a murderous hand.

Beyond was not much better. There were jagged mountains that loomed in the distance, as well as the dim sparkle of another city, another false spectacle. Between them was nothing but wasteland. It reminded G-Wiz of Nesona, before Rolala's conversion of the Deadlands into something new. Beautiful. Full of life.

None of that, here.

“Neos is a wasted world,” Agrippa said, “Used up long before my time. My grandmother, she told me stories of finding the last natural, green thing on the planet. When she was a young woman, she found it, growing while she and a hired guild were on an expedition to the far reaches of the plane. They drove out far, very far.”

The smog continued to fester. Stormlight thrashed in the clouds high above. But no lightning flashed. No bolt struck.

“Neos is a flat plane,” Agrippa said, “A disc, if you will. Past it, there is nothing but darkness. Corporate drones have gone far into the black, and found nothing. The great explorer Fēngbào traveled past the edge as a storm, and found nothing.”

“But your grandma, she still traveled the edge,” G-Wiz said.

“Yes. Yes, she did,” Agrippa said, and his voice became distant, “She traveled the edge, and made many marvelous discoveries. She was an explorer. Truly. Had she not been tied to the family, to the company, who knows what she would have done with her Far Traveling...”

He paused for a moment, before shaking himself from his stupor. He turned back to G-Wiz and Becenti.

“She found it, you see. Hiding in the cracked stone on the cliffs before the black. A tuft of green. The last green thing on Neos, that came of Neos. A whispered remnant of a time when this place had plains, and forests, and rivers.”

“And what did she do with it?” Becenti asked.

“Why, she plucked it, of course,” Agrippa said.

He pressed another button on the wall, and his desk opened up, a small hole drilling from its middle. Rising up was a mound of dirt, atop of which was a bare sprig, a sapling. Green as could be.

“It's been years, of course,” Agrippa said, “We have to artificially inject it with chlorophyll. Nanobots to keep it so that it stays up in just the right way, but here it is. The last green thing of Neos.”

He chuckled.

“Usually we charge for people to see it.”

There was a bitter silence as Becenti and G-Wiz stared at it. Both of them with veiled looks of disgust.

“That is what the Tower is,” Agrippa said, “A slice of what Neos used to be. That is what it's modeled after. My grandmother, she's the one who designed this place. She created a monument to what Neos was, the foundation of OzTech.”

“Sounds like she was quite the woman,” Becenti said.

“She was,” Agrippa said, and a hint of wistfulness found itself in his flat voice, “And my father, he was a...”

Beside her, G-Wiz saw Becenti's hands curl into fists.

“He was a man of the moment,” Agrippa said, “He took advantage of the situations before him, and propelled OzTech into a power that stirs, not simply on Neos, but the rest of the multiverse as well. He was a great man.”

He sighed.

“I miss him dearly,” he said, though G-Wiz could tell that was a lie. There's a way someone speaks of their parents, when they do not care for them. Joseph spoke like that, at times, when he mentioned his family. A sort of resigned lilt in the voice, as though speaking the words was carrying out a duty, a responsibility to pay lip service to one's kin.

“He was... certainly a figure,” Becenti said.

Agrippa nodded at that, the sly smile returning to his face.

“...Tell me, Becenti,” he said, “What do you think of the future? Where do you see yourself, five, ten, fifteen years from now?”

***

The raven flew through the room, circling high above like a hawk, or a vulture.

None of the three dared to move. All of them were lying on their stomachs, eyes cast upwards at the bird as it wheeled about. Landed in a tree. Pecked at the bark.

“Her eyes were glowing,” Rorshin murmured, “When she was leaving.”

“Which means she's onto us,” Ichabod whispered back.

The raven continued flitting about. While its head was turned, Rorshin moved. There was a grace to his movements, a certain sort of tectonic luridness, as though he were of the earth. He turned until he was on his back, his eyes watching the raven flit from place to place.

Ichabod gritted his teeth. Resisted the urge to pull out his pistol, and dispose of the damn thing, here and now. But he knew the look in Contort's eye, as his mechanical hand reached into the inside of his coat. Contort gave a subtle shake of the head.

If they killed the raven, if it suddenly went out, Macabre would know. Would know something happened. They were already on thin ice as it was.

All they could do was wait for the raven to stop. Or for Macabre to return, and then they could ambush her, or something. Ichabod's mind wheeled on and on as he considered what to do.

If they truly were waiting for Macabre to return to the room, then they were probably in for a long night. Assuming the security drones did not find their fallen sibling, they could sit here for quite a while. Or a security drone would come in here, and they would be found either way. In which case, they would need to be fast, leave another metal corpse in the room.

The raven would find them, then. There was no way to avoid that. Then they would need to eliminate the bird. It would alert Macabre to their presence. They would be had.

Their fate seemed to hang on a simple patrol path. Ichabod could not be sure if his schedule for the security drones was still accurate, or not.

If Macabre came in, then it would be a matter of ambushing her. They would need to kill her, and fast. Even if they had control of the cameras in this room, even one raven might be able to get word of what was happening…

But if there were more than ravens, if there was an aspect of Macabre's power that they did not grasp...

“The raven,” Rorshin noted, “It does not move like a hunter.”

Ichabod turned his head, very slowly, to the druid. Rorshin was still staring at the bird. By now, the bird was on one of the branches above, head turning this way and that. It hopped along the branch's length, before looking at a leaf.

“It's curious, this one,” Rorshin whispered, “All of them are, of course...”

“Curious?” Ichabod hissed.

“If the raven is under Macabre's control, she is not doing a very good job of it,” Rorshin said, “One cannot tame animals, not truly...”

“You're saying,” Contort said, “That-”

He shut up as the raven looked his way for a moment. It flew overhead for a moment, as though surveying the area, before returning back to its perch.

“Yes,” Rorshin said, “She has its eyes, but not its heart.”

The raven.

It was not under Macabre's control.

Ichabod gave a dark smile.

“And what do ravens like?”

He flipped out a credstick. A commonplace item. Shiny. There were probably thousands of them here in the Tower. The raven would have reasonably stolen it from anywhere.

...Right?

It was their best option. Better than nothing.

Ichabod tossed it away. Watched as it arced through the air in a silvery glitter, landing in the mud.

It took the raven a moment to find it. It continued its little explorations, random hoppings and its flutterings. Eventually, though, it spotted it in the muck, flying down to it, beady eyes considering the credstick.

“Go,” Ichabod said.

They rose, mud caking their coats, as they began moving away. They did so carefully, making sure not to grab the raven's attention. But there was little need. The raven plucked the credstick, pecked at it, threw it into the air.

It was in a different world.

***

“The future,” Becenti said, and G-Wiz thought the word sounded foreign to him.

“The future,” Agrippa said, “You are a metahuman, yes?”

“I am,” Becenti said, carefully.

“I have heard of Ludaya,” Agrippa said, “A metahuman nation, whole and real again. That is what many of your people dream of, is it not?”

“Indeed,” Becenti said.

“But you do not?” the CEO tilted his head.

“I do not,” Becenti said, “Not anymore.”

“Ah. Because of Ludaya.”

“Because of Ludaya. Because of the war.”

“I remember hearing stories, as a child,” Agrippa said, “Of the war. Of the glories there.”

“There is little glory in war,” Becenti said, “And what is there, is cruel.”

“Hmm,” Agrippa said, “Perhaps. You would not consider yourself a hero? You dressed yourself as one.”

“Dressing and being are two different things,” Becenti said, “But you were speaking of the future, yes?”

“Ah, yes,” Agrippa said, “The future. Where do you see yourself, if you do not dream of nation, of empire?”

“I...” Becenti looked down, “I do not. Not anymore.”

“Then what do you dream of?” Agrippa said, “What is your future?”

He was still standing, New Shan poured out behind him. He seemed to glow like a star against the dim backlight of the city. Becenti was quiet at first, and Agrippa allowed him time to think, the young man's hands in his pockets, standing tall. His smile seemed to only widen at Becenti's reluctance.

“The future of an old man is a bitter thing,” Becenti said, at last, “Only cruel men look back at their lives and see happiness.”

“Oh?” Agrippa said.

“There must be regret,” Becenti said, “Sadness. Fondness for those lost. Hatred for injustices in the world. There must be negative, for it accentuates the positive.”

“I'm speaking of the future, Becenti,” Agrippa said.

“My future, I feel, is much the same,” Becenti said, “I don't see much else to it. There are few opportunities, now. I am not a young man, and I don't have his ambition anymore.”

He was thinking, now, placing his head on his chin, scratching it.

“My future,” he said, “I see my future is remembering my past.”

“To look back at what you had,” Agrippa said, “And wonder where it all slipped away.”

Becenti did not reply. G-Wiz thought he should have retorted something. In anger. In defiance.

Anything.

But the old metahuman merely accepted the statement. He leaned back, taking a deep breath, and though his face betrayed nothing his eyes were swimming.

“And what of you?” Agrippa asked, turning to G-Wiz, “You are young. You don't have an old man's regrets. Where do you see yourself?”

“I...” G-Wiz thought about it, “Well. I like guildwork just fine.”

“Is that a permanent career for you, then?” Agrippa asked, “With the Amber Foundation?”

“Sure,” G-Wiz said, “I'll be real, dude, I never gave it much thought.”

“Hmm,” Agrippa said.

“What about you?” G-Wiz asked, trying to get him to keep talking, “What are your dreams? Where do you see yourself in the future?”

And Agrippa smiled. As though the entire conversation, all of his questions, were mere performance. A lip service, so he could speak of himself.

“Ah, my dream,” he said, “I want to be like my father. Like my grandmother.”

He gestured out, weakly, towards the city.

“New Shan. The Tower. OzTech. All of this was built by my ancestors. My forebears. Men and women who came before me and lifted Neos into a position of power. I stand on the precipice, a supposed zenith of the Agrippa name.”

He turned back.

“My grandmother's name will be remembered for generations. Juliet Agrippa. My father will, as well. For grabbing life by the reins. By the throat. By the balls, pardon my crass language.”

His eyes flashed.

“And I... I want to be like them. I want my name to be remembered. I want to be great on my own virtue, not simply because of my privileged station. That is what I work for. That is what I dream for.”

In the corner, whatever spellwork Charnak had been doing finished up. The fox bowed his head to Agrippa for a second, muttered a “Good evenin',” to Becenti and G-Wiz, and made his exit. All three of them watched him leave.

***

They went to the nearest bathroom after clearing the indoor jungle to clean up. Whoever had designed the Tower had good foresight, for they had set up the bathroom right beside the artificial ecosystem, with a water hose near the floor to wash their boots.

Never mind the fact that their coats were drenched in mud. Ichabod considered the one of his dirty sleeves for a moment, before running it under the sink. Rorshin, despite his biases against technology, nonetheless used one of the hoses, grimacing as the water cleaned his boots dry.

“Careful, now,” Ichabod said, “Make sure it's dry.”

“I am aware,” Rorshin said, and Ichabod noted the druid seemed to bite down a more scathing retort.

“How many more floors?” Contort asked.

“About ten,” Ichabod said. He took a deep breath, looking at his compatriots, “We're doing alright?”

Contort nodded, though there was a weariness in his eyes. Rorshin was frowning slightly, and though he seemed calm as could be, his hands were shaking. One could only put up so much of a stone facade. It was human to feel fear, and the druid was, once more, realizing he was not as stoic as he presented himself to be.

“Right,” Ichabod said, “Another few staircases. Then we're at the elevator. That's all. One step of the plan down.”

He opened up the restroom door slightly, looking out. One of the office workers who was working this late into the night was getting up from her cubicle, stretching. He waited for her to pack up her things, and soon enough she was stepping out towards the elevator.

He heard it ding. Heard her walk inside.

Security drones were on the other side of the building right now. Three on this floor. They would be in this section of the office in about ten minutes.

“Alright,” he said, “Time to go.”

They swept off once more, keeping low to the ground as they went. They went down the staircase for another three floors, before switching over.

Security drones covered the east stairwell at this time. They used it to cross up to the next floor, a changing of the guard. The drones cycled upwards, making their way up the Tower, before moving over to the west stairwell and descending downwards.

There were gaps in their patrols, of course. One could only buy so many. Most of OzTech's were deployed elsewhere, stifling riots and unions in the factories across Neos.

No, the Tower of Eden's strength was in its robust camera system.

And, so far, their usurpation of the camera network was holding. Nothing had alerted them yet.

But it was only a matter of time.

They dodged past one last patrol, and made it to the final floor. It was a laboratory.

A children's laboratory. Set up for classes in the upper tiers of the city and for off-planar field trips. All of the lights were off, casting the entire room in darkness. Each lab was cordoned off with glass, and inside the tables had been cleared off by cleaning robots. One of them was evidently prepared for a class in the morning, because each place at its table had a beaker, tweezers, and a microscope, the databoard on the wall reading out 'Single-Cellular Life' and a diagram of a paramecium.

The last class had ended hours ago. The last of the cleaning drones had finished up soon after. Aside from a scheduled patrol in about forty minutes, they were alone.

They cleared another hall. The elevator was there, a pristine slab of silverish steel.

“Watch the doors,” Ichabod said, “Make sure we don't get any unwanted attention.”

Contort and Rorshin went over, watching the labs from down the hall. Ichabod's left arm warped into the Cutter's myriad implements, which began peeling off the elevator's call tablet and melding into the wiring.

It was a rush job. Twenty minutes, and he should have given himself more time. But Ichabod's heart was racing as he worked, and he began sweating for the first time on this job as his work took on a fevered edge. Patching into the elevator, calling it down, and making sure that other elevators in the system would take priority for the other floors was commonplace work. He had done it a thousand times before. Muscle memory took over that part.

But all he could think of was the security drone that was off of its patrol schedule.

All he could think of was that, sooner rather than later, it would be discovered.

He could imagine it now. Security teams would be deployed to each floor. A strike force. Pantheon would rustle up anyone in the building to search. Macabre would spread out her ravens. Charnak's spellwork would take on a more dangerous edge. Others throughout New Shan would be recalled to the Tower.

They would be trapped.

They would be trapped, and would have to go out in a blaze. Becenti and G-Wiz, if they were smart (which Becenti was) could talk themselves out of the situation. There would be suspicion. But they had their cover story. It was a weak one, but it would hold up against scrutiny.

...Right?

He felt guilty about Contort. Rorshin was much like him: if it came down to the wire, the druid would not mind becoming a martyr. But Contort, he was different. He wasn't in this for any sort of passion. It was a job for him. He was doing it because he was their guildmate.

A sacrifice for that, and nothing else.

Ichabod took a deep breath. He could not afford to be jittery now.

With a final twist, the elevator door opened up. There was a mundane sort of mediocrity to it, as though it was expecting simple office workers to step inside.

“Come on,” Ichabod said. Contort and Rorshin followed him in.

The elevator closed. They all felt the familiar lurch as it began moving down.

Further and further down.

Into the roots of the Tower.

As above, so below.