It all came rushing back: after being rejected from the tower, Merk had circled around, searching for another way in, and he had found this other set of doors, on the far side of the tower, identical to the doors in the front, except these made of silver. These, too, were carved with writing and symbols he could not read. He remembered slamming against these doors half the night, refusing to be turned away. But no one had answered his slamming—and finally, he had fallen asleep.

Merk rose to his feet, his knees stiff from the long night, his body aching, and as he looked at the morning sun he felt a fresh determination. He was not a quitter. He had known it would not be easy to enter here—after all, the Watchers were an elite, sacred sect, famed for turning people away. He sensed, though, that this was part of their ritual, their way of weeding out those who were not meant to be here.

Merk looked back up at the tower, awe-inspiring, rising to the sky, its ancient stone so smooth, its silver doors shining, tinted scarlet in the morning sun, and he knew he had no choice but to try again, however long it took.

Merk raised his dagger and once again slammed its hilt on the door, pounding again and again and again. The slams echoed in the still morning air, the tower sounding hollow. He slammed and slammed until his arms were weary, falling into a monotonous rhythm. The vibrations shook his hand, his wrist, his arms and shoulders until they were numb. He no longer cared.

As he slammed, Merk pondered his previous encounter, pondered the words of the creature who had opened the slot in the door: Only the worthy may enterhere the man had said. What had he meant? What did it mean to be worthy? What was the answer they were hoping for? What answer would open those doors?

The riddle circled in his mind, again and again, echoing with each slam. Merk was determined to answer correctly next time it opened—if it ever opened again.

After hours of slamming, so long that he could no longer think straight, suddenly, to Merk’s surprise, a slot slid open in the door, as it had in the front.

Merk stopped, stunned, and he stared back, his heart pounding to see the two yellow eyes appear again, realizing he had another chance and determined not to lose it. The eyes were filled with intensity as they stared back, silently summing him up.

“Please,” Merk said, breathing heavily. “Let me in. Let me join you. I demand to be let it!”

There came a long silence, so long that Merk began to wonder if the man would ever respond.

Then finally, he spoke:

“Only the worthy can enter here. Are you worthy?” he asked, his voice deep, ancient.

Merk felt a rush of excitement.

“I am worthy!” he called back confidently.