The Dark Tower [ Web RECOMMENDED ]

At the top of the Tower, the ringing stopped. A door, carved from the heart of a dying star, creaked open an inch.

"The Man in Black?" Roland asked, his voice like grinding stones. The Dark Tower

Roland began to walk. His boots clicked against the teeth. He didn't think about the countless miles behind him or the ghosts that trailed in his wake like smoke. He thought only of the weight of the horn in his bag—the Horn of Eld, which he had finally remembered to pick up at the hill of Jericho Hill. At the top of the Tower, the ringing stopped

In the high, thin air of the Borderlands, the sky had turned the color of a bruised plum. The sun was a pale, flickering candle, guttering in a draft that blew from the gaps between universes. Roland knelt by a stream that ran with silver liquid—not water, but the liquefied memories of a city that had never existed. He didn't drink. He knew the price of drinking "Used Time." "He’s coming, Roland," a voice rasped. Roland began to walk

As he reached the foot of the Tower, the first toll of the bell shook the ground. The sound wasn't metal on metal; it was the sound of a billion voices screaming "Goodbye" at once.

He stepped inside, and for the first time in a thousand years, the gunslinger felt the wind change direction.

Roland Deschain did not stop when the world ended; he simply adjusted his pace.