It is a long million, this. The Septem Tower, held in the Manifold by the Tagides Rings grinds on and on - its grey walls pressing close, and the only thing to look forward to is the long, cold, endless Waste.
 
The Royderlanks in the Body, aloof and cruel, expect too much and give too little. Only the Game of Worlds can take your mind away from the crushing obligations of a Vociferant worker. And finally, a wildcard into the Tournament of the Perfect Aphelion - only held once every ten progressions. This is your chance.
 
The Cards await. The Tournament begins. The tables are prepared.
 
 
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