The White Tower has stood for three thousand years, holding dominion over all the written word.
A historian's brush decides life and death: write that someone lives, and they live; cross them out, and they die.
Whatever is entered into the Source Canon is real; whatever is erased with cleansing ink never existed.
A Jiu doesn't know where she came from.
All she remembers is sleeping in the earth for a long time.
The day she awoke, she saw the colossal white tower at the center of the continent. It rose through nine tiers, white as bone and sharp as a needle.
But it cast no shadow on the ground.
Only later did she learn that those erased by the White Tower were the only ones who couldn't see its shadow.
Theme: What is real?
