Roland stood, his ancient revolvers heavy against his hips. The sandalwood grips felt warm, almost humming. He looked toward the horizon, where the Dark Tower stood—a needle of impossible black stone stitching the sky to the earth.
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. The Dark Tower
At the top of the Tower, the ringing stopped. A door, carved from the heart of a dying star, creaked open an inch. Roland stood, his ancient revolvers heavy against his hips
"If the bell rings three times, the doors stay shut forever," Jake whispered. "The cycle doesn't reset. We just... stay in the dark." Roland began to walk
"The Man in Black?" Roland asked, his voice like grinding stones.
He stepped inside, and for the first time in a thousand years, the gunslinger felt the wind change direction.