Considering that laughing any longer might draw unnecessary attention, Kraft composed himself and headed toward the place where the saints stood with his two assistants and Professor Linden.
A halo, arches stacked in tiers like steps, and the main entrance, crowned by a Winged Ring above the lintel—all were covered in carved decoration. Figures with kind faces and elongated halos behind their heads stood among them, while childlike angels held musical instruments amid clouds and floral patterns.
Visitors had to climb the broad staircase, looking up as they approached the doors, then enter the church beneath the gaze of two knights in winged helmets.
The two professors moved a little awkwardly. After spending the entire previous year without saying a single good word about the Church, they felt somewhat guilty about stepping into Heavenly Father's most important earthly dwelling in Norse.
The Church's knights symbolized more than mere security. Beyond them lay territory that, in legal terms, belonged to Heavenly Father on earth—a theoretical state within a state.
Linden instinctively tugged at his collar and brought it beneath his nose to sniff. Only after confirming that he was wearing ordinary clothes and didn't smell of anything did he cross this boundary between the divine and the secular.
The natural daylight gave way to illumination made all the more brilliant by being filtered. The stained-glass windows, assembled from countless colored panes set in lead and copper frames, divided the light and cast a dazzling, confusing array of rainbow hues, as if they had been scattered across the immense scenes from Scripture covering entire walls.
The Holy Scripture had been brought to life in its entirety. Saints and disciples, bathed in radiant light, filled the visitors' field of vision in the vast, unobstructed height of the hall.
The walls' supporting role had