The third tower was not discovered.
It was noticed.
The difference was small, but the tower insisted on it.
It stood among reeds where the Path ended at still water. Low, broad and without a clock. No sign, keeper or opening hours.
Only a bench. On it lay a feather.
Tersake sat down merely to determine whether the bench was safe. He remained to check whether that safety continued.
Across the water someone called. The sound reached the middle and lay down there. A duck quacked. That sound did not arrive either.
Inside was one room with a wooden table and eleven chairs. On each chair lay an unopened letter.
The first said:
FOR THE ONE WHO DOES NOT ANSWER AT ONCE.
The second:
FOR THE ONE WHO DOES NOT YET KNOW WHAT THEY THINK.
The third was blank.
Outside, wind moved through the reeds. Inside you heard only what you had brought yourself: a sentence from yesterday, an answer that came too quickly, a name not spoken aloud for a long time.
Tersake thought of every meeting where silence had been filled because someone mistook it for emptiness.
Here it felt more like a chair deliberately left free.
After a while one line appeared on the blank letter:
YOU DO NOT HAVE TO LEAVE ANYTHING HERE.
That evening Tower III appeared on the map, not as a symbol but as a small empty place between two roads.
Those who finally sat on the bench understood why the tower had no clock.
Silence does not have to be anywhere on time.