With the looming pressure of the Sixth Floor trial still distant on the horizon, Leo allowed himself something he hadn't since entering the Tower—rest.
Not training. Not meditating. Not studying essence or refining his spear forms.
Real, deliberate rest.
He left the walled climbers' district early in the morning with no weapon, no plan, and no destination. Just a small pouch of tower-script and a vague idea to explore the city beyond the climb.
Day 1: The Restaurant
By midday, he stumbled upon a modest side street filled with a handful of open-air shops and small homes. Tucked into the corner was a humble restaurant—just four tables, a simple menu carved into a slab of wood, and the smell of something warm and savory in the air.
Leo hesitated, then entered.
The chef was a wide-shouldered man with deep laugh lines and a crisp white apron stained with spice. "New climber?" he asked without pause. "You've got that dazed, 'where am I and how is this place so calm?' look."
"Something like that," Leo admitted, sitting at the counter.
The chef grinned and slapped a bowl down in front of him before he could order. "First timers get the stew."
It was good. Too good. Rich, slow-cooked flavor with vegetables Leo didn't recognize, meat that melted in his mouth, and a broth that warmed him in places training never could.
"You live here?" Leo asked after a few bites.
"For ten years now," the chef replied, pouring a drink for another patron. "Made it to the Fifth Floor. Got tired of fighting. Found this place."
"You ever regret not being able to leave?"
The man paused. His smile didn't fade, but his eyes dimmed a little. "Not really. The Tower's like a home to me now, you forget who you were before. I like who I am now."
Leo left a generous tip and thanked him, stepping out into the breeze with more weight in his thoughts than his stomach.
Day 2: The Drink Shop
The next afternoon, he found a small store that sold nothing but drinks—rows upon rows of elixirs, teas, wines, and glowing liquids stored in twisting glass vials. A bored-looking woman with a cloud of silvery hair sat behind the counter, flipping through a floating tome that rearranged its letters as she read.
Leo raised a brow. "What is that?"
"Catalog of beverage-induced qi fluctuations," she muttered. "Research purposes."
He nodded slowly. "Of course."
She slid a small, bubbling blue cup across the counter. "Try this. Calms the nerves. Opens the lungs. Might remind you of flying."
It did.
He stayed longer than he meant to, trying different drinks, chatting with the other customers, many of whom had stories to share. One had, been injured in a trial, and returned here to run a small herbal garden. Another had cruised through the trials but decided to give up climbing to take care of his son.
"It's not just the trials," one older man said quietly, sipping a glowing amber brew. "It's what you become the longer you stay in them. Seeing countless comrades die. We all reach a point where we have to ask—is the cost still worth it?"
Leo didn't answer.
He wasn't sure he knew yet.
Day 4: The Wall of Names
On the fourth day, Leo wandered farther than before and came upon a wide marble terrace overlooking the Tower's inner horizon. At the far edge stood an arch—plain, unadorned, but thrumming with ancient energy. Inside its borders shimmered a wall made entirely of light.
And on it, names.
Endless names.
They scrolled upward in silence. Each glowing character written in a script no human hand had carved. The magic behind it was subtle but unmistakable—sacred, in a way nothing else in the Tower had felt.
He stood there for a long time, silent.
Other visitors came and went. Some lit candles. Others left tokens. A few wept quietly, whispering prayers or farewells.
Leo turned to a middle-aged woman standing nearby, her hands clasped in front of her.
"Did you lose someone?" he asked gently.
She nodded. "My brother. He made it to the Fourth Floor. Was certain he'd reach the top."
Leo looked back at the wall. "Why didn't you climb?"
She didn't answer right away. Then: "Because after his death there was nothing left for outside this place so I might as well stay."
He stayed until the names blurred together and the sky began to darken.
Each stop painted the same truth in different shades.
Not everyone gave up because they were weak.
Some stepped away because they were wise.
Others because they were tired.
And some... because they had already found what they were looking for.
But Leo hadn't.
Not yet.
So when the week ended and he returned to the climbers' district, his spear in hand and his steps steady, he carried not just rest—but perspective.
The Tower had taken many.
But it hadn't taken him.
Not yet.