The corridor narrowed, stone pressing close on either side, until it suddenly opened into a vast chamber. The ceiling arched high above them, lost in darkness.
Unlike the endless stair or the carved walls of watchers, this place was alive with light—thousands of tiny motes drifting in the air, like fireflies suspended in amber. They swirled when Kaelen entered, as if recognizing the fire within him.
Lyra's hand tightened on her blade. "What is this?"
The candle-bearer stepped forward, their little flame flickering in awe. "Memories."
As if answering, the motes gathered in the air, fusing into shapes. First blurry, then sharp—scenes flickering across the chamber. A battlefield of stars. Towers falling. Fire tearing across planets.
Kaelen's breath caught in his throat. He knew this war. He had lived it. But the details were wrong—cities that had never existed, faces he had never seen, entire worlds burning he didn't recognize.
Lyra's voice was hushed. "These aren't our memories."
The candle-bearer's face was pale in the glow. "No. They belong to the Tower."
The chamber shifted again. The motes reshaped, and this time, they showed the watchers—lined in rows, silent and still. Behind them loomed shapes far larger, cloaked in shadow, their forms blurred but unmistakable: the true architects of the Tower.
Their voices filled the chamber. Not sound, but resonance.
"You are not chosen."
The images burned hotter, sharper. A spiral galaxy folding in on itself. A void eye opening in the dark. Then—Kaelen and Lyra, standing at the center of it all, their flames colliding in a storm that tore reality open.
Lyra staggered back, her face pale. "That's us. It's showing… us."
Kaelen's fire flared without his command, answering the image. "No. It's showing what it thinks we'll become."
The motes scattered violently, plunging the chamber into half-dark. Only the candle-bearer's flame remained steady.
They whispered, almost trembling. "The Tower isn't keeping us out. It's warning us."
Silence fell, broken only by the faint echo of those earlier words—
You are not chosen.
And somewhere deep within the Tower, something answered that warning with a sound like chains breaking.