The world around Kael was too quiet.
The echoes of battle had faded, leaving only the faint hiss of cooling ember veins along the Tower's walls. The air smelled of dust and burnt iron, heavy and still. Liora's hand was still gripping his arm, firm but trembling slightly — as if afraid that if she let go, he might vanish back into whatever abyss had taken him.
He stared at her fingers. At the faint scars across her knuckles, the soot that clung to her skin. They were real. Solid. Human.
But his own hands…
When he flexed them, faint threads of violet light shimmered beneath his skin, tracing the veins like cracks in glass. The emberfire within him — once a steady, living warmth — now pulsed cold and irregular, like something alive that no longer belonged to him.
He forced a breath, tried to focus on the rhythm of it. In. Out. In. Out. But the rhythm didn't match his heartbeat anymore. The fire was beating to another pulse. The Tower's.
"Kael," Liora said, her voice quiet but sharp. "What did you see in there?"
He hesitated. For a long moment, he didn't answer. The truth was a blade — one that would cut both ways.
"I saw myself," he said finally. "Or… what the Tower says I am."
Liora's expression hardened. "You can't believe anything that thing shows you. It twists memories, feelings — even faces. That's how it breaks people."
He almost laughed, but the sound caught in his throat. "Then maybe I'm already broken."
Liora's grip tightened. "Don't start that."
"I'm serious," he said, his tone colder now. "What if it's right? What if everything I remember — the city, the people, my past — what if none of it was ever real? What if I was made here, just like the Forged?"
Liora's eyes flared with sudden anger. "You think being born by someone else's hand makes you less real?"
He blinked, surprised.
She let him go and stood, pacing. "The Forged were built to obey, yes. But some of them learned to choose. To want things, to fear, to fight. That makes them real — more than half the gods who created them." She turned toward him again. "If the Tower wanted to convince you you're not real, it's because it's afraid of what happens if you start believing that you are."
Her words hit deeper than she realized.
Kael rose slowly, the ache in his limbs sharp but grounding. The chamber was vast and dim again, the violet veins fading back to red. But something in the air had changed. A tension. A quiet hum beneath every breath — as though the Tower itself were listening.
Liora began gathering her gear. Her movements were deliberate, almost ritualistic, like someone who had done this a thousand times to keep herself from thinking. "We should move," she said. "Rest here too long, and the walls start whispering again."
Kael nodded, though part of him was still rooted to the spot. His reflection's last words echoed inside his head: You cannot kill me. You can only replace me.
He clenched his jaw. No. He wasn't going to become something else's shadow.
They left the chamber through a narrow corridor that twisted upward in impossible geometry. The walls shifted subtly as they walked — stairs bending, paths folding into themselves — but Liora seemed to navigate them instinctively. Kael followed in silence, the emberfire in his chest dim but restless.
Hours — or minutes — passed. Time meant little in the Tower. Eventually, they emerged into a wide circular hall filled with floating shards of crystal. Each shard reflected fragments of faces, battles, memories — like mirrors shattered and scattered through eternity.
"This is the Archive," Liora murmured. "Every trial leaves a trace here."
Kael stepped closer to one of the shards. His reflection appeared again, distorted in its curved surface. But this time, the eyes staring back weren't violet. They were hollow.
He reached out. The shard rippled like water at his touch. A memory spilled out — not his own.
A man kneeling before a massive, unseen figure. A voice booming like thunder: Serve the flame, and your world will burn clean.
Then another flash — a field of bodies. Forged soldiers standing in perfect silence as the sky burned red.
Kael pulled his hand back, heart racing. "These are… the Tower's memories?"
Liora nodded. "Or its mistakes."
He turned to her. "Then why show them?"
"To remind us that even gods bleed," she said quietly. "And that their prisons remember."
Before he could respond, the shards around them began to vibrate. Slowly, they rotated — all turning to face him.
Liora swore under her breath. "It's noticed you."
Kael felt the emberfire surge within him again — the cold pulse aligning with the crystals' rhythm. The entire chamber thrummed in response.
A voice, softer this time, filled the air.
You carry the source, Kael Ardyn. You awaken what sleeps. Do you see now why you were made?
Kael took a step back. "I wasn't made."
The voice chuckled, low and resonant. Then why does the fire obey you? Why do my walls bend for your will? Even the Forged cannot command the flame — yet you do. You are the bridge, the fracture between order and chaos.
The shards began to glow brighter, swirling faster, forming a storm of mirrored light around him. Liora tried to reach him, but a barrier of pure energy rose between them.
"Kael!" she shouted, slamming her fist against it. "Fight it!"
He tried to move, but the light pinned him in place. The fire inside him roared — not red, not violet, but a fusion of both. It tore through his veins, filling every nerve with unbearable heat.
The voice pressed closer. Accept what you are. Say the words, and I will make you whole.
Kael screamed, the sound echoing through the hall. His body trembled violently as visions cascaded through his mind — endless cities, wars fought in his name, worlds burned for rebirth. He saw himself standing atop mountains of ash, the same violet flame in his eyes that his reflection had worn.
He was becoming the thing he had killed.
Then — another voice, faint but fierce, cut through the storm.
Kael. Don't give it your name.
It was Liora's voice — raw, desperate, real.
Something in him snapped back. He gritted his teeth, forcing the emberfire downward, compressing it until it was nothing but a single spark in his chest. The shards screamed in protest, cracking one by one.
"I am not your weapon," he said, his voice low, shaking. "And I don't need your wholeness."
The light exploded outward.
The barrier shattered. Liora was thrown back as Kael collapsed to his knees, smoke rising from his skin. The chamber went dark. Only the faint emberlight from Kael's chest remained — dim, but alive.
Liora crawled to him, her voice hoarse. "You stubborn bastard…"
He gave a weak, breathless laugh. "You sound like you care."
She smirked faintly. "Don't make me regret it."
For a long time, neither spoke. The silence between them wasn't empty — it was heavy, filled with unspoken truths neither was ready to face.
Finally, Kael looked up. The shards that once filled the room were gone, reduced to glittering dust that floated like stars around them.
"What happens now?" he asked quietly.
Liora stood, looking toward the spiraling path above them — the next ascent. "Now?" she said. "Now we climb again."
Kael nodded slowly, rising beside her. The emberfire pulsed once, steady and defiant.
And deep within the Tower, something vast stirred — not in anger, but in interest.
For the first time in ages, the Tower whispered not to command, but to watch.
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