The climb was endless.
Stone steps coiled like the spine of a dying god, spiraling through darkness that pulsed with faint, living light. Each step hummed underfoot, as if measuring the rhythm of their hearts. The Tower no longer whispered—it breathed.
Kael's every motion felt heavier now. Not from exhaustion, but from something deeper. The emberfire had changed. It no longer fought him; it watched him, waiting, testing his will like a patient predator.
Liora walked ahead, her silhouette cutting sharp lines against the dim glow of the walls. The faint mechanical whine of her weapon holster echoed with each step, steady and familiar. Her presence was an anchor—a reminder that not everything in this place wanted to consume him.
After a while, she glanced back. "You're too quiet."
Kael smirked faintly. "You usually complain when I talk."
"I complain when you brood."
"I'm not brooding."
"You're brooding," she said flatly. "Your eyes go dark, your shoulders tighten, and you start walking like the Tower owes you an explanation."
He sighed. "Maybe it does."
Liora stopped mid-step and turned, her expression unreadable. "Then when it finally gives you one, make sure it's not the answer that kills you."
He met her gaze but said nothing. The air between them trembled with the hum of distant power—like the Tower itself had paused to listen.
Then came a faint chime. Soft. Metallic. It echoed through the stairwell like a drop of silver water in a void.
Liora stiffened. "That sound…"
Kael's hand instinctively went to his blade. "You've heard it before?"
"Once," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "When the last Wanderer reached the Eighth Layer."
Kael frowned. "And what happened to him?"
Her silence was answer enough.
The chime rang again, louder this time. The walls shuddered. Light fractured across the stone, revealing glyphs—ancient, spiraling patterns carved deep into the rock, pulsing with a rhythm that matched Kael's heartbeat.
Then the steps beneath them shifted. Slowly. Deliberately.
Liora swore, drawing her weapon. "It's reconfiguring the path!"
The stairway twisted, folding in on itself, separating them. Kael stumbled backward as the floor beneath him split apart like a living wound.
"Liora!"
"Go right!" she shouted, but her voice was drowned out by the grinding of stone and the roar of unseen machinery.
Kael leapt onto a fragment of stair as it tore free and drifted upward into open void. He balanced, breathing hard, his blade glowing faintly in the half-light. Below him, the stairway dissolved into shadow.
Then—silence again.
He stood alone on a floating shard of stone, suspended in nothingness. Above and below, infinity.
A whisper rippled through the air. Not in his ears, but inside his skull.
Still climbing, little fracture?
Kael froze. The voice was soft, smooth—male, but ancient in a way that words could barely touch.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
A pause, then a low laugh. Names are chains. You, of all beings, should know that. But if you must call me something… call me the Watcher.
Kael tightened his grip on his weapon. "You're the one behind the Tower?"
Behind? The laugh came again, deeper this time. No, Kael Ardyn. I am not behind it. I am within it. The Tower is thought, dream, and memory intertwined—and I am what remembers.
Kael looked down into the void. Faint lights shimmered far below, like galaxies imprisoned beneath glass. "You created this?"
Created? No. The Tower was born when gods began to fear their own reflection. I simply kept it alive.
Kael's pulse quickened. "Then why me? Why drag me into this cycle?"
The void trembled, and suddenly, images bloomed around him—visions formed from light and smoke. He saw a city burning, the sky split by rivers of fire. He saw thousands of Forged kneeling before a throne of black flame. He saw himself standing at the center of it all—eyes alight, hands dripping with the same violet fire that now flickered in his veins.
Because, the Watcher said, you were the first to defy the flame—and the last to survive it.
Kael's breath hitched. "You mean… I've been here before?"
You never left.
The words sank into him like blades. His mind flooded with fragments—half-memories, half-nightmares. The faces of people he didn't know. Wars he didn't remember fighting. A thousand deaths, a thousand resurrections, each time awakening here, in the Tower.
"This isn't possible," he whispered.
Reality bends where purpose demands it.
Kael fell to one knee, his vision blurring. The emberfire surged violently, burning through him like liquid glass.
Every ascent rewrites you, the Watcher continued. Every rebellion makes you stronger. But each time you awaken, you forget. That is the price of beginning again.
He gritted his teeth, forcing the fire back down. "Then what happens if I remember?"
The void seemed to still.
Then, the Watcher said softly, you cease to be my creation—and become my enemy.
The words hung heavy in the air.
Kael rose, his eyes burning with defiance. "Then I guess we already know what I am."
A faint smile touched the Watcher's voice. Good. Defiance gives shape to meaning. But remember—no matter how far you climb, the Tower always remembers the way down.
The void shattered.
Kael fell—gravity returning all at once. He hit the ground hard, rolling to his feet. He was back on solid stone. The chamber was different now—open, circular, and illuminated by a pale blue glow. At its center stood a mirror of translucent crystal, tall and smooth as still water.
Liora was there, battered but alive, kneeling beside her rifle. When she saw him, relief flickered across her face, quickly masked by her usual irritation.
"Took you long enough," she said, standing.
He exhaled, trying to steady himself. "The Tower… spoke to me."
Her eyes sharpened. "It always does before the next ascent."
"No," Kael said quietly. "This was different. It knew me."
Liora hesitated, studying him. "What did it say?"
"That I've done this before. A thousand times, maybe more."
For a moment, she said nothing. Then, almost too softly to hear, she murmured, "Then maybe this time, you'll finish it."
He looked up. "Finish what?"
But she didn't answer.
Instead, she turned toward the mirror. "The Eighth Layer," she said. "The Gate of Reflection. Once you cross it, the Tower stops testing you—and starts remembering you."
Kael stared at his reflection. The eyes staring back weren't quite his. They burned brighter, deeper—filled with something ancient.
The emberfire within him pulsed once, strong and sharp, as if sensing what lay ahead.
Behind him, the Tower groaned, and the mirror began to ripple.
Liora glanced over her shoulder. "Whatever happens in there—don't lose yourself."
Kael drew in a slow breath. "If I do… bring me back."
She smirked faintly. "You'd better make it worth the effort."
Then he stepped into the glass.
The surface swallowed him whole.
And the world shattered again—into memory, light, and fire.
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