Cairn didn't run.
He stepped backward, slow and measured, as the seven statues moved toward him in perfect synchronicity—like puppets on the same string. Their stone limbs clicked as they bent at the joints, fine chips of dust spilling down their bodies with each unnatural motion.
Wrong. They were wrong. He knew how these people moved. How they fought. These weren't memories.
They were guesses.
The Tower was guessing.
He reached behind his back, fingers clawing through the shredded cloth of his coat.
No blade. Of course not.
No sigil activation yet. Not until—
"Tell us," one of them hissed. It was Ryn's statue. Her voice, almost. Just too smooth. Not tired enough. Not cruel enough.
The statues began to spread out in a half-circle, boxing him in. Only the faceless one stayed behind, watching.
"Why didn't you save her?"
That voice came from Talan's statue.
No, not Talan. Just his shape. This thing didn't know how Talan spit through his teeth when he was angry. It didn't carry the weight of twelve years of bitterness and loyalty wrapped into one horrible man.
This was a Tower-born echo, stitched from Cairn's guilt and partial recall.
He backed toward the center of the chamber, toward the spiral stairway—now pulsing faintly with a red light from below.
"You let her fall."
"You chose yourself."
"You killed us."
Each voice came from a different statue. Not accusatory. Factual. Like reading from a record. Like the Tower had been keeping transcripts of sins not yet confessed.
One statue lunged—Marle's.
Cairn pivoted fast, letting it overshoot as he sidestepped and slammed his shoulder into its back. It staggered, cracking against a pillar.
But another was already there—Deyr's—swinging a stone fist with brutal weight.
Cairn ducked, too slow.
The fist grazed the side of his head. Bright light flared behind his eyes. He hit the ground hard.
And the faceless statue stepped closer.
It raised its hand, palm open, reaching for him—not in violence.
In judgment.
"Say it," the voice whispered. "Say what you did."
The world blurred.
Not from pain. From replay.
Stone turned to skin.
Marble walls melted into screams.
He was back on Floor 27, and the world was burning. He saw the moment—Seri reaching for him, the platform cracking, the look in her eyes—
No. No, no. That wasn't how it happened. She let go. She chose to—
The faceless statue grabbed his arm.
The memory broke.
And something lit up in his chest—white-hot and blinding.
The Tower branded him.
He screamed—once, involuntarily—as the mark burned itself just above his heart. An echo of grief, silence, and bitter solitude.
[SIGIL ACQUIRED: THE UNMOURNED]
The statues froze.
Cracks ran through their bodies like veins of lightning. The faceless one turned its head—just slightly.
And then they began to collapse. Not fall. Not shatter. Just… fold inward. As if time stopped needing them.
Cairn lay still for a long moment, panting.
Then he stood.
No voice greeted him this time.
The stairwell remained open. Waiting.
He wiped blood from his temple, blinked twice, and stepped forward into the red glow of Floor 5.