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ToG 15
Scene 1
23rd Floor
The 23rd Floor was quieter than it had any right to be.
Not quiet like safety—quiet like the Tower had decided this stretch didn't deserve witnesses. The air in these caverns stayed cool and damp no matter how long we walked, the stone under our boots slick with condensation that never quite fell. It clung instead, thin and stubborn, turning every step into a soft scrape.
Selena led the way without hurry.
Her staff tapped the ground in a steady rhythm, and with each tap a faint thread of light stretched forward along the stone, marking the safest line through the cave-forest. The light didn't brighten the world. It simply selected it—one path highlighted, everything else left to shadow.
Between the rock walls, pale trees grew in clusters like something underwater had been transplanted into stone. Their trunks were chalky and smooth, their branches curling overhead like ribs. Translucent leaf-membranes shivered when the shinsu-light passed too close.
Selena slowed just enough to make me stop.
Then she produced a phone and placed it in my hand.
The screen lit up immediately.
Emily?
"Emily?" I repeated, staring at the word as my gaze sharpened.
"It's an app," Selena said casually. "It's starting to pop up around the Tower."
I didn't like how normal she made it sound.
The phone warmed in my palm. Before I touched anything, the display shifted. Lines of text began to scroll, and a soft, pleasant voice started speaking—like it was reading a report aloud.
It wasn't a greeting.
It was a file.
Emily began reciting my history within the Tower as if it had been waiting to do so. Names I'd used. Floors crossed. Incidents flagged and quietly buried. Rumors that should've died and somehow didn't.
Then it reached the part Selena had been playing with.
Ras. The Crimson Sun.
The name wasn't questioned. It was stated.
The paragraph that followed was clinical and dense, written in the tone of something pretending to be neutral.
Crow clashing with low-ranked FUG Rankers—hunters operating where they shouldn't have been. Broken bodies. Withdrawn teams. Survivors who refused to testify. Incidents marked "unverified" because witnesses didn't last long enough to speak.
Then it shifted to what it clearly cared about.
My relationship to the Human.
Not friendship. Not loyalty.
Classification.
Repeated interference with external attempts to pressure, steer, or claim Baam. Actions that didn't align with FUG's expectations. A pattern of "protective cruelty" that disrupted manipulation rather than enforcing it.
I tightened my grip.
The moment the phone fully registered my presence, the monologue stopped.
A new prompt surfaced.
A question—too sharp to be random.
Is the Moon Hare more important than the Stars?
I didn't answer.
I tossed the phone back to Selena.
She caught it without breaking stride, eyes flicking down to the screen as her focus tightened. She didn't touch it—just studied it.
Then she looked up at me, not surprised.
Interested.
"The Moon Hare," she murmured.
Her gaze slid to my arm, where ink layered over older ink.
"The same hare tattoo hidden under that mess of dragons and that bird?" she asked.
I slowed, then stopped.
"You could say so," I replied evenly. "Each image carries a meaning. As to importance…"
I exhaled.
"My master would kill me over her. So that depends on who you're asking."
Selena didn't laugh. She filed it away.
"Is that the same reason Yuri is treated as a friend?" she asked.
I closed my mouth.
Selena's instincts were sharper than most Guides I'd met. She didn't read paths—she read people.
We moved again, turning into a narrower passage where pale branches brushed our shoulders. Somewhere beneath us, water flowed slow and heavy.
"Is there a reason you decided to give Emily my real name?" I asked. "Even branded me with my sword's name as my title."
Selena didn't hesitate.
"Ras," she said.
The name landed heavier than it should have.
"Ras, the Crimson Sun. It's better than letting your old name hold you back. You carry the memories. That's enough."
"And Crow?" I asked.
Selena smiled softly—dangerously so.
"Crow was a start. Simple. Easy. A child's handle. The name you latched onto while your master sent you cycle-hopping to build an identity you could keep."
She stopped near a cavern shelf overlooking a black river. The water reflected her light in broken fragments.
"I'm still your guide," she said gently.
Then came the truth beneath it.
"And that entitles ensuring my patron is prepared for his road."
I raised an eyebrow. "Entitles?"
Selena tapped her staff. The light-thread shifted—barely a degree—but the route changed.
Handling wasn't always force.
Sometimes it was a corridor you never walked down.
"Your road doesn't end here," she continued. "This cycle won't change with the fate of the Tower."
Her eyes sharpened briefly.
"Even the Stars are protected from you stopping her story."
I nodded.
"Just stick to Crow in front of others," I muttered. "I'd rather not explain everything again."
Selena hummed.
Then I let the thought slip.
"You and the Error both see value in allowing the Human to remain the way he is."
Her gaze sharpened—not at Baam, but at me.
"Even if you don't agree with naivety as a personality," I added, a quiet laugh slipping out.
I stared at the river.
"Being human isn't a flaw," I said. "You're supposed to be naive. Trying to stand."
Baam's dream surfaced—returning to a cave as if the world couldn't change him.
"But even naivety can rot into hatred."
Selena didn't comfort me.
She turned and walked on.
I followed.
Scene 2
Baam
Jinsung Ha didn't choose rooms meant for recovery.
He chose rooms meant for breaking.
Bare stone walls. A single shinsu-lantern. Air so dry it scraped my throat.
I sat on the floor with my head buried in my arms.
"I told you Crow placing your expectations on others is wrong," Jinsung said calmly.
I didn't answer.
"You failed to realize your original friends could reach the top of the E-rank Regulars," he continued. "Khun. Rak. Anak. Endorsi."
Each name weighed more than the last.
"Comparing them to your current team is a stupid decision."
My fist clenched.
"If you're their leader," he said, stepping closer, "it was your job to decide if children would risk their lives."
A pause.
"Yes, they're Regulars. But a child is still a child."
My shoulders tightened.
"I thought letting Hwa Ryun push you harder—with Crow's blessing—would make you rethink your group."
Then his voice dropped.
"If you won't decide they aren't strong enough to survive, I will."
I looked up.
His eyes glowed with dense shinsu.
"I'll strip them from you."
The words crushed my chest.
"There's no point letting them die a stupid death when training could've saved them."
I didn't answer.
Jinsung stared at me, then turned and left.
The door shut.
Silence returned.
Minutes passed.
A knock came.
"Viole?" Akraptor's voice.
The door opened just enough for a tray to slide inside—food and water.
Akraptor didn't step in.
"Eat," he said quietly. "At least… eat."
The door closed.
I stared at the tray for a long time before my hand moved.
Not because I was hungry.
Because it was easier to face monsters than the weight of people still believing I could survive what I was becoming.