The tower waits.
Not patiently. Not kindly.
It waits the way a blade waits in midair—poised, inevitable, already certain of its path.
The hum beneath my feet deepens, vibrating up my legs, settling into my spine. The echoes freeze in place, including Lena's—her luminous eyes locked onto mine, unblinking.
I know what the tower wants.
Not obedience.
Consent.
"If I do this," I say slowly, my voice sounding far too small inside the vast chamber, "you won't take everything."
The tower answers with sensation, not words.
Pressure eases.
Just slightly.
The man exhales, sharp and controlled. "That's as close to reassurance as it ever gives."
I close my eyes.
The pearl is scorching now, no longer content to pulse quietly. It demands release—an opening, a fracture, something it can pour itself into.
"Alright," I whisper. "One memory. Not all of them."
The instant the words leave my mouth, the symbols on the floor surge with light.
Pain hits—not sudden, but precise. Surgical. As if something delicate is being cut open with practiced hands.
The chamber dissolves.
Rain replaces stone.
I am standing in the city—our city—but it is wrong. The rain falls sideways, streaking the air like slashes of silver. Sirens scream in the distance, stretched and distorted, as though sound itself is unraveling.
Lena stands across from me.
Not an echo.
Not a memory fragment.
Her.
Whole. Solid. Real.
"You shouldn't have come," she says, rain plastering her hair to her face.
"I had to," I reply, though my throat burns. "It was already starting."
Her gaze flicks to my chest—to where the pearl hangs, hidden beneath my clothes. Fear flashes across her features, quickly buried.
"So it chose you."
"No," I say. "We chose each other."
Thunder cracks overhead.
The world shudders.
Buildings flicker—present one moment, absent the next, like faulty projections. People rush past us, unaware that reality is tearing at the seams.
"This isn't stable," Lena says. "You know what happens if EG fully manifests."
"Yes," I answer. "That's why I'm here."
She steps closer, lowering her voice. "You promised me you wouldn't do this alone."
I laugh weakly. "You promised you'd stop me."
Her lips press together.
"I tried."
Memory surges—hands locked together, rain-soaked, desperate.
If this fails, you forget.
If it works, you won't be able to stay.
I stagger as the weight of it crashes into me.
"That was the deal," I whisper.
Lena nods once. "You were the only anchor strong enough to hold EG without letting it consume everything."
"And you?" I ask.
"I was the fail-safe."
The rain slows.
Time thickens, stretching like glass about to shatter.
"You erased yourself," I realize. "From me."
Her expression softens—just a little. "I made sure you could live."
Pain blooms in my chest, sharper than anything the tower has done to me. "You don't get to decide that."
"I know," she says quietly. "That's why you're angry."
The world fractures.
The memory tears away from me, snapping back like an elastic band pulled too far.
I gasp, collapsing to my knees as the tower slams back into place around us. Stone. Cold. Solid.
The symbols dim.
The echoes vanish.
The man is suddenly beside me, steadying my shoulders. "That's enough," he says firmly. "Any more and you'd lose control."
I suck in a shaking breath. "She knew."
"Yes."
"And I agreed."
"Yes."
The pearl cools, its glow softening, settling into a dormant thrum.
The tower releases a low, reverberating exhale.
A compromise.
Outside the fractured walls, the city snaps back into motion. Time resumes. The rain continues to fall—normal now, ordinary, unaware of how close it came to meaning something else.
I push myself to my feet.
"I'm not done," I say hoarsely. "I won't be."
The man studies me for a long moment. "Then you need to understand what comes next."
"What?"
He gestures toward the ceiling—toward layers of stone and sky I can no longer see through.
"The world has felt you," he says. "And it doesn't like being touched."
The tower hums again.
Not in anticipation.
In warning.