Kael climbed the stairs with a steady rhythm, his boots hitting the stone with a muffled beat. The Abyssal Memory shard still buzzed faintly in his grip, tucked tightly against his side. Its glow had dimmed, but the strange, heavy feeling it had placed on his chest hadn't faded. If anything, it had deepened, sinking hooks into his mind and heart.
Each floor he conquered, each shard he absorbed, pushed him further from the boy who had first stepped into the Tower. A faint echo of who he once was flickered inside him, but it was getting harder to hear it over the roar of survival and the silent pull of power.
The staircase ended in an enormous chamber unlike anything Kael had seen before.
It was vast—so vast that he couldn't see the walls or ceiling. Instead, there was only a thick black mist, rolling in slow, lazy currents, hiding everything beyond a few meters of sight. A smooth stone path stretched forward into the darkness, lit by faint blue torches that floated without any visible support.
Kael hesitated at the threshold.
This floor was different. It didn't feel like a trial.
It felt like a tomb.
The Abyssal Memory shard pulsed once, harder, urging him forward.
He stepped into the mist.
The floating torches guided him. Each step was soundless. His boots made no echo on the stone. Even his breathing seemed too loud, as if the air itself was pressing against him, demanding silence.
Kael moved carefully, every muscle tense.
Shapes loomed in the mist ahead. Statues—hundreds of them—lined the path on either side. Unlike the broken sculptures from before, these figures were intact. Tall, regal beings carved from dark stone, their faces hidden by smooth masks. Each one stood motionless, arms raised as if in praise to some unseen force above.
Their poses were too lifelike. Too human.
Kael's skin crawled as he walked between them.
He kept his eyes forward, refusing to meet the blank gaze of the statues. Instinct screamed at him that staring too long would invite something worse than death.
The mist thickened.
The torches flickered.
And then the singing began.
It wasn't a real song, not exactly. It was a feeling, a pressure in the back of Kael's skull, like a chorus of voices humming in a language he couldn't understand. Low at first, almost soothing.
But the farther he walked, the louder it grew.
The sound filled the air, vibrating through the stones, the mist, even through Kael's bones. The statues seemed to shiver with the song, as if waking from some long slumber.
Kael tightened his grip on his shards.
This was no ordinary trial.
A few more steps, and the ground shifted underfoot.
He glanced down.
The path had changed. The smooth stones were replaced by cracked black marble, crisscrossed with ancient, faded runes that pulsed faintly with a sickly green light.
Kael stopped.
Ahead, the mist twisted, coiling in strange patterns. A shape was forming. A massive figure, cloaked in shadows, its face hidden beneath a wide, horned mask.
The choir's hum rose into a high, keening note.
The figure spoke, its voice deep and cold as the grave.
You seek to ascend.
Kael said nothing. His throat was dry, but he held his ground.
The figure's head tilted slightly, as if amused.
You carry the Memory. The Echo of a Fallen King. It has chosen you.
The pressure in Kael's chest grew tighter.
But to rise higher, you must offer tribute. A memory of your own.
Kael frowned. Tribute? A memory?
The figure extended a hand, palm open.
A shard of your soul, given freely.
Kael's instinct screamed at him to refuse. But he knew the Tower. Nothing was free. Every floor demanded a price. Blood, strength, will.
This time, it demanded something more.
He closed his eyes, sifting through his mind.
What could he give?
Faces floated to the surface. His family. His village. The sunlit fields he used to run across as a child. The taste of warm bread. The laughter of friends he hadn't seen in years.
Kael's heart twisted.
Those memories were his anchor. His proof that he was still human.
But he couldn't hesitate. Not here. Not now.
With a trembling hand, Kael reached inward.
He chose a small memory—one he hadn't thought of in a long time.
A quiet afternoon, sitting beneath a tree, listening to the rain. The smell of wet earth. The peace he had once known.
He let it go.
The moment the memory left him, he staggered. A hollow ache bloomed in his chest, a sense of loss sharper than any wound.
The shadowy figure accepted the offering without a word. The mist around it parted, revealing a narrow stone bridge leading deeper into the dark.
You may pass, whispered the chorus.
Kael forced himself to move.
The bridge was narrow, barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side. Below it, the mist churned, hiding whatever lay beneath. The singing faded as he crossed, leaving only the pounding of his own heart for company.
On the other side, another staircase waited, winding upward.
Before ascending, Kael glanced back once.
The statues were still there, their arms raised high, their masked faces watching in silence.
Waiting for the next soul to offer itself to the Tower.
He turned away and began to climb.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
The loss of the memory weighed on him more than he had expected. It wasn't just the event he had lost. It was the feeling—the simple peace he had once found in the world.
Gone.
Traded for a few more steps forward.
Was it worth it?
Kael didn't know.
But he didn't stop.
The Tower demanded everything. Piece by piece, it would strip him down, leaving nothing but what he could forge from pain and loss.
And Kael was determined to forge something unstoppable.
As he reached the next landing, a faint tremor shook the stones.
A door stood ahead, massive and cracked, its surface etched with spiraling sigils that seemed to pulse with a heartbeat of their own.
Kael approached, wary.
The Abyssal Memory shard vibrated against his chest.
A test awaited.
He drew a deep breath, bracing himself, and pushed the door open.
Beyond it was a chamber filled with mirrors.
Dozens, maybe hundreds, of tall, silvered glass panels stretched from floor to ceiling, arranged in a labyrinth of endless reflections.
Kael stepped inside.
The door slammed shut behind him.
He spun, but the door had vanished. Only more mirrors stood in its place, reflecting his confused, tense figure back at him from a hundred angles.
He moved forward cautiously, careful not to touch the glass.
Each step sent ripples through the reflections.
And then he saw it.
One of the reflections wasn't right.
It was him—same clothes, same shards, same expression.
But the eyes were wrong.
Where Kael's eyes burned with weary determination, the reflection's eyes were hollow. Dead. Empty pits of darkness that seemed to swallow the light.
The false Kael stepped forward from the mirror without a sound.
The real Kael fell into a defensive stance instantly.
The fake moved with perfect precision, mirroring Kael's own fighting style.
Shard blade met shard blade in a clash of sparks.
The impact rattled Kael's bones. His double was fast, strong, relentless.
For every move Kael made, the fake matched it perfectly.
Blow for blow. Step for step.
Kael realized the truth with a sinking heart.
This wasn't just a copy.
It was him.
Or rather, what he would become if he lost everything that made him human.
Silent. Ruthless. Hollow.
Driven only by the Tower's endless hunger for power.
The thought filled Kael with a cold fury.
He wasn't a puppet. He wasn't a hollow shell.
Not yet.
Not ever.
He changed his rhythm, feinting a high strike and diving low instead. The fake faltered, a fraction too slow to adjust.
Kael took the opening, slamming his shard blade into the fake's chest.
The copy staggered, gasping soundlessly, before shattering into a thousand shards of light.
Kael stood alone, breathing hard.
The mirrors around him faded, melting into mist.
The chamber dissolved, revealing another staircase leading upward.
Kael wiped the sweat from his forehead and moved forward without hesitation.
The Tower wasn't just testing his strength anymore.
It was testing his soul.
Piece by piece, it would try to hollow him out.
But Kael wasn't just climbing to survive.
He was climbing to remember who he was—and to claim the power that waited at the summit.
No matter what it cost him.
The climb continued.