> "There are places where even light dares not exist… because what lives there remembers what it did to them."
---
The door slammed shut behind him.
Hard.
Final.
Ahead was nothing. Not darkness—something worse. A presence. A hunger. The absence of being. It was as if light itself had been punished for entering this floor and sentenced to eternal exile.
He could not see his hands.
Could not hear his steps.
He only felt one thing:
> Eyes.
Not one. Thousands. Layered over the walls, the air, the silence itself. Watching.
Judging.
Waiting.
He raised his arm—and the spiral glowed faintly, barely piercing the void. It wasn't a light. It was a warning.
The Tower wasn't passive anymore.
It was… alive.
And it was angry.
---
He walked.
Hours, maybe days. Time had no shape here.
The whispers returned. But these were not from the Tower.
These were from within him.
> "She screamed."
> "You ran."
> "Coward."
> "Murderer."
He didn't deny it.
He couldn't.
The truth had its claws in him now, and there was nowhere left to hide.
But then—
A flicker.
Not of light.
Of memory.
A corridor appeared, faint and flickering like a dying flame. At its end, a single door pulsed red.
> The only color in the void.
He approached cautiously.
Each step made the whispers louder.
Not words anymore.
Cries.
Sobs.
Laughter too broken to be human.
---
He touched the door.
It pulsed beneath his palm like a living organ.
> Trial Four: Exposure.
> "Strip yourself, or be stripped."
The words carved themselves into the air around him.
He didn't hesitate.
He stepped through.
---
The room was white.
Stark. Blinding.
On the walls: images.
Of him.
Every sin. Every mistake. Every moment he looked away.
Him walking past a burning village.
Him stabbing a friend to survive.
Him kneeling before a god he once swore to kill.
Each image was a wound.
Each memory, a scar.
In the center stood a pillar.
And tied to it—himself.
Another version. Chained. Muzzled. Bleeding.
Eyes wide with rage and pain.
This was the part of him that remembered everything.
And it hated him for forgetting.
> "Free him," the Tower said.
He walked forward.
The chained version thrashed violently.
> "He will kill you," the Tower warned.
He didn't stop.
He reached for the chains—
The other him lunged.
And their minds collided.
---
Visions.
Unending.
Torture. Betrayal. Endless war. Worlds burned. Cities bled. Gods died.
He had done terrible things.
And worse—he had meant them.
The chained one roared, full of hate and memory.
But he did not fight back.
He embraced him.
And whispered:
> "I remember now."
---
The chained one stopped.
Looked up.
And smiled.
The chains dissolved.
They became one again.
And in that instant—he remembered her name.
> Remi.
His knees buckled.
His throat burned.
And for the first time in centuries, he let himself cry.
Not from weakness.
But from becoming whole.
---
The Tower trembled.
Light returned.
Just a sliver—but it was enough.
His spiral glowed brighter than ever.
And a new symbol appeared beside it.
A circle.
Complete.
Whole.
---
He looked toward the stairway.
The next trial waited.
But something was different now.
The Tower feared him.
Because for the first time since entering…
> He remembered who he was.
And he still chose to climb.
---
(To be continued in Chapter 8: The Whispering Gate...)
---