Shin stepped through the archway, and the room shifted—not only in shape, but in tone. This wasn't a tower chamber anymore. It looked more like an abandoned lab.
The floor flattened into wide octagonal panels, each dimly glowing beneath his steps. The ceiling was higher here, and faint arcs of lightning curled lazily through the air like a forgotten dream that refuses to disappear.
Shattered consoles lined the room's edges, their cracked panels still bleeding faint light. Broken containment tubes jutted from the walls, each filled with nothing but dust and a faint static hum. Instruments etched on the wall and ceiling twitched slowly as if still obeying protocols no one had given in centuries.
Shin moved with care. The silence was heavier than before.
Alright, I finally reached here. Or well, whatever 'here' is supposed to be. He sighed, but tried to analyze it logically. "Well... considering this place does not look like a tower, or feel like one, I assume it's meant to serve as something else." He said aloud, hoping the tower would react if he answered correctly.
On one table at the corner of the room sat a metallic rod splintered down the middle, its exposed interior lined with mesh that hummed like a distant heart monitor. Nearby, a sphere of translucent material hovered in a static field, twitching erratically as if unsure whether to collapse or detonate.
"Man. Is it karma?" he grumbled. He was punished for thinking he knew everything just 'cause he cleared one tower. But there was no use in regretting it now. Next time, he'd prepare better. But for now, he needs to do what he can.
Half-formed weapons, abandoned devices, storage cores, fragments of tools with no obvious function—scattered everywhere like prototypes forgotten in a god's attic.
Shin crouched near one—a hilt without a blade, fused to the remnants of what looked like a sensor module. It sparked once under his touch, then died again.
He narrowed his eyes.
"So many weird things, but none seem to work," he murmured. "Did Lightning build these?"
No. That didn't feel right. It felt distinctly different from how his own artifacts looked. Those tools looked like they were made by humans.
He stood and let his gaze wander. His fingers skimmed a bent fragment of silvery plating—etched with a language he couldn't read. He paused.
Something nearby pulsed faintly.
Not lightning. Just… a presence.
He turned and saw it.
At the center of a cracked stabilizer field, a silver-blue ring hovered inside a dying suspension field. The containment glass was gone, probably shattered long ago, leaving the artifact to drift weightless like a bubble that refused to burst. Shin stepped closer and touched it lightly.
For a moment, nothing happened. But then the ring dropped into his palm—soft, cool, and with a weight lighter than metal.
There was no engraving he could find on it. Nor was there any energy signature.
It didn't respond to him the way his sword had—it didn't recognize him. And still, somehow, it accepted him.
Should I risk it? He pondered for a while, then Fuck it.
He slipped it onto his finger and felt—room.
Was it weight? A box? The sensation defied description. It was like holding a tangible space just beneath his skin, a pressure at the edge of his awareness. As if, somewhere in that invisible fold, a door had quietly opened.
He filed the thought away. He didn't know what it did yet. But he would investigate it later.
He turned again. Passed fractured shields, rusted modules, a stack of crystalline rods that fizzled at the edges. There was no order here—just chaos hidden beneath light.
At the far end of the chamber stood a pedestal—finally. Simple, almost austere, yet unmistakably familiar, it resembled the one in the Wind Tower. A dim glimmer played across its surface, suggesting gold, though the metal itself was a dark matte alloy shaped like a split spike.
Hovering just above was the vessel. Silent. Dormant. At first glance, it looked like nothing more than a shard of twisted metal—black-silver and jagged, like a broken talon.
But as Shin stepped closer, it pulsed once—a single heartbeat.
He froze. Then smiled faintly. Is this it?
But unease crept in. Unlike with Wind, he didn't have the same confidence to move without hesitation. The shape alone was strange enough, but what if the vessel didn't accept him this time? What if Lightning rejected him—or worse, turned on him? If that happened, he'd be lucky to survive, let alone fight back.
Still, retreating now wasn't an option. Not after coming this far.
"Huh… Well," he muttered, half-smiling, "I already fought a fake god once. Can't be that different."
The instant his fingers brushed the surface, the shard flared and electricity danced across his palm. In the blink of an eye, the shard unfolded like an automated assembly sequence, plates sliding into place with surgical precision. They locked around his arm one after another, weaving into a seamless gauntlet as if following a forgotten blueprint.
It felt alive.
The metal layered over his skin, impossibly light yet solid. Hidden plates settled from wrist to elbow, weaving together like silk strands until a second skin had formed—matte black, ridged subtly like coiled muscle. Only his fingertips were left bare, exposed at the ends.
Then came the claws.
Slender blades that extended from the metal. They were short, needle-sharp, and blaring ecstatically as if dying to tear something to bits. Yet the energy wasn't wild or chaotic. It was focused, disciplined—as if ready to accept his will.
He flexed his muscles, and the claws retracted instantly.
Behind him, the silver-blue ring on his finger glowed faintly—and something shifted in the gauntlet's structure. A channel opened in the metal, aligning itself around the ring's band as if it had always belonged there.
The two artifacts didn't just sync—they fused, as if they had been waiting centuries for this reunion.
Shin held his breath. It wasn't just awe he felt—it was recognition.
These two were made to work together, he realized. He turned his wrist slowly, and the claw responded in perfect harmony—no latency, no resistance.
This wasn't like Wind's sword, forged from clarity and grace. This was something wilder and less certain—but it was powerful all the same.
The vessel didn't respond to calm. It responded to potential.
And then the chamber changed—not in light, but in weight. A voice pressed through the air, vibrating like a storm ready to break:
"You are not welcome here."
It wasn't sound, not exactly—more like pressure, a ripple of charged intent that announced rather than spoke.
Shin's eyes narrowed.
The air around him shifted—just enough to sense it. The arcs in the ceiling were no longer random. They curved gently toward him.
"I never wanted to be disturbed."
"Yet you came anyway."
Where is it coming from? Shin thought. There was no one else in the room. The presence wasn't merely a voice in the air but something vast, reaching him through the medium of air and static—a consciousness that spread across the chamber as though space itself. Even with the Wind's gift, he couldn't trace its source.
Everywhere, he realized suddenly. It's speaking from everywhere.
"So?" he said at last, his tone even. He was not going to let the surprise ruin his plans. "Were you planning just to sit here forever?"
A low hum rippled through the dome, almost like a sigh.
"I came to this world because Wind conveyed me here. But I have no wish to shape it—
or be shaped by it."
The voice was buzzing, as if some interference resisted it.
"I know what you came here for, butreturn to where you came from," the voice said. "You were never meant to bear my powers."
Shin exhaled slowly. The tension in his shoulders eased just enough for a faint smile. Unknowingly, Lightning just solved one of Shin's most urgent questions. "As expected, neither you nor Wind are from this world."
"None of the elementals are."
"Elementals…" he repeated under his breath.Right—Wind had mentioned something like that before. But what exactly are these elementals supposed to be?
A long pause stretched between them. Shin flexed his arm again—its surface gleamed in rhythm with his heartbeat.
"Fine. But then why stay sealed?" Shin asked. "Since you are the same kind as Wind, you must be extremely powerful."
There was no answer. Still, the electricity in the air didn't fade, a sign that Lightning was still there—listening.
And for the first time in minutes, Shin's usual confidence flickered back.
If Lightning was listening instead of attacking,that was a good enough sign.
"I don't know your 'Elemental' purpose of coming into the world, but I'm sure it is not just to stay here isolated."
The air hissed.
"Purpose was assigned to me once. Then rescinded. Stillness was preferable to misuse."
"The world is doomed to fall into chaos."
For a moment, Shin felt the voice sound more human-like, as if grieving.
"It is better to remain where there is peace."
"Peace, you say." Shin tilted his head. "But are you not confusing peace with boredom?"
Lightning didn't answer. Not immediately.
Shin kept going. "Chaos isn't necessarily bad. Order has its advantages, sure. But where there's chaos…"
He raised his hand.
"…there's opportunity."
"…You speak lightly."
"No," Shin said, his tone steady. "I speak honestly. Someone like you should already know that—just like Wind did."
A spark danced across his fingertips."Ever since Wind gave me power, I've wondered: why me? Why a vessel at all? If both you and Wind have such powerful powers, yet neither of you leaves the towers, that must mean that for whatever reason, you can't use your power freely beyond these towers."
He paused."Maybe you can't leave on your own—and need someone outside, a vessel, to carry your will."
"...What are you implying, human?"
"Don't get me wrong. Wind was secretive, to say the least, but he didn't strike me as someone who'd grant power for no reason. Yet after he gave me strength, he just vanished."
Shin paused, stretching the silence, letting the gravity of the words hang in the air before continuing.
"So let me be bold and take a guess."
He held his sword in his hands, fingers holding firmly in the cold metal.
"I originally thought that I was too weak for him to use for now, or that he plans to possess my body someday."
"Wind would never stoop to possess a mere human—even after we lost our physical forms." The voice sounded almost angry.
Lost their forms, huh? Shin filed the thought away. Good to know.
In that case, "Yes, yes, of course. Then that leaves only one possibility," Shin concluded.
He looked straight at Lightning, or at least where he believed his voice was coming from.
"Since you don't want to bond, you clearly don't need a vessel to survive.
But since you made a tower, just like Wind, that must mean the towers are essential. In fact, they are what keep you anchored to this world—even without a physical form."
"Perceptive, human. Wind would not tell you that."
He didn't need to, Shin thought. You just did.
"And since you're not interested in regaining your strength…" Shin's tone hardened, "Maybe it's because you never understood it to begin with. Maybe even before you lost your form, you never tried to see how far you could go."
The silence turned heavier.
It was a gamble. For all Shin knew, Lightning's apathy could come from something else entirely. But Shin didn't take the words back.
Shin tried to think of what to say next. Convincing Lightning does not look to be an easy task. Luckily, he does respect Wind, so perhaps trying to draw some inspiration from Wind's speech would work.
He stepped forward—not aggressively, but with finality.
"I don't care if you want to sleep. I'm not here to wake you up."He raised his head, meeting the unseen presence."But the moment I entered this tower, the wheel of fate turned."
"Your powers—even if you won't use them…" His voice steadied into something absolute."…I will."
He lifted the gauntlet. "And I'd rather drag a god behind me than leave him rusting in his own fear."
A flicker of something surged through the walls. Not really rage. Not rejection either.
Curiosity.
"You are very arrogant, human."
"Ha." Shin smiled, "Just a tiny bit."
"But I have the qualification to be so."
A soft current of laughter rippled through the floor—quiet, electric, thoughtful.
Lightning hesitated. Not out of doubt, but memory.The ambition in this boy's voice stirred something he hadn't felt in eons: a hunger not for chaos, but for meaning.
"…Then show me.
Let's see what becomes of us."
The gauntlet pulsed once more, but this time the current felt different.
It wasn't just alive.
It was listening.
Deep within the tower, long-dead circuits hummed, and lights flickered in the forgotten halls. Something vast and ancient stirred—
not fully awake,
but no longer asleep.