Moments later, I was seated at the base of a tree, iron shackles locked around my wrists.
Cold.
Ordinary.
Inefficient.
Star stood in front of me with her arms crossed, eyes sharp as she questioned me. I answered calmly—every question, every probe—without ever quite looking at her.
Not because I was ignoring her.
Because my attention was elsewhere.
Behind her.
With the knights.
They had already decided what to do with me.
They weren't going to kill me.
Too messy.
Too noticeable.
Instead, they planned to bring me into the tower and let an accident happen.
Subtle.
Clean.
Plausible.
Honestly?
A little dramatic.
But it worked for me.
It got me inside the tower.
And if things aligned properly, I could still carry out the plan I'd formed before Star's presence complicated everything.
So far, things were proceeding just fine.
I finally shifted my focus back to her.
Before she could ask another question, one of the knights stepped forward and leaned in, cutting the interrogation short. He spoke quietly, suggesting they simply bring me along.
Star hesitated.
I glanced toward the readers—metaphorically speaking.
You're probably wondering how I ended up like this.
If you want the full answer, go reread the last scene. Because I'm not telling.
Kaediel cut in immediately, far too cheerful.
"Don't worry," it said. "I'll explain."
I sighed internally.
"See," Kaediel continued, "this guy decided to call Star by name."
"And you're probably wondering how that got him arrested. Well—she never introduced herself."
It laughed.
"Neither did any of the knights."
It laughed again.
"This is your fault," I muttered.
Kaediel didn't miss a beat.
"You know I don't write your actions or dialogue."
"Even though you are me—and this story is about you—I don't control you."
"That mistake was one hundred percent yours."
…Fair.
I slid down the tree slightly, resting my head back against the bark in quiet embarrassment.
Star walked over.
"On your feet," she said. "You're coming with us."
I stood.
She turned to one of the knights.
"He's your responsibility."
That didn't sound reassuring.
We made our way to the tower's gate and waited.
The doors hadn't moved yet.
They stood sealed—two massive slabs of stone and metal fused together, engraved with layered sigils that spiraled inward rather than outward, as if the tower wasn't meant to be entered so much as acknowledged.
The air around the entrance grew heavier.
Not oppressive.
Deliberate.
Then the gate responded.
There was no explosion of light. No dramatic flare.
Instead, the sigils dimmed—withdrew—and the stone groaned as if it were waking from a long sleep. The seams between the doors glowed faintly, and the slabs began to part, not sliding, but folding inward like pages being turned by an unseen hand.
Cold air poured out.
Ancient.
Layered.
Watching.
When it opened—
I felt it.
Something shifted.
Something noticed me.
"…Now things are getting interesting," I murmured.
The sensation was strange.
I was about to walk into one of my own creations.
A structure I had designed.
Balanced.
Written into existence.
And yet—seeing it in person still sent a thrill through me.
On the outside, I showed nothing.
No fear.
No excitement.
No curiosity.
Just calm.
Relaxed.
Star noticed.
He looks no more than sixteen or seventeen, she thought.
And yet he shows no fear… what an odd kid.
I heard it.
Of course I did.
One—I'm not a kid.
Two—
The reason I wasn't showing emotion outwardly—
Was because I already had.
(Though some emotions still leaked through from the other me. Not all boundaries were perfect.)
"There's the first floor door!" Star shouted.
She turned to her squad.
"Check your gear. Stay sharp. Where we're going isn't paradise."
Then she looked at me.
"You're strange," she said.
"You stand at the entrance of a tower and don't ask a single question."
One of the knights laughed.
"He's probably scared and can't even talk."
The others joined in.
I didn't react.
The only reason I'm not asking questions, I thought, is because I already know this tower.
I know what's on this floor.
I know what's in the boss room.
And I know which of you won't survive it.
I kept that to myself.
Then—
A system window appeared.
Not mine.
Different color.
Different texture.
Different authority.
For the first time since arriving in this world—
I didn't know what was happening.
But I felt it.
A shift.
A correction beginning.
The text formed.
[ALERT]
Tower Rank: ALTERED
Reason: Anomaly Detected
Removal Protocol Initiated
I exhaled slowly.
"…Of course."
It wasn't the tower.
It wasn't the system.
It was the Law of Aion.
The only thing in this world capable of trying to remove me.
Not out of malice.
Out of duty.
I designed it to work that way.
Kaediel sighed.
"Go on," it said.
"Explain it. But keep it simple."
So I did.
I didn't explain what the Law of Aion was.
Only what it was attempting.
And why.
Think of it like this:
If a scale is perfectly balanced, and you suddenly place a weight on one side that was never meant to exist—the scale doesn't hate the weight.
It corrects.
The Law of Aion exists to keep the world internally consistent.
When something appears that doesn't fit the rules—something that wasn't accounted for—it doesn't judge it.
It fixes it.
Right now, as far as the world was concerned—
I was a typo.
After I finished, I asked the obvious question.
"Can you do anything?"
Kaediel answered immediately.
"Yes."
A pause.
"But will I?"
"No."
I understood.
I could interfere.
So could Kaediel.
We could overwrite the correction, force the Law to stand down, pretend the anomaly never existed.
But doing that would defeat its purpose.
It would hollow out the very system meant to protect the world's integrity.
And worse—
It would fracture my cosmology.
If the Law of Aion didn't function when it should, then nothing in this world truly mattered.
"Interfering would break things," Kaediel said.
"Even I don't get to do that without cause."
Fair enough.
The tower gates closed behind us.
And somewhere deep inside—
Something adjusted itself.
Just for me.