The heavy door thudded shut behind us. That sound didn't echo like on the upper floors; it just stopped, swallowed by the hush that hung everywhere here. It made me realize how much I missed plain old wind—something honest, moving, clean. Here, nothing was clean. The very air tasted of metal and memories best left forgotten.
"That door felt final," Liora said, her voice softer than usual. Maybe she hoped the dark wouldn't notice us if she whispered.
I just nodded. There wasn't much to say. You never want to admit when a place is starting to feel too big for you, closing tight. So you focus on the next step. The next breath.
We walked. The corridor was round, not straight. The lights here made everything look faded and old. On the walls, I saw scrawls—tiny scratches, not letters I could read, just marks left by people who'd come through before. Some deep, angry grooves; some that looked almost gentle, as if someone had wanted to record a last small kindness.
Not far ahead, a metal ladder clung to the wall, leading down into more shadow. A breeze drifted up from below. It was colder than I expected. It smelled… not like rot, but like stone and water. I liked that better than the bitterness upstairs.
Liora nudged my arm with her elbow. "You going first or me?"
I gave her a half-smile, tried for brave. "I go, you watch my back."
She grinned back, but it was a tired thing—the kind of smile you only get after a long day. "I always do."
I stepped onto the ladder. It creaked under my weight, but didn't break. I climbed slow to keep from slipping, tried not to look down. The darkness below pulled at my eyes, felt like a mouth ready to swallow us up. My boots hit the next floor with a dull, final thump. Liora followed just as quietly, landing close behind.
Down here, everything shifted. The light was paler, running along the floor in thin, almost glowing veins. For a second, I felt like a small, tired fish swimming in some giant body's bloodstream.
We walked. Step, pause, listen. My scythe was warm in my hand—reassuring, even friendly, in a way I'd started to trust. Liora's knives flashed quietly as she tested their balance, nerves humming beneath her skin.
A sound—just barely—brushed the edge of my hearing. Not footsteps. Not monsters. Just... voices. Not loud, but like old anger echoing, way in the background.
"Did you say something?" Liora asked, maybe hoping I had, so the voice wasn't real.
"No," I said gently. "But I hear something too."
She shivered, and I wished I could tell her it was nothing. But neither of us wanted a lie.
We reached another room, wider but lower, the silence so thick it felt like cloth wrapped round your head. At the center was a figure curled up—no, kneeling. A person, definitely, but worn down to the bone. Literally. They were both armor and bone, wrapped in tattered black, hands locked around a blunt sword stabbed into the floor.
They turned slowly. Where eyes should be, there was only a dim, cold fire.
"You're late," the figure said, voice dry and quiet.
I swallowed. Liora went very still beside me.
The figure stood, bones cracking, and lifted the sword. "You're not the first to climb. You won't be the last to fall."
For a second, nobody moved. My heart hammered. Liora's arm pressed against me, and for all her courage, I felt a tiny tremble.
The figure looked at me, long and searching. "You carry the mark of regret."
I didn't know what to answer. Maybe my silence was enough. A flicker of something—kindness? pity?—moved in those pale flames.
"You're still climbing, even after falling. That matters here. Don't hide from it." The figure paused. "But don't let her fall for you."
Liora blinked, startled. "What does that—?"
But the figure turned away, set the sword down, and let their arms drop.
I stepped forward. "You were a climber?"
The figure nodded, voice softer, smaller. "I was. And I broke, the way everyone does, sooner or later."
"Was there ever hope?" Liora asked suddenly, her voice almost breaking. "Or was it always just surviving?"
The figure gave a gentle, sad smile—barely there. "There's hope in not quitting. There's hope in friendship. But you must choose which hope you fight for."
Then they turned away, faded into dust and soft light. All that remained was their sword, blade cracked but steady.
Liora drew in breath, shaky but real. "Guess that's our answer."
"We keep climbing," I said. My voice sounded rough, but I meant it.
We left that room slower. Not from fear, but because we were carrying a little more weight—his words, his warning. Together. It was enough.
Down the next corridor, we heard the sound of trickling water. It smelled cleaner than the rest of the Tower, and that small mercy made me smile. We found a narrow stream crossing the floor, stones smooth and cold. Liora bent and splashed her face; I cupped my hands and drank. The water tasted better than any I'd had in weeks. Hope felt possible again—even if only for a heartbeat.
The corridor bent once more. A new shadow waited—a different kind. A girl this time, maybe sixteen, limping, a broken spear dragging in the dust behind her.
She saw us and flinched, like she'd hoped to be alone.
I crouched low, offered my empty hand. "Hey. You lost?"
She nodded, didn't speak.
Liora walked beside her, soft like never before. "It's alright. We're not here to hurt you. Do you want to come with us?"
The girl glanced at me, then at Liora, and finally gave a small shrug—just enough hope left to stand up. I let her lead, and we walked together, four now, not two.
Each new step felt a little firmer, a little less lonely.
As we reached the next door, I stopped and looked at my battered party: Liora, fierce and loyal; the quiet girl, blinking bravely; and the shadow of that old climber's words echoing in my chest.
"Ready?" I said. It was Liora who squeezed my hand, answering for all of us.
Together, we pushed the door. Not just with strength, but with all the stubborn hope we had left.
And the Tower, for that one breath, actually seemed to give way.
To be continued....