The climb ended not with fire, or chains, or another maze of grotesque mirrors.
It ended with a door.
Seo-jin blinked at it, breath ragged from the last step of the spiral staircase. The stone beneath his feet still carried the weight of the Overseers' jeers. Every climb until now had been trial upon trial—blood and death and laughter echoing from above.
But the door was… ordinary. Wooden. Hinges rusted with age. A simple iron handle.
Beside him, Elior lifted his head. His skin looked pale in the gloom, a candle burned too long. But his eyes—those faithful, burning eyes—glimmered with something that caught Seo-jin off guard.
Hope.
"…A door?" Elior whispered, as if naming it might shatter it.
Seo-jin snorted, voice cracking. "What, did you expect a red carpet and applause? Maybe a 'Welcome, esteemed contestants, you survived the slaughter!'"
He shoved the handle down before Elior could wax poetic. The door groaned and swung open—
—and revealed a street.
It was impossible.
Above them, the ceiling of the tower should have loomed: endless stone, suffocating blackness. Instead, a pale glow spread across rooftops of clay and wood. Narrow cobblestone paths cut through squat houses, their chimneys coughing faint smoke. Lanterns glowed faintly along the edges, swaying as if in a wind neither man could feel.
There was no sky. No sun. Just… a dim, false light seeping from nowhere, painting the town in twilight hues.
Seo-jin stepped forward warily. The street stretched far, lined with figures that bustled to and fro. Human shapes. Men and women carrying baskets, chatting at wells, sweeping porches. A child laughed as he chased a ragged dog.
Seo-jin froze. His heart punched his ribs once. Twice.
Elior walked past him, dazed. "…People."
"No." Seo-jin's voice rasped like a blade. He narrowed his eyes. "Not people. Look closer."
Elior did. The faint smile that had bloomed on his lips faltered.
Because the villagers' faces were wrong.
Too smooth, too featureless—like masks carved quickly from clay. Eyes the color of ash. Smiles painted on, never reaching emptiness inside. Their movements were natural, but a hair too stiff, as though a puppeteer's hand jerked the strings.
Simulacra.
Seo-jin spat on the cobblestone. "Figures. The bastards are mocking us again."
Mocking, yes—but something deeper pressed at him. He stared at a woman hanging laundry on a line. Her motions were gentle, practiced. She even hummed softly. A sound that felt… warm.
Seo-jin clenched his teeth until his jaw ached.
"Don't you dare," he hissed under his breath. "Don't you dare make me want this."
Elior didn't seem to hear. He stepped closer, hands trembling. "It's… it's a town. A place untouched by the chains. Perhaps… perhaps this is mercy."
"Mercy?" Seo-jin laughed hollowly. "You think the Overseers give out mercy like festival sweets? Open your eyes, priest. This is another cage."
And yet.
The scent of baking bread wafted through the air. Sweet, golden, and so real his stomach growled.
They walked further in. No Overseers appeared, no jeering voices. The simulacra ignored them completely, continuing their daily rituals.
Seo-jin's paranoia sharpened. No dungeon was this still. No tower floor this kind. There had to be teeth in the shadows, waiting to bite.
But as the hours passed, nothing did.
Instead, they were ushered to an inn by a faceless man whose clay-smile never shifted. Food was served: thick stew, bread soft enough to melt on the tongue. Beds waited upstairs, quilts fresh and warm.
Seo-jin sat in the common room, staring at his bowl of stew. The warmth fogged his face. His fingers twitched.
Elior ate first, cautious but starving. When no poison revealed itself, he devoured it with unashamed hunger. Then he sighed, as if the stew washed something from him that all the Overseers' torments couldn't break.
Seo-jin didn't touch his.
Instead, his eyes flicked to the window. The street outside glowed with lanterns. A woman passed by, humming a lullaby.
And for the briefest second—Seo-jin swore her humming bent. Not wrong, not grotesque. But… soft. Human. Not clay at all.
A sound that reached him.
He jerked back, heart slamming.
No.
No, he couldn't.
Not here. Not in this cage.
That night, Seo-jin lay on his back in the inn's bed. Elior slept in the cot across from him, his breath finally even after endless nights of restless mutters.
Seo-jin stared at the ceiling. His eyes burned, but he refused sleep.
Because when he closed them—he heard it.
That same humming. Distant. Gentle.
Not Overseer mockery. Not simulacra static. Something else.
He pressed his palms hard against his ears, but the sound seeped through bone, tender and patient.
And for the first time in years, Seo-jin wanted not to fight.
Not to rage.
Just to listen.
His fists clenched around the sheets.
"…Don't," he whispered to the empty air. His throat tightened, choking him. "Don't you dare… make me weak."
But the lullaby kept threading the silence.
And somewhere in the false town, a girl hummed under her breath.