The stairwell narrowed as he descended—spiraling, ribbed like a throat lined with cracked stone and faded script. The walls pulsed faintly with light, then dimmed. Then pulsed again. Like a heartbeat. Or breath.
Cairn's hand brushed the wall for balance. Warm.
Too warm.
Not stone.
He pulled his hand back. No residue. But it felt… aware.
The Tower was different now. It wasn't reacting to progress. It was reacting to him.
He stopped.
Something inside his chest was… flickering.
Not pain. Not exactly.
He unfastened the upper latches of his coat with one hand and pulled the collar down. His skin—pale, marked by old burns and newer scars—was unbroken. But just over his heart, a faint black sigil pulsed beneath the skin.
Not ink.
Not carved.
Just there. Like a memory he'd never formed.
Seven small arcs encircling a hollow center.
THE UNMOURNED
He felt it before he understood it. Like instinct, but reversed. A memory of something he'd never done—but now could.
His hands didn't tremble.
His breath slowed.
And a subtle awareness bloomed in his mind like frost spreading on glass.
He was alone again. Truly. And the Tower… liked it.
Ahead, the spiral widened. The stairs ended. A new chamber opened up before him.
The lighting changed—less red now, more white-blue. Colder. Clinical.
And the air smelled of steel, dust, and something sterile.
"Floor Five Activated," said a voice from nowhere.
It wasn't the same voice as before.
It was… synthetic. Flat.
A System Voice.
The Tower hadn't used those in years.
Cairn narrowed his eyes.
"Floor Five Condition: Presence of Unmourned Confirmed."
"Floor Modified: Isolation Challenge Initiated."
"Time Limit: None."
"Exit Criteria: Survive Until Noticed."
That last line hit differently.
Until noticed?
By what?
Footsteps clicked behind him.
But there were no stairs there anymore.
Just a smooth wall.