Kael's steps echoed into the silence as he climbed. The last trial—the chamber of threads—still haunted his thoughts. The memories that weren't his, the visions of futures that may never come… all of it clung to him like cold mist.
But he didn't stop.
The staircase ended in front of a narrow iron door. It didn't open on its own like others. No glow. No magic. Just a simple handle.
Kael gripped it, expecting resistance. There was none. The door swung open without a sound.
He stepped inside.
The room was circular and much smaller than the others. No mist. No enemies. Only darkness — thick and still.
Then the voices began.
Dozens at first. Then hundreds. Whispers, murmurs, screams.
They came from nowhere and everywhere. From the walls, the ceiling, the floor. They spoke in different tongues, some familiar, others impossible to understand.
Kael tried to shut them out.
They grew louder.
Louder.
Until one voice broke through them all.
His own.
Not the one he spoke with now — but a younger version. Softer. Still full of hope.
"Is this really what you wanted, Kael?"
Kael flinched.
The room lit up in a sudden pulse, not from torches or crystals, but from memories.
Images flickered around him like reflections in shattered glass.
A village on the edge of the world. A boy running through sunlit fields. A mother smiling. A father sharpening a blade with calloused hands.
Kael's knees buckled, but he stayed standing.
He knew this test now.
The Tower wasn't throwing monsters at him this time. It was digging deeper. Into his past.
Into his regrets.
"You said you'd be strong enough to protect them," the child version of his voice said again. "But where were you when the fire came?"
Another flicker.
Flames. Screams. Smoke.
Kael's fists clenched. He could smell the burning wood. Hear the helpless cries.
He hadn't been there in time.
He had been too weak.
The voices shifted.
"You left them behind."
"You ran."
"You let them die."
"No," Kael said, his voice dry. "That's not true."
The shadows around him laughed.
One stepped forward, taking shape. It looked like him—but twisted. Tired eyes. A bitter sneer.
"You became strong for yourself, not them. You want the power. The shards. The godhood. Don't pretend it's about anyone else."
Kael's shard pouch pulsed at his hip.
He could fight it. Destroy this illusion. End the trial like all the others—with force.
But that wasn't the answer this time.
Kael took a breath. Slow. Controlled.
"You're right," he said.
The shadow stilled.
"I did want power. I still do. I want it because I was weak. Because I couldn't protect what mattered. Because this Tower is the only path left to make sure I'm never powerless again."
The voices fell silent.
Only Kael's echo remained.
"And if that means becoming something else—something more—I'll do it. I won't be like the boy who ran."
The room shifted.
The memories began to burn away, curling into ash and light.
The shadow version of Kael stared at him one last time.
Then it smiled. Not cruelly.
But with understanding.
And vanished.
The darkness cracked.
A light shone from the center of the room—a shard, hovering just above the floor.
Kael stepped forward.
It pulsed with strange, silver light.
As he reached out, the shard spoke to him. Not in words, but in emotion.
Resolve. Clarity. Purpose.
Kael closed his hand around it.
Pain stabbed through his mind—not the searing agony of past shards, but something colder. Calmer. Like water cutting through stone.
When it ended, he stood taller.
His thoughts were clearer.
His memories no longer a chain, but a flame.
The voices were gone.
And so was the room.
He stood now at the edge of a new hallway—silent, empty, waiting.
Kael didn't hesitate.
He walked forward.
The Tower had tried to break his mind. But all it had done was remind him why he climbed.
He wouldn't forget again.