Content Warning: This chapter contains emotionally heavy themes including grief and trauma. Reader discretion advised.
The moment Bishop stepped through the threshold, the door slammed shut behind him.
A sharp crack echoed down the hallway like a judgeâs gavel.
No latch. No mechanism. No warning.
He turned to look, heart hammering in his throatâbut the door had vanished.
In its place: smooth, seamless stone. Like it had never existed.
Welcome to Floor One, something whispered. Not aloud. Not in his ears.
It was in his mindâlike an echo from a memory that wasnât his.
The corridor stretched forward in silence.
Too silent.
He took a breath, held it, then let it go.
Nothing.
No breeze. No hum. No creak of settling walls.
Even his footsteps landed wrongâmuted and soft, like sound itself wasnât sure how to behave here.
The air was thick. Not hot, but oppressive. Weighted.
He felt it in his ribs. His skin.
Like standing in a room that expected something from him.
He moved forward.
And then came the voices.
At first, just the quiet murmur of a crowd. Distant. Indistinct.
But with every step, they sharpened. They began to sound familiar.
âYou couldâve done more.â
His motherâs voice.
The last time theyâd spoken, sheâd said something similar.
But that had been years ago. She was dead now. Throat opened in a street riot.
For a moment, he smelled it againâ
the stinging smoke, the hot iron of blood, the sour reek of too many bodies pressed together in panic.
The Tower shouldnât know that. It shouldnât know how the flames burned brighter than the torches of the guard.
But it did.
âYou were the reason we got caught.â
A different voice. His brother.
Or rather, his brotherâs voiceâthe one heâd imagined a thousand times since the boy was dragged off by press-gangs and never seen again.
He heard the boots nowâthe hollow, merciless stomp of soldiers through narrow alleys.
That sound had never left him. Not once.
âItâs better this way, Bishop. You always said you hated living like that.â
That voice was his own.
He stopped walking, the echo of his footsteps fading to nothing as the corridor stretched before him like a trap.
âThis isnât real,â he muttered.
But the voices didnât care.
They multiplied. Overlapping. Arguing. Laughing.
âYou said youâd survive. So whyâd you lie?â
âYou let us all die.â
âYouâre not special. Youâre not even worth remembering.â
They werenât shoutingâthat wouldâve been easier to fight.
No, they whispered. They cooed.
They said all the things heâd once said to himself on sleepless nights, then buried and tried to forget.
He clenched his fists.
âShut up,â he growled.
The voices ignored him.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Instead, they shifted tactics.
âItâs okay to give up,â they said sweetly. âYouâve earned your rest.â
âYouâve done enough.â
âYou never wanted to fight anyway. Youâre not a fighter.â
He kept moving.
The corridor dimmed.
Stone darkened to soot. Shadows began to pool unnaturally.
Walls curved inwardâtightening, pressing.
His lungs clawed for air that wasnât there.
And the voices began pleading.
âPlease. Just stop. Just stay here. Weâre sorry.â
They sounded sincere.
It was almost worse than the accusations.
âYou deserve comfort.â
âYou deserve peace.â
âYouâve suffered enough, havenât you?â
He staggered forward. His knees buckled, but he didnât fall.
The Tower resisted. That was the feeling now, pressing against his bonesâ
like the place hated him.
Like he was a splinter the system couldnât eject.
With every step, the stone pulsed. His vision blurred.
He thought he saw⦠shapes.
Reflections of people heâd once known.
A hand reaching from a wall.
A child peering from a crack in the floor.
A hundred faces melted into the stone like fossils,
all looking at him with eyes full of pity.
He breathed. Once. The silence trembled.
And then he heard it.
The worst voice of all.
âYou couldâve saved us if youâd just tried harder.â
His fatherâs voice.
The one Bishop remembered best from the worst night of his life.
He stopped walking.
Tears stung his eyes. His shoulders trembled.
And yetâ
Something else moved in him.
A memory.
Noâmore like a vow.
A promise.
One he had made to no one but himself:
Donât let them win.
Ironic, remembering that hereâ
where memories seemed to erode the longer he held them.
Where even truth wore a strangerâs face.
But it was funny, in a way.
Why hadnât he lived that promise sooner?
Why had he given up on life?
Was it so bad? Sure.
But it was life.
His life.
It mattered.
And now?
Now, he wanted it.
He squared his shoulders. Blood in his mouth. Fire in his chest.
Not courage exactlyâsomething angrier. Something older.
He kept moving.
The voices broke then.
From seduction to fury.
âYou think youâre better?â
âYou think pain makes you special?â
âYouâll die alone, Bishop. And no one will care.â
Other challengersâif they existedâprobably came in swinging.
With blades. Spells. Systems.
Bishop came in on fire and mostly dead.
The Tower didnât seem to care.
He walked faster.
The corridor began to fracture.
Walls shimmered. Shadows peeled.
The world flickeredâlike the illusion was cracking under the weight of his will.
âYou canât escape us,â the voices screamed.
âYou are us.â
He didnât respond.
He didnât have to.
Because with every step he took, the Tower screamed back.
And thenâ
The hallway ended.
No door.
No warning.
Just a sudden absenceâand Bishop plummeted forward into nothing.
Into dark.
Into motion.
As he fell, something flickered in his vision.
A translucent overlay, faint as breath, sliding across his mind like glass.
A tone followed. Cold. Mechanical. Inescapable.
[CHALLENGE COMPLETE: FACE THE SELF]
Progress: 2/5 Floors Cleared
Authorization Key Accepted
System Synchronization⦠Pending.
Initialization Delayed.
Warning: Candidate Not Yet Qualified.
âObservation Mode Enabled.
The text wavered.
For a fraction of a second, he thought he saw something else:
[FLOOR 1 CLEAR]
Errorâ¦
[FLOOR 2 CLEAR]
Then it vanished.
He blinked. What the hell�
He hit nothing, but the fall ended.
Or seemed to.
Suspended in silence deeper than before.
A moment stretchedâtoo long, too stillâlike the Tower was holding him between truths.
No blessing.
No reward.
Just knowledge.
The Tower was watching. Waiting.
He hadnât passed because he was strong.
He passed because he refused.
And just when he thought the silence would last foreverâ
The ground found him.