The stairs spiraled endlessly. No walls. No light. Only silence, and the weight of the choice they just made.
Naia broke the stillness. "That shadow... Player 7. You both saw it too, right?"
Lucien nodded. "Not a projection. Not a ghost. That was a real player. Watching."
Calen clenched his jaw. "Why now? Why reveal themselves after we reject paradise?"
Lucien answered without hesitation. "Because we're finally worth fearing."
The stairs ended at a monolithic stone gate. Carved into it: three rings intertwined—each one cracked, bleeding black ichor.
[Floor B89: The Rite of One]Only one may ascend. Two must remain.This is not a test of strength, but of intent.
[Warning: Group separation imminent upon entering.]
They exchanged glances. Naia touched the hilt of her sword. "We've fought gods and monsters. Now the Tower wants us to fight each other."
Lucien exhaled. "Or worse—it wants us to choose who climbs."
They stepped inside.
The door vanished behind them. Each found themselves in a separate chamber—identical, yet impossibly tailored.
Lucien stood in a white room.
No shadows. No sound.
A voice echoed in his mind.
"Only one of you may reach Floor B88. If you wish to proceed, speak the name of the one who will stay behind forever."
"Lies are permitted. So is silence. But delay too long... and the Tower will decide for you."
Lucien grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Of course. Divide and conquer. Classic."
He sat cross-legged on the floor, closed his eyes, and began to think.
Naia's chamber was pitch black.
But within it, she heard breathing.
Her own? Calen's? Lucien's?
"You carry vengeance like a sword. But you've never asked who forged it."
The voice came from her own mouth.
She fell to her knees.
Visions flickered before her: Cassandra's death, Lucien walking away, Calen bleeding in silence.
"Choose. Or be forgotten with them."
Calen's chamber was filled with light. Too much light. He screamed, shielding his eyes.
"Martyr. Pawn. Reclaimer. You died once for faith. Will you now live for doubt?"
A single altar stood before him. On it—three daggers.
[Stab one: Naia. Stab two: Lucien. Stab all three: Yourself.]
Calen's hands trembled. His mouth tasted blood.
"I never asked to be brought back."
"But now I have to choose who stays dead."
Back in his chamber, Lucien stood. He whispered:
"System. Show me their choices."
[ACCESS DENIED.]
He laughed.
"Right. No cheating."
He stared at the white void.
"But I can still lie. That's my weapon."
Lucien closed his eyes. He imagined Calen, broken by guilt. He imagined Naia, torn by love and hate.
And he made his choice.
"Let Calen climb."
Then he grinned.
"But I didn't say which Calen."
The Tower shuddered.
All three were ripped from their chambers. Cast into a shared space—bare, with a spiral staircase descending.
A single gate stood open.
[Two may leave. One must remain. That is the Rite of One.]
The air turned cold.
Naia looked at Lucien. "What did you choose?"
Lucien smiled. "I chose chaos."
Calen looked pale. "I stabbed myself."
Naia whispered, "I... refused. I said no one deserves to stay behind."
The Tower pulsed. The floor split. The walls cracked.
[Contradiction Detected. Executing Narrative Collapse.]
"Only one may ascend? Then we all climb. Or none do." Lucien whispered.
He ran forward.
Grabbed Calen's hand. Naia followed.
They jumped—together—into the spiral below.
The Tower screamed.
But it didn't stop them.
They landed on Floor B88. Together.
Behind them, the gate collapsed into dust.
The Rite of One had failed.
Or perhaps… it had been redefined.
Lucien whispered:
"The Tower wanted a single victor. But we're rewriting that rule now."
And in the shadows above...
A mask watched. Player 7.
"Three broke the Rite. Interesting. Perhaps it's time I introduced myself..."