> "It's not the screams of the damned that haunt the Tower... it's the whispers of the forgotten."
---
The stairway twisted like a wound through the Tower's flesh.
He climbed, slower now. Not from fear, but from awareness. Every step echoed not outward—but inward, pressing on memories that hadn't yet returned.
He passed symbols on the wall.
Old ones.
Burned into the stone.
Some made him stumble—his body reacting before his mind understood.
> Glyphs of betrayal.
> Marks of war.
> Names he once called enemies… or friends.
At the top stood a gate.
Not a door.
A gate made of bones—twisting, interlocking, humming with a sound that didn't touch the ears. It sang. Not a song of melody—but memory. Like each bone remembered who it once belonged to… and blamed him.
---
He approached it.
And it spoke.
A whisper from nowhere. Soft. Seductive.
> "You're close now."
He didn't respond.
> "But not ready."
> "You carry too much... still."
He stared at the gate.
It bore no handle.
Only names.
Hundreds of names.
All his.
The Tower had recorded them.
Every title he wore across timelines.
> The Betrayer.
The Blade of Dawn.
The Thousand-Shadowed.
The Honoured One.
The Endwalker.
The Hollow King.
And one—scratched over, again and again, as though even the Tower feared to speak it aloud.
His true name.
He reached for it—
The gate shuddered.
A figure stepped from behind it.
Cloaked.
Masked.
Its face was mirrors. All of them his own.
> "You can't pass."
> "You've changed too much."
> "You've remembered too little."
> "You've become... uncertain."
> "You're not him anymore."
He stood silent.
Then he stepped forward.
And placed his palm on the gate.
The spirals on his arm pulsed—
And a third symbol emerged:
A jagged line through the circle.
A break.
A flaw.
The gate hissed.
The masked version reached out, attempting to stop him.
> "Wait—if you go through, there's no turning back."
> "You'll see everything."
> "Even the truth."
> "Even her."
He paused only once.
Then said:
> "That's the point."
The bones groaned.
Splintered.
Split.
And opened.
The whispering ceased.
Replaced by silence.
Not peace.
Judgment.
---
Behind the gate was a corridor.
Short.
Lined with statues—each one sculpted in his likeness, in different forms.
Warrior.
Scholar.
Villain.
Monster.
And at the end—
A pool of black water.
Still.
Waiting.
The Tower said nothing now.
Even it was afraid of what came next.
---
He stood at the edge of the water.
He saw his reflection.
It was smiling.
He wasn't.
He stepped in.
And was swallowed whole.
---
(To be continued in Chapter 9: The One Who Waited Below...)
---