The lift groaned as it descended, rattling through the Tower's veins.
Kaelen clung to the rail, stomach churning. He had never been this far down. The air grew thicker the lower they went, tinged with mildew and smoke.
Across from him, Ryn leaned casually against the wall, flipping his coin in the dim light. "Nervous, Dray?"
Kaelen didn't answer. His eyes fixed on the shadows slipping past the grated walls. Rust streaked the steel, wet with condensation. Rats darted in and out of holes.
This was no place for life.
And yet people lived here.
The Root.
Forgotten. Left to rot.
The lift jolted to a stop. The gate clanged open.
"End of the line," Ryn said with a grin.
Kaelen stepped out into the dark.
---
The Root was nothing like the levels above.
The Ashlight didn't reach here. The ceilings sagged low, dripping. Fires burned in makeshift braziers, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The air stank of smoke, oil, and sweat.
Figures moved in the gloom—gaunt, hollow-eyed, wrapped in rags. Some stared at him with suspicion, others with indifference. Children darted barefoot between shadows, their laughter brittle as glass.
Kaelen's throat tightened. This was worse than he had imagined.
"These are the ones the Tower forgets," Ryn said, his voice almost reverent. "And the ones who never forget back."
Kaelen followed him deeper. The narrow corridors opened into a cavernous space, walls carved by years of neglect. Dozens—maybe hundreds—of people gathered here, their faces lit by firelight.
And at the center, she stood.
Mira.
She was taller than Kaelen expected, wrapped in dark cloth that clung like shadow. Her hair spilled loose, black as coal. But it wasn't her appearance that held the crowd—it was her presence.
She radiated defiance.
When she spoke, her voice carried like steel striking stone.
"They choke us with silence. They drown us in ash. They tell us the Tower is eternal. But we are the ones who built it. And we are the ones who can tear it down."
The crowd roared, fists raised.
Kaelen froze.
For weeks, he had dismissed the whispers. A story, a dream. But here she was. Flesh and blood. Fire and voice.
Real.
---
Ryn pushed him forward. "Come on. Don't just gawk."
Kaelen resisted. "Why are we here?"
"Because you've already chosen, Dray. You just don't know it yet."
They slipped closer to the front. Mira's eyes swept the crowd—and for a heartbeat, they locked on Kaelen.
He felt pinned, as though she saw through his skin, through his lies, down to the vial of medicine in his pocket and the guilt etched in his bones.
He looked away.
---
After the speech, the crowd broke into smaller knots of conversation. Plans whispered, weapons shown, routes traced in chalk on the floor. Children gathered around a brazier, listening wide-eyed to the retelling of Mira's earlier raids.
Kaelen hung back, overwhelmed.
Ryn vanished into the throng, already laughing with a group of youths.
Kaelen pressed against the wall, wishing for invisibility.
And then Mira was there.
"You don't belong here."
Her voice was low, steady. Not unkind, but sharp enough to cut.
Kaelen swallowed. "I didn't come for this."
"No?" Her eyes searched him. "Then why are you here?"
He had no answer.
Lyra's face rose in his mind. The vial in his pocket. The enforcer dragging a boy through the market.
Why was he here?
"I… I just wanted medicine," he said at last.
Mira's gaze softened, almost imperceptibly. "And you found more than you bargained for."
He nodded, shame prickling his skin.
Mira leaned closer, her voice a whisper only he could hear. "You're not the first. Survival brings us all here. But survival isn't enough."
Kaelen's chest tightened. "I can't fight a Tower."
"You don't have to. Not alone."
Her words lodged deep inside him.
Then she was gone, swallowed by the crowd.
---
Later, Ryn dragged him to a side chamber where weapons were laid out: rusted pipes, sharpened scrap, the occasional stolen stun-baton. Kaelen's stomach turned.
"This is madness," he muttered.
"This is freedom," Ryn countered. "You saw her. You heard her. Tell me you didn't feel it."
Kaelen said nothing.
Ryn smirked. "You'll come around."
---
On the lift ride back up, Kaelen's hands still trembled. Mira's voice echoed in his ears, sharp and certain.
Survival isn't enough.
When he returned to Lyra, she looked at him with weary eyes.
"You're different," she whispered.
Kaelen sat beside her, taking her hand. "I saw her."
Lyra's eyes widened. "Mira?"
He nodded.
A tear slipped down her cheek—not of fear, but of something else.
Hope.
---
That night, Kaelen didn't sleep.
He stared at the Ashlight burning overhead, unchanged, eternal.
But for the first time, he felt the weight of something stronger than fear.
The Tower was vast. The Tower was cruel.
But maybe—just maybe—it wasn't unbreakable.
And Kaelen realized: he had already chosen.
Not with words. Not with weapons.
But the moment he followed Ryn into the dark, the moment he saw Mira standing in the firelight, he had stepped across a line.
There was no going back.
---