A spiral staircase led down into darkness filled with whispers.
Stone mouths lined the walls, their lips moving silently. As the party descended, the whispers grew louder and crueler.
"You're still a mid-tier climber. You almost died on Floor 3. What happens when they realize you're not worth the slot?"
Garrett stopped.
Nathan turned. The sheep Climber stood rigid, mace loose in his grip. Red bleated worriedly. The whispers weren't just in Garrett's head... the veil projected them for all to hear.
"You're dead weight. The party carries you. When the real fight comes, you'll fall first. You know it. They know it."
"Garrett." Nathan's voice cut through. "They're lying. That's now what we think."
"Are they?" Garrett's voice was hollow. "I'm Level 32. I almost died to Crawlers. I needed saving on Floor 3 and the bridge, from a fresh climber!. When have I ever carried my own weight?"
"On Floor 5," Nathan said. "You held the left flank alone. You didn't break. You fought."
