Chapter 3: Floor 3 – The Machine Halls

The entrance to Floor 3 hissed open like a yawning maw.

Gone were the moss-choked stone corridors of the goblin warrens. Here, everything was metal and glass—shimmering panels embedded into cold black walls, gears the size of wagons slowly grinding behind slotted vents. The air was sterile and humming, filled with a constant low vibration that settled deep in the bones.

Eren stood at the threshold, clutching the shard beneath his tunic. It was pulsing again—slow, steady, like a heartbeat. It hadn't done that since the warren.

Captain Rorik raised a hand, signaling the column to hold. His voice was low, wary. "No fires. No noise. We don't know what wakes down here."

The Machine Halls were infamous even among veteran climbers. Few who reached them ever spoke of what they saw—and fewer still emerged with their minds intact.

They advanced in silence, boots clanking against metal walkways suspended above fathomless chasms. Pipes ran like veins across the ceilings, leaking glowing fluid that hissed when it hit the floor. Occasionally, they passed ancient constructs—hulking humanoid machines frozen in time, rusted and still, eyes long since gone dark.

But they didn't feel dead.

Eren stayed near the rear of the group, glancing at the shard whenever it pulsed harder. The tower felt alive here—more than anywhere before. It wasn't just watching. It was thinking.

Judging.

Then came the hum.

Soft at first, like a note plucked from the air, then louder. Sharper. Mechanical.

Ahead, a scout raised a hand—too late.

With a screech of metal on metal, one of the constructs lunged to life. Its joints groaned, but its speed was blinding. A heavy blade swung in a wide arc, cleaving a mercenary clean in half. Another screamed as claws closed around his neck and crushed.

The Machine Halls erupted.

More constructs lit up, their eyes glowing blue, their limbs unfolding like nightmares made of gears and hatred. The Royal Guard rushed to respond, but their weapons glanced off armor forged in forgotten ages. Arrows shattered. Blades sparked.

"Fall back!" Rorik roared, trying to rally his men. "Form up! Shields!"

But the constructs were relentless, mindless in their slaughter. They did not bleed. They did not fear. They only followed their long-dead programming: eliminate intruders.

Eren ducked behind a pillar, breathing hard. He fumbled with the shard, gripping it tightly.

"Interface request... pending," a voice echoed in his head.

"Construct control matrix detected. Access level: Fragmentary. Proceed?"

"Yes!" he gasped. "Just—do something!"

The shard flared.

Time slowed again.

Only this time, it wasn't vision he received—it was control. His mind flooded with a map of the immediate area, glowing pathways of energy and command chains between the constructs. It was too much—like drowning in someone else's thoughts—but he focused on one construct, nearest to the edge of the walkway.

"Override," he whispered.

The construct halted mid-swing. Its blade arm froze inches from Rorik's throat.

Then, with a metallic groan, it turned on its kin.

Steel clashed with steel as the hijacked machine slammed into another, sending both tumbling into the pit below. The others paused—hesitated. Confused.

It was enough.

The Royal Guard surged forward, exploiting the break. Two more constructs fell. The rest began to retreat, folding back into alcoves, their glowing eyes dimming.

The Machine Halls went silent once more.

...

They limped into a control chamber—a vast dome filled with glass panels and blinking lights that cast eerie glows across the walls. A strange throne sat in the center, empty, crowned with spindles and sockets. It pulsed in rhythm with Eren's shard.

Rorik turned to him. His face, once stone, now cracked with a sliver of something close to awe—or fear.

"You did that," he said quietly. "That wasn't luck. That was you."

Eren didn't know what to say.

Rorik took a step forward. "What is that thing you're hiding?"

"It's… I found it. On Floor 1. It talks to me sometimes."

Rorik's eyes narrowed. "Keep it hidden from the others. For now."

"Why?"

"Because if word gets out that a porter has power the rest of us don't, some of these mercs won't wait for permission to take it from you."

He wasn't wrong.

Eren nodded. "What now?"

Rorik turned toward the dark corridors ahead. "Now we press on. Floor 4 waits. And whatever you are, boy… you'd better keep surviving."

Eren stared at the empty throne.

The tower was waking.

And he was beginning to wonder if it was calling to him for a reason.