Chapter 10: The Mourning Tower
The staircase stretched endlessly upward, carved from obsidian and soot.
Each step bore names — not etched, but carved by grief. Deep, claw-like marks formed letters in languages both ancient and long-erased. Some flickered with dying gold. Others bled ash when touched by light.
Kairo climbed slowly.
The air grew heavier the higher he went.
Not from pressure.
From memory.
These stairs didn't lead to a tower.
They were the tower.
Each step was a death. A fall. A failure recorded.
A mourning.
---
After the 77th step, the wind began to whisper.
Not in sound — but feeling.
He passed a step that pulsed with dread. Another hummed with shame.
Then another — one that nearly made him buckle with the weight of unspoken regret.
Sorrowcut responded.
It glowed in rhythm with the steps — slower, dimmer.
And the sigil on Kairo's hand twisted again.
Another ring opened.
[System Notice]
> The Mourning Tower does not test power. It tests presence.
If you climb with borrowed truth, you fall before the bell tolls.
---
The 112th step was different.
It hummed with recognition.
Kairo felt something brush the edge of his thoughts — a memory not his.
A woman — tall, gold-armored, wings of shattered crystal.
Her sword buried in a god's skull.
Her whisper: "I was the first to try. Tell them I'm sorry."
The vision passed.
Another name lit up underfoot: Varynn, The Ascender.
And then Kairo understood.
These weren't just names.
They were Rankers — past climbers who failed.
Not slain.
Not corrupted.
Just… broken.
---
The tower wasn't mocking them.
It was mourning them.
And soon, it would mourn him too.
Unless…
Unless he made it past the 300th step.
That's when the bell would toll.
And if he could still walk after hearing it — he would enter the true tower.
Not before.
---
By the 143rd step, he began to hallucinate.
Not illusions.
Echoes.
He saw Meika — not how she was, but how she'd look if she climbed after him.
Tired. Starving. Alone.
He saw Alyne — running from fire, over and over.
And Elira — standing at the bottom of the stairs, refusing to look up.
---
Kairo clenched his jaw.
The weight pressed harder now.
Sorrowcut's light faltered.
His knees buckled at step 189.
---
But then a hand touched his shoulder.
Not physical.
Emotional.
It was Seris.
> "Don't carry them alone," her voice echoed.
"That's not strength. That's self-punishment."
> "Let pain walk beside you — not inside you."
Kairo took a breath.
And stood again.
---
Step 200.
Step 221.
Step 250.
Each one, a whisper.
Each one, a scream.
He passed a throne of iron flowers.
A crown that rejected every wearer.
A mirror that refused to show his face.
Each item left behind by Rankers who tried to climb too fast. Who wore pride like armor — and found it shattered on stone.
---
At step 299, the tower went silent.
The only sound was his heartbeat.
He placed his foot on 300.
And the bell tolled.
---
It was not a sound.
It was a reverberation of fate.
It rang through his bones, through the curse in his blood, through the sealed memory of Seris, through the vision fragments he carried.
And for a moment…
Kairo was everyone.
Every Ranker who begged for one more breath.
Every failure who thought they were chosen.
Every voice lost to time.
And then — silence again.
He gasped.
But he did not fall.
---
The bell's tone echoed once more — not in warning.
In acceptance.
A door opened.
No handle.
Just light — gray, soft, like mourning silk.
He stepped through.
---
And found himself in a tower made of tears.
---
Shelves lined the walls, stacked with vials — each one labeled with a name.
Some still glowed.
Some flickered.
Some were dark, sealed with wax.
A plaque near the door read:
> "These are not potions."
"They are the last tears each Ranker cried."
And at the far end: a desk.
Behind it: a man.
Old. Tall. Silver-bearded. Cloaked in parchment and soot.
He held a quill in one hand.
And nothing in the other.
> "Name," he said, not looking up.
Kairo stepped forward.
"Kairo."
> "Curse?"
He raised his hand. The sigil glowed.
The man paused.
Then looked up.
His eyes were hollow sockets of time.
> "Ah."
> "Then yours is not to be written yet."
> "Yours must be remembered."
He reached into a drawer. Pulled out a vial.
It was sealed with dark glass.
He held it toward Kairo.
> "This is yours."
> "The last tear you'll shed before you become more than man."
> "Drink it — and choose whether it's for what you lost…"
> "Or for what you're about to become."
---
Kairo took the vial.
It felt heavy.
Familiar.
He stared at it.
And whispered: "I drink it… for me."
---
The tear burned down his throat.
And the Mourning Tower trembled — not in collapse.
In relief.
The tear was still warm inside his chest.
Kairo stood in silence, the Mourning Tower quiet around him. No footsteps. No whispers.
Only one thing moved: a hallway ahead — long, narrow, lined with faded sigils.
The entrance was carved with a phrase:
> "Here, all names are forbidden."
The words shimmered once, and the moment Kairo read them, he felt it.
A pressure on his throat.
He tried to speak — even just a whisper — and nothing came.
Not pain.
Not choking.
Just… nothing.
The ability to speak his name was sealed.
---
He walked forward.
The corridor narrowed with every step. The walls closed in, not physically, but perceptually — as if the room was trying to reduce him.
Strip him down.
First, his voice.
Then, his memories.
He passed by mirrors — each one reflecting versions of himself he didn't recognize:
One smiling.
One broken.
One in full golden armor, eyes red with slaughter.
One kneeling before the Maw.
Each reflection mouthed a word.
He couldn't hear it.
But he knew what they said.
His name.
---
At the corridor's end was a circular chamber.
Empty — except for one thing:
A throne. Stone. Black. Etched with claw marks and forgotten runes.
On it sat a man.
No.
Not a man.
Himself.
But wrong.
Twisted.
Hair longer, wild. Eyes pale. Chest scarred in sigil shapes that moved with breath.
His arms rested on the throne casually. One leg over the other. Barefoot.
He looked at Kairo and smiled like an old friend remembering a joke they both hated.
> "Took you long enough."
---
Kairo couldn't speak.
The figure stood.
> "Don't bother. Voice doesn't work here."
> "Words define. And here… we're undefining you."
> "But you know me."
> "I'm what's left behind every time you try to become something 'better.'"
> "Every lie you swallowed. Every truth you edited."
> "I'm Kairo — the version that stopped pretending."
---
He walked forward slowly, casually, circling.
> "The Tower showed you fragments."
> "I am the whole you tried to bury."
He pointed to Kairo's chest — the glowing mark of Seris still faintly pulsing.
> "Even she couldn't erase me."
> "I've lived in your blind spot since the first step you called 'noble.'"
> "Now we settle it."
> "Winner leaves this room."
> "Loser stays here — forgotten."
---
Kairo's blade materialized in his hand.
But so did the other Kairo's.
Sorrowcut — identical.
The room pulsed once.
And the duel began.
---
They clashed without sound.
Steel met steel — no scream, no spark. The blades passed like shadows, each motion perfect.
Kairo fought with practiced rage.
But the other?
He fought with honesty.
Every strike, brutal. Every parry laced with memory.
They locked blades.
Vision flooded Kairo's mind:
Him laughing while Meika cried.
Him wanting the curse because it gave him purpose.
Him letting Elira fall because he was afraid of needing her.
The shame hit like a hammer.
The other Kairo grinned.
> "You think you're strong because you grieve?"
> "I'm stronger because I don't flinch anymore."
---
Kairo stumbled.
But didn't fall.
He remembered what Seris said:
> "Let pain walk beside you."
He stepped forward again, breathing deep.
Letting the visions happen.
Letting them hurt.
And suddenly…
The clone faltered.
> "What are you doing?"
Kairo didn't answer. Couldn't.
He moved again.
Struck.
Parried.
Accepted.
Every blow now wasn't denial.
It was integration.
---
The final clash sent both blades flying.
They stood, breathless.
The mirror-Kairo laughed once. Then coughed.
> "Damn. You finally stopped running."
> "Good."
He walked backward toward the throne.
> "Leave me here. But don't forget me."
> "You'll need me."
He sat.
> "And next time you flinch… remember this room."
---
The chamber dissolved.
And Kairo stood alone once more.
The voice returned.
His voice.
And a new symbol etched into his arm.
[System Update]
Aspect Gained: The Unspoken Self
> Passive Perk: Clarity Through Contradiction
You gain power by accepting inner conflict.
You cannot be manipulated by false identity magic.
Memory-based attacks now fuel Willpower instead of weakening it.
---
The path opened again.
This time… stairs descending.
Because sometimes, the only way forward is down.
The stairs twisted downward like the spine of something long dead.
No torches lit the path.
Only memory.
With every step, fragments of history flared around Kairo — not visions, but echoes suspended in the cold stone.
He passed a boy burying a sword instead of raising it.
A woman burning her own crown.
A soldier choosing silence over command.
Each image ended the same way:
A voice, soft and bitter:
> "Let it go. Power was never yours."
---
The steps finally opened into a vast, circular vault.
It smelled of old fabric, melted gold, and something older — memory sealed so long it had begun to rot.
Pillars stretched into the dark above. Every one of them held a crown — cracked, melted, dusted with ash.
Some were carved from bone.
Some from obsidian.
Some from guilt.
And at the center of it all sat a throne that had no seat.
Just a pedestal.
Cradling a woman.
---
She wore no armor. No jewelry. No title.
Only a tattered ceremonial cloak, stitched with names instead of sigils.
Her hair was white — not aged, but bleached by grief.
Her crown lay at her feet, shattered in seven pieces.
And her hands… they were gone.
Burned away.
As if she had offered them to something that no longer existed.
---
Her eyes opened slowly.
Not in surprise.
In recognition.
> "So the last Ranker finally arrives."
Kairo stood silent.
The woman exhaled.
> "I am Myrra. Once Queen of the Thousand Oaths."
> "Once bearer of memory."
> "Once… a daughter."
---
He stepped closer.
She didn't stop him.
Only raised her chin.
> "You came here to climb."
> "But this place? This is where climbing ends."
She gestured to the broken crowns around them.
> "These belonged to those who passed every Trial — until this one."
> "But when asked to choose who they were, not one could answer without their crown."
> "And so… they were buried here."
---
Kairo narrowed his eyes. "Then why are you still here?"
Her smile was bitter. Dry.
> "Because I remember."
She tapped the side of her head with a stub of a wrist.
> "I gave up my throne. My name. Even my power."
> "But I kept my memory."
> "And that is the one thing this tower cannot destroy."
---
He felt it then — a familiar hum beneath his feet.
The Mourning Tower wasn't just stone.
It was alive.
Made from every choice not to rule.
Every leader who said "no more."
---
Myrra leaned forward.
> "If you want to pass, I will give you the test."
> "One question."
> "No sword. No sigil."
> "Just truth."
Kairo nodded.
She whispered:
> "If you could erase your pain — fully, forever — but doing so meant you'd forget why you ever climbed…"
> "Would you do it?"
---
Silence.
Then:
"No."
---
She didn't blink.
> "Explain."
Kairo stepped forward, voice steady.
> "Because the climb means nothing if I forget what it cost."
> "If I erase the pain, I erase the people."
> "And if I can't remember the pain, then the power I earn isn't mine — it's borrowed."
---
Myrra closed her eyes.
And smiled.
> "Then you are the first."
> "You may take what the rest could not."
She pointed to her shattered crown.
The fragments rose.
They did not reform a crown.
They formed a key.
---
It floated to Kairo's hand.
And burned into his palm.
[System Update]
You have acquired: Remembrance Key
> Opens the Trial of the Living Curse
Unlocks the path to the Crownless Realm
Grants immunity to legacy erasure in the Upper Tower
---
Myrra stood.
For the first time in centuries.
> "Climb high, Kairo."
> "Climb not because you are cursed…"
> "But because you still feel."
---
The throne crumbled behind her.
And she faded into ash — no scream. No sorrow.
Only freedom.
---
The Mourning Tower trembled.
Then fell silent.
Kairo looked up.
A door had formed in the vault's ceiling — tall, pale, rimmed in violet light.
Above it: a single word.
> "Ascend."
And so he did.