The stairs grew colder with every step.
Not just cold in temperature—but in essence. The kind of cold that seeped into your bones and whispered you don't belong here. The stone beneath their feet turned pale, almost ivory, and the walls pulsed faintly like living flesh stretched too thin.
No vines. No machines. No rot.
Just silence.
And the distant sound of chanting.
Eren stepped onto the threshold of Floor 10 and immediately felt it—a crushing pressure on his chest, as though something ancient was watching him through time. He looked up.
The chamber was enormous.
A cathedral, carved entirely from white stone and laced with veins of silvery crystal. Light filtered from above in soft shafts, though no sun existed here. Statues lined the walls—faceless humanoids cloaked in long robes, their hands clasped in prayer or holding stone books.
At the far end of the sanctuary sat a throne.
Empty.
But the presence that lingered on it was unmistakable.
A robed figure stood before the throne. It had no face, only a smooth surface where features should be. Its body was wrapped in linen and chain, and it held a tall staff crowned with a disk inscribed with shifting runes.
"Floor 10 – The Pale Sanctuary."
"Occupant: The Archon of Silence. Keeper of forbidden knowledge. Neutral Entity. Will test intruders with judgment of Worth."
The chanting grew louder—not from the figure, but from the statues.
They began to move.
Statues broke free of their alcoves, stone robes parting to reveal skeletal forms beneath. They carried no weapons—only tablets, scrolls, and seals. Their eyes glowed faintly, like embers on the verge of extinction.
"Do not draw steel," Eren warned. "This is a trial, not a fight."
Rorik growled, but obeyed.
The Archon raised its staff, and all sound vanished. No breathing. No footfalls. No whispers.
Then it spoke—but not aloud.
The voice filled Eren's head like a storm:
"You carry the shard. The First Sigil. You enter this place as a Seeker of Truth. Before you continue, you must answer."
Eren stepped forward. "Ask."
The Archon's faceless head tilted.
"Why do you climb?"
The question hit harder than expected.
Rorik answered first. "To rescue the Princess. It's what we were sent for."
The Archon ignored him.
Its voice echoed again:
"Why do you climb, Shardbearer?"
Eren hesitated. The answer should've been simple: glory, reward, the Princess. But he knew that wouldn't be enough.
He looked back at the survivors—the few left, broken and tired. Then to the stairwell below, where countless others had died. Then up… where the Dragon waited.
"…Because the Tower needs to be understood," he said. "It's not just a prison, or a gauntlet. It chooses who ascends. If we don't understand why, we'll always be its prey."
The Archon was silent.
Then slowly, it lowered its staff.
"You may pass."
But as Eren moved forward, it raised a hand—and pointed to Rorik.
"He may not."
Rorik stiffened. "What? Why?"
"His path ends here."
The guards readied weapons.
Eren stepped between them and the Archon. "What happens if we force it?"
The Archon didn't answer.
But the air began to crack.
Reality around the throne shimmered—threatening to collapse into something far worse.
Eren turned to Rorik. "This is your choice."
The warrior's face was carved from stone, but there was sorrow in his eyes. "I came to rescue a girl I've never met, in a Tower I don't understand. But you…" He grunted. "You belong here. Go."
He turned to face the Archon and sat cross-legged on the pale stone. "I'll stay."
Eren wanted to argue—but didn't.
He nodded once and walked toward the exit, the remaining survivors following. As they passed the Archon, it bowed its head once.
Then everything behind them vanished.
No door.
No sound.
Only silence.
The stairwell ahead led to Floor 11.
And with every step, Eren could feel something awakening in the shard—new power, new purpose.
And far above, the Dragon stirred.