The door behind Leohenhart sealed with a hiss, leaving him swallowed in silence once more. But this new corridor was not lifeless—it breathed. The air carried warmth, not of fire, but of breath. And something ancient lingered in its scent… rust, stone, and the faintest whisper of blood.
The stairwell spiraled downward, wider than any before, its walls etched with battles—some Leohenhart recognized from the forgotten texts of his homeland, others beyond even legend. He paused before one mural that depicted a warrior cloaked in ash, raising a blade against a beast made of stars.
Below that figure, a single word in an unknown tongue burned dimly:
"Vel'maroth."
A name? A prophecy? He moved on.
Each step felt heavier.
Each shadow deeper.
But it wasn't until the seventh landing that he saw it—the first true sign of the tower's awakening.
A trail of crimson.
Still warm.
Not blood from a beast, but human. Recent.
His hand instinctively went to his sword, heart drumming in quiet warning. Someone else was here—alive, or barely.
The trail led to a small chamber carved into the stone. A single lantern flickered on the floor, illuminating a man slumped against the wall, armor shattered, cloak torn.
He was dying.
Leohenhart knelt beside him, eyes narrowing.
"Who did this to you?" he asked.
The man's eyes opened weakly—dark, wild. "Too late…" he rasped, coughing blood. "He… he walks ahead… cloaked in flame… not human…"
Leohenhart's pulse quickened. "Who?"
The man's hand trembled as he reached into his armor and pulled out a piece of blackened glass. It pulsed faintly with heat, like an ember refusing to die.
"Take it… before he does…"
And with that, the man stilled. Silent. Gone.
Leohenhart stood slowly, staring at the shard in his palm. It vibrated softly—like it was calling something.
Or someone.
And then, for the first time since he entered the tower, he heard it.
A voice.
But not in his ears—in his mind.
"Your path has already been chosen. Step off it… and burn."
Leohenhart didn't flinch.
He turned, eyes hardening.
The tower wasn't just testing him.
It was warning him.
Something had awakened ahead—som
ething worse than shadows.
And it had already spilled blood.