By the time dawn bled into the shattered skyline of the Seventh Floor, I had what most would call a small cult.

  I preferred the term strategic liability with benefits.

  Lysandra worked fast. Her followers — outcasts, broken adventurers, exiles warped by exposure to the Tower’s failed blessings — rallied at her word. They didn’t follow her out of fear or respect.

  They followed because, like me, they had nothing left to lose.

  Which made them perfect.

  I stood atop the cracked balcony overlooking the Cradle’s amphitheater, arms folded as groups sparred, tinkered with cursed artifacts, and practiced forbidden skills under Lysandra’s watchful gaze. Veyrith’s mask pulsed gently against my face, feeding me whispers of strategies long lost to sane men.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” Lysandra cooed beside me, her bandages shifting as she leaned close.

  “It’ll do,” I muttered, not letting my grin falter.

  We had bigger problems.

  The Tower hadn’t reacted yet.

  Yet was the dangerous word.

  Veyrith hissed in the back of my skull, “The Tower’s like a serpent, little liar. Slow to coil, fast to strike. You need more than broken toys to dodge it forever.”

  I knew.

  That’s why I had a plan.

  “We hit the Blueflame Guild,” I announced flatly.

  Lysandra blinked once, her manic grin sharpening.

  “You’re bold, little thief. I like that. But you’re also suicidal.”

  The Blueflame Guild wasn’t just any faction.

  They were the explorers — elite dungeon raiders, relic hunters, System specialists who carved their name across seven Floors of the Tower with fire and steel. Unlike other guilds drunk on power, Blueflame maintained a strict neutrality. They didn’t care for politics.

  They cared for artifacts.

  Which meant their vaults were stuffed with glitchy, half-forgotten treasures the Tower itself couldn’t purge.

  Exactly what I needed.

  “I don’t need all of it,” I said casually, flicking a coin into the air. “Just one thing: the Shard of Regression.”

  Lysandra’s eyes darkened. Even she, mad as she was, understood the weight of that name.

  The Shard was an impossibility — a relic said to reset chosen parts of reality. Bugged beyond belief, outlawed by every faction. Rumored to have erased entire Floors before the Tower sealed it away.

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  If I had it?

  I could rewrite pieces of the System itself.

  I could unmake chains before they wrapped around me.

  “Of course,” I added, flashing a sharp smile, “we’ll make it look like a random raid. Blame one of the other factions. Stir the pot a little.”

  Lysandra’s grin returned full force.

  “Chaos for breakfast. I knew I liked you.”

  Nightfall.

  Our strike team gathered in the shadows of the Guild Quarter — nine of Lysandra’s best, if “best” meant barely sane but wildly talented. Beside me, Katana hummed with excitement, finally understanding the scale of my gamble.

  “You’re insane,” she muttered, but her tone betrayed a hint of admiration.

  “Insane works,” I replied.

  Our entry wasn’t subtle.

  It was art.

  Glyph-hacked explosives, echo-shields to scramble surveillance, and Lysandra’s psychic puppets sowing illusions through the Guild’s defenses. Blueflame’s outer wards crumbled faster than anticipated. Their famous neutrality meant they hadn’t fortified for a madman’s raid.

  We slipped through like phantoms.

  The Vault’s entrance loomed — a massive obsidian door covered in pulsating runes.

  Veyrith whispered, “Don’t open it conventionally. The wards will atomize you. Use the Path of Falsehoods.”

  Right.

  I placed my hand on the door and lied.

  Not metaphorically.

  I lied in a System-recognized way.

  “I am the rightful heir of the Guild,” I declared, voice clear. “I own what’s inside.”

  The mask flared.

  The runes flickered, hesitated… and shattered.

  Lying to reality itself had become second nature now.

  Inside, the Vault stretched endlessly — shelves of crystallized memories, glitching artifacts, bottled skills hissing with corrupted light.

  But my eyes locked on one thing.

  A fractured crystal, levitating in the air, pulsing with deep blue light that bent space around it.

  The Shard of Regression.

  I stepped forward.

  Then stopped.

  Because so did she.

  Across the vault, emerging from shadowed shelves, came a girl. No older than me — maybe younger — clad in ragged explorer’s gear, eyes sharp as broken glass.

  She moved like an elite operative.

  And worse?

  A Blueflame insignia gleamed on her collar.

  Great.

  A Vaultkeeper.

  “Step away from the Shard,” she ordered, voice flat but laced with lethal intent.

  I smiled brightly.

  “Oh, hi. Didn’t see you there. Lovely weather, huh?”

  Her gaze didn’t waver.

  I sighed dramatically.

  Then threw three bugged skill scrolls at her.

  Illusions exploded midair, swarming her senses with fabricated enemies. My team surged forward, clashing with her backup who poured into the vault.

  And I ran.

  Straight to the Shard.

  My fingers closed around cold, impossibly heavy crystal.

  A pulse of raw power tore through my arm, searing my veins with electric fire. Visions flooded my mind — timelines splitting, realities breaking, echoes of futures that could never be.

  I gritted my teeth.

  Held on.

  “Got it!” I roared, shoving the Shard into my inventory window as alarms screamed across the entire Tower.

  Lysandra’s voice echoed through my comm rune.

  “Extraction NOW, little thief!”

  We moved.

  Smoke bombs, distortion fields, corridors collapsing behind us as my team melted back into the shadows.

  We’d done it.

  We’d actually done it.

  By the time we resurfaced in the Cradle’s deepest sanctum, sweat clung to my skin, my hands trembling from residual backlash.

  But the Shard was mine.

  And with it?

  I could rewrite rules.

  I collapsed into a ruined throne, breath ragged, Katana materializing beside me with a weary chuckle.

  “You’re alive. Somehow.”

  “Barely,” I rasped, flashing a grin.

  Lysandra strode into the chamber, eyes alight with manic glee.

  “Darling… you’re either the dumbest thief alive or the smartest glitch the Tower’s ever bred.”

  I leaned back, tossing the Shard between my fingers.

  “Both.”

  I’d just stolen the single most dangerous artifact in recorded history.

  And now?

  It was time to break the game again.