But then, a voice cut through the despair.

  “Quick! Grab on!”

  A rope slapped against the stone, landing just inches from Alex’s face. His eyes snapped open, locking onto the lifeline. He didn’t waste a second, he quickly snatched the rope with one hand, his fingers gripping down like iron claws.

  “Hold on tight!” he shouted to the girl clinging to his back.

  He began to climb, his muscles screaming in protest. Debris flew past them, jagged shards of stone threatening to knock them down. But with the rope, he moved faster. Whoever was pulling from above was strong, hauling them up with steady, powerful jerks that doubled their speed.

  A final pull brought them over the lip of stone.

  They scrambled onto the ledge, collapsing onto the safe, smooth rock.

  *****

  The ledge was actually a cave mouth protruding inward, offering plenty of space and safety. Its smooth walls were a stark contrast to the jagged exterior of the tower. It was dark, but the faint crimson glow of the sky outside was enough to see by.

  Alex lay on his back, unable to move. A drained, giddy relief washed over him. The adrenaline crash left his limbs feeling like jelly, his mind clinging to a single, clear thought.

  ‘I’m alive.’

  After a few moments, he forced himself to sit up. He scooted away from the edge, wary of the boulders still plummeting past the opening. Sweat and dust coated his skin, but he didn't care. All he wanted was sleep.

  “Are you… alright?”

  The voice that had thrown the rope spoke from the shadows. Its tone was heavy with exhaustion.

  Alex tilted his head. “Uh… yes. Thank you.”

  A young man crouched nearby. He looked to be around Alex’s age, draped in a long, sky-blue robe. He had a smooth, pale face framed by long, silky white hair that fell to his chest, now taggled with gray dust. His dark eyes watched Alex with a lazy, unbothered intensity.

  “You poor thing.” Another voice came from the opposite wall.

  Alex turned. A woman sat near where the young girl lay.

  Her voice was soft and gentle, the kind that could soothe a frightened child or effortlessly trap a man. She hovered over the girl’s injured leg, the swelling starkly visible against the pale skin.

  “There, there. It will be alright very soon,” the woman said.

  Her hand hovered just above the injury. A faint golden glow ignited beneath her palm. Alex watched in awe as the bruising faded, the twisted angle of the bone knitting itself back together until no trace of the injury remained.

  “There. All better.”

  A gentle smile graced her lips as she stood up. She looked to be in her early thirties, with porcelain skin and a long black dress that clung to her slender, elegant frame. Her hair, tied over her left shoulder, was the soft, delicate pink of cherry blossoms.

  She was stunning.

  “The pain… it’s gone,” the girl whispered. She stood slowly, testing her weight on the once-broken leg. Her eyes widened. “Thank you.”

  *****

  Bang.

  The iron door echoed behind them. The group moved quickly through the smooth stone passage, lit by flickering torches, and emerged into a vast, ominous hall.

  The walls were covered in intricate carvings depicting wars and storms. At the center of the room stood a statue, tall and proud, though missing its head. It was nearly the height of a tree. The figure raised a long stone sword high, its other hand clenched into a solid fist. It seemed to be a monument to a long-forgotten victory.

  “This must be where we find the next clue,” White-Hair spoke, his eyes scanning the room warily as he steadied his breathing.

  “Are you sure this is the room?” The woman looked worried. Her once-neat hair was now loose and messy. Her elegant dress was torn at the side, revealing crimson scars on her pale leg.

  Beside her, the young girl Kira stood trembling. She wore a black silk cloth wrapped around her head, covering her right eye.

  The eye was missing.

  “This has to be it,” Alex said, staring at the headless statue. His lungs struggled for air. “Look around!”

  His voice was a blend of fear and desperation. They were searching for something, but what?

  They scattered, rushing to search the room. They ran their hands over the carvings, checked behind the torches, and circled the massive statue.

  Nothing.

  “We’ve searched everywhere!” The woman gritted her teeth, her eyes burning with rage. “There’s no end to this tower's mind games, is there?” She stared at her shaking hand, wrapped in black cloth. Two fingers were missing. “Curses,” she hissed.

  “They’re not mind games,” White-Hair said, his gaze fixed on the statue. “They’re tests.”

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  “Tests?” Alex asked.

  “Yes. For the mind and body. Think about the three previous rooms. How did we clear them?” White-Hair turned to Alex.

  “By luck?” Kira whispered, her small face paler than before.

  “No, not luck,” the woman added. “We made it out because of our combined mind. We wouldn’t have made it out of the first one if Alex hadn’t stopped me when he did.”

  “Sure, logic played a part,” White-Hair said. “But was it our ability to think logically or emotionally that saved us? It’s not just testing our intellect. It’s testing our instincts.”

  “Instincts…” Alex whispered.

  He recalled the heart-pounding moment of the climb. He had battled between the instinct to save himself and the impulse to save the girl. Compassion versus self-preservation.

  “Yes, instincts,” White-Hair continued. “A response fueled by impulse. Fear triggers the most ancient part of our brains, the fight-or-flight response. It heightens senses, speeds up reactions, and provides bursts of strength. Fear is excellent for survival.”

  “Is that what it is?” Alex asked curiously.

  But his memory of the climb wasn't just panic. He had time to think. He had chosen his path carefully. The fear he felt wasn't the sharp, clean adrenaline of a fight, it was a slow, seeping dread that poisoned every handhold.

  “So what now?” the woman asked, her gentle voice replaced by desperation. “How will instinct help us here? Are we supposed to wait for a life-or-death situation? Look what waiting did to Kira.” She pointed at the girl, who leaned weakly against the wall. “And look what the second room did to me.” She held up her disfigured hand. “I can no longer use my Whisper of Creation. Do you know what I sacrificed to acquire it?”

  “Moping won’t get us out of this,” White-Hair said coldly. He pointed to the statue. “That statue is the only thing we haven’t touched.”

  Alex turned to him sharply. “And rightly so. The last room had a statue just like this… a mage type. We all know what happened when we touched it.”

  The memory burned in their minds. They didn't need a reminder.

  “We have to do something,” White-Hair insisted. “We can't just stand here and wait for death.”

  As they argued back and forth, Kira pushed herself off the wall. Her breathing was shallow but steady. She stared at them for a moment, then shifted her gaze to the statue.

  “I found a way out!” Her voice was weak but filled with hope.

  They turned to face her. She was standing at the base of the statue, holding a stone medallion.

  “Kira?” Alex asked as they approached.

  The medallion was covered in strange carvings: a throne sitting atop a tower that stretched beyond the clouds, embraced by a pair of hands. Around the edge were nine words, each different from the other.

  “Kira… what are you doing?” the woman asked, her voice low with concern. “Step away from the statue.”

  “Wait, I found a way out,” Kira persisted, raising the medallion. “This will take us to the top.”

  Her face lit up with excitement. A wide smile appeared, followed by a soft giggle that echoed eerily in the vast hall.

  “This way.” She walked toward the blank wall behind the statue.

  “Kira, wait!” The woman rushed to her side.

  “Do you think…” Alex paused.

  Something felt wrong. He tried to grasp the thought, but his mind was blank. ‘Wait.’ Come to think of it, this was the first time since entering the tower that his mind felt this quiet.

  “You coming?” White-Hair asked calmly, walking toward the wall where the others waited.

  “Right. Let’s go.” Alex followed, unease prickling his skin.

  They stood in silence as Kira closed her eyes and pressed the medallion to her chest. A moment later, her eyes snapped open.

  They were no longer her normal dark eyes. They were pitch black, swallowing the light of the room. The torches flickered and died, plunging them into darkness.

  “Kira?” Alex’s voice was a whisper.

  Kira began to sing. Her voice was melodic, chanting in a language that sounded ancient and heavy.

  The hall trembled. The statue shook.

  The medallion began to glow, casting a purple, ethereal light that engulfed Kira. Her hair floated as if underwater. On the wall before them, stone ground against stone as a hidden door slid open, revealing stairs leading up.

  Alex saw light spilling from above. “A way out!” he shouted.

  “We have to move, now!” Kira commanded. Her voice wasn't hers anymore, it was deep, resonant, possessed.

  “This way!” White-Hair sprinted up the stairs.

  The woman followed, limping as she fought the pain in her leg.

  Alex paused at the door, looking back. Kira was levitating now, the purple light intensifying.

  “Kira?”

  “Go! Now!” she screamed. “I’m right behind you!”

  There was no time to argue. The hall was crumbling.

  Alex turned and ran up the stairs, his lungs burning. Behind him, the ethereal light began to fade as dust choked the air.

  *****

  Bursting out onto the roof.

  Alex, White-Hair, and the woman collapsed on the flat stone surface, gasping for air. They had made it. They were at the very top of the Tower.

  “Kira? Where is Kira?” the woman asked, scanning the dark stairwell.

  “She said… she’d be right behind me,” Alex wheezed.

  He stared into the dust-filled darkness of the doorway.

  Step. Step.

  Faint footsteps echoed. Then, the sound of coughing as Kira emerged from the dust, looking small and fragile again.

  With danger out of the way, the four stood at the edge of the monolithic tower. Here, the sky wasn't red, it was a bright, warm golden glow that seemed to soothe their fears. Beneath them, an endless expanse of crimson clouds stretched to infinity.

  “Look,” Kira said, pointing to the center of the roof. A throne sat there, empty and waiting.

  She pulled out the medallion. The carvings matched the throne perfectly.

  “We made it…” White-Hair said, a faint smile gracing his lips.

  “After so long,” the woman whispered, tears in her eyes.

  They began to move toward the throne.

  However, Kira reached out and grabbed Alex’s hand, holding him back while the other two walked ahead.

  “Uh… I have something to say,” she whispered. Her gaze darted left and right, shy and nervous.

  “What is it?” Alex asked. Curiosity mixed with a sudden, sharp unease.

  The girl squeezed his hand. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and innocent.

  “I’m sorry.”

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