He stood alone.
Not in a room, not in a hall.
Just space. Endless and muted, wrapped in twilight shadow. No floor. No ceiling. Only gravity's soft pull, and the whisper of breath he wasn't sure was his own.
Allen blinked. Or tried to.
But his vision—his perception—no longer obeyed him.
The world cracked.
Hairline fractures spread outward in all directions from the center of his sight, as if he were peering through a mirror smashed from within. Each line shimmered faintly, weaving through empty air like spiderwebs made of light.
And then—he heard it.
> "Veritas Oculi."
The voice came from nowhere. It was neither male nor female. It did not echo. It simply existed, as though it had always been nestled deep in the folds of his thoughts, waiting for its moment to speak.
A name.
The name.
Then, a second voice—familiar yet not his own—followed. Like the rustle of turning pages wrapped in smoke and memory:
> "Eyes that fracture lies. Eyes that reflect more than light. Eyes that see others, and in doing so… see themselves."
The cracks shimmered.
And then bloomed.
Two sigils ignited in his eyes—visible to no one but him. Shards of light twisting into spiral fractals, like a broken kaleidoscope locking into focus. The dual shattered gaze flared to life—each eye a mirror splintered and reformed, fractured by truth.
And then, the final voice came.
Not human. Not warm.
But wise.
> "The Third Trial continues. Not here. Not now. But above."
>"Ascend."
Allen inhaled—and realized he could again. That time had started moving.
The twilight shattered, like breaking glass, and the world came back.
The real one.
The Tower.
And with it, the weight of what was now etched into him.
He didn't just feel different.
He saw different.
The sky was a muted orange, the kind that came after stormlight or before it.
Allen sat beneath the broken arch of an ancient stone outcropping, alone on the outskirts of a nameless ridge somewhere on Floor I. He didn't remember walking here. Maybe the Tower brought him. Maybe he just wandered until his body gave up.
His hands trembled.
Not with fear. Not entirely.
He lifted one, held it in front of him, fingers outstretched.
"…Eyes that see others, and in doing so… see themselves."
The words echoed through his mind like a mantra and a curse.
What did that even mean?
He'd felt something shift when the name—Veritas Oculi—was spoken. As if he'd been cracked open, not just to power, but to something rawer. He had seen something in those final illusions. The truth of his own mind, of what he feared most.
His fingers curled into a fist.
The corridor. The masks. The false Kael. The reversal of reality. And finally, the chamber of self.
Each test wasn't just a challenge—it was a mirror.
One he had been forced to break.
Allen exhaled through his nose, quiet and bitter. He didn't feel stronger.
He felt exposed.
Like something inside him had been peeled back, dissected under harsh light, and reassembled wrong. Or… maybe right. He wasn't sure anymore.
His thoughts flicked briefly to his sister.
He hadn't said her name out loud in years. Not even to Kael. But now it clawed at the edge of his mind—guilt, longing, failure.
> The third trial continues. Not here. Not now. But above.
Was she above?
Was she still alive?
Allen looked down at the dirt beside him, then picked up a smooth, flat stone. He turned it over slowly in his hand, thumb brushing against its roughness.
"Then I guess I climb," he whispered. "Even if it breaks me."
And this time, when he looked forward, his eyes didn't tremble.
They glinted—just faintly—as fractured light rippled across the surface of his irises.
The light that brought him down was neither gentle nor violent. It pulled.
Like a tide, or a current beneath skin.
One moment Allen was still in the echo of the dream—the chamber of self bleeding into mist, Sigil newly awakened in his eyes. The next, he was standing alone in a circular chamber with no walls, only horizon. For a second, he thought he hadn't moved at all.
Then he saw the stairwell.
Wide. Towering. Covered in rootwork and flickers of symbols he couldn't yet read.
And beyond it, an opening.
Floor I.
He stepped forward.
---
The Tower – Floor I
The air here smelled real—soil, breath, the static tension of distant lightning. Far above, a false sky stretched wide. Below his boots, the soil was uneven, scored with paths of others who had walked through before. The world had the size of a planet, but the silence of a tomb.
Allen rubbed his temple. His body still ached from the chamber. His eyes felt too open. He didn't want to see the flickers of emotion tracing off strangers like smoke—new side effects of the blooming Sigil. It was overwhelming.
He needed something familiar.
Kael.
He walked along a carved path, keeping to the edge of the field where other new arrivals gathered. Most were quiet. Some cried. Others stared at their hands, wondering if they were still the same person they were hours ago.
Allen kept moving.
Minutes passed. Then more.
Until, at last, he caught sight of him.
Kael stood near the base of a strange statue—wings partially broken, eyes covered by ivy. He was speaking to someone Allen didn't recognize.
A young man. Smiling. Something sharp behind his ease.
Allen stopped in place.
There was something off about the stranger. Not wrong, exactly—but reflected, as if he was mimicking Kael's gestures with just enough delay to seem natural.
Allen narrowed his eyes.
Who the hell is that?
And why did it feel like the stranger had been waiting for Kael?
Allen exhaled slowly, stepping back behind a thin cluster of stone. He would wait. Watch. Just for a moment longer.
Then he'd step in.
Allen remained half-hidden behind the outcropping of stone, his breath quiet but clipped. He could hear Kael's voice clearly—eager, open in that way he always was when meeting someone new. It hadn't changed, even now, even after everything.
But the other guy…
He didn't look suspicious. That was the worst part.
He had a clean, polished kind of confidence, the kind Allen had learned to mistrust. The way he tilted his head when Kael spoke, how his smile never quite reached his eyes. Every motion was rehearsed—but subtle, like he'd practiced being approachable in a mirror and shaved off all the imperfections.
More than that, there was the emotional residue Allen couldn't stop seeing now.
Most people had trails—colors and threads of feelings leaking into the air like warmth off skin. Faint, lingering signs of honesty or fear or intent. But this stranger? It was like staring into broken glass. The fragments of emotion didn't fit together.
He was laughing.
But there was no joy. Only flickers of calculation. Cold. Precision.
Allen's fingers twitched by his side.
He's playing him. Just like everyone used to back in school. Smile too wide, voice too smooth—talking like you were the most interesting person in the world until they got what they wanted. Allen had seen it too many times. On Kael's face, too—how easily he trusted.
Kael was smiling now. Something about a memory. He looked...lighter than Allen had seen him in days.
Allen hated how fragile that look seemed, standing next to him.
No. Not again.
Allen stepped out from behind the rock.
"Kael," he said, voice quiet but firm.
Both of them turned.
Kael's expression lit up in recognition. "Allen!"
The stranger's smile didn't falter—but Allen saw the blink. The pause. The flicker of oh? behind his calm demeanor.
Allen gave him a nod. Not hostile. Just… there.
Kael was already hurrying forward, gripping Allen's arm tight with a grin. "You made it."
Allen looked at him, really looked—and in that moment, the exhaustion, the cracks behind the smile, were clear. Allen just nodded, swallowing the tightness in his throat.
"Yeah," he said softly. "I made it."
Kael turned to introduce the stranger. "This is—"
But Allen's gaze was still on him. That smile hadn't moved at all.
Allen offered a polite nod.
"You got a name?" he asked, voice even.
The stranger held out a hand. "Risan. Risan Del Miro."
Allen didn't take it.
Instead, he tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly. The Veritas Occuli, still dormant beneath his expression, flickered for half a heartbeat behind his gaze.
"Nice to meet you," Allen said.
But I'll be watching you.