Chapter 19 – The Tower Remembers You
Second Tower Arc – Floor One: The Echo Chamber
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The air warped around Lucian as he took that first step forward.
One moment, grass crunched beneath his boots. The next—nothing.
Silence. Total silence.
His feet met cold obsidian.
He blinked.
He stood inside a colossal stone chamber. High above, rings of floating runes spiraled slowly through the darkness. Pale blue lights hovered midair like ghostly fireflies, casting flickering reflections on the glossy black floor. The atmosphere was thick—like the Tower itself remembered him.
> "Welcome back, Lucian."
The Book's voice echoed directly in his mind. Not spoken—imprinted.
Lucian's heartbeat slowed. "You're in my head now?"
> "You are inside the Tower. Words are not bound by air here."
Then, a voice not the Book's—distant, dry, female—spoke from the walls.
"Floor One: The Echo Chamber. Objective: Confront the Forgotten."
Lucian narrowed his eyes. "Confront the—"
The floor trembled.
A ring of ancient mirrors rose from the obsidian ground, surrounding him. Thirteen in total. Their surfaces shimmered—not with reflections—but with memories.
Lucian stared into the nearest one.
It was him.
But… not quite.
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The Mirror Showed: A Lucian with Lifeless Eyes.
He stood atop a mountain of corpses. His cloak was torn, skin cracked with seeping golden light, eyes void of emotion.
Neo lay behind him, unmoving. The butler's blade snapped. The Book—burning.
This was a version of Lucian that had lost everything.
A version that chose destruction.
He staggered back instinctively. "What the hell is this?"
> "Echoes," the Book said. "Possibilities. Choices you could've made. Lives you never lived. This floor reflects your sins, your doubts, your suppressed truths."
Lucian turned slowly, facing the circle of mirrors. One by one, they flickered to life.
Each held a different Lucian.
One chained in a cell, broken.
One ruling from a throne, merciless.
One laughing maniacally with fire in his hands.
One… kneeling. Crying. Alone.
He took a deep breath.
Then the first mirror shattered.
Glass flew inward—not outward—and the Lucian inside stepped out.
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[Doppelgänger Engaged – Fallen Lucian]
The reflection raised his hand, golden sparks trailing like bleeding light.
"You became weak," the copy snarled. "You protected the wrong people."
Lucian summoned the Fifth Week instinctively. Light gathered into his palm—but flickered. Diminished.
He gritted his teeth. "No. Not now—!"
> "Unity only responds when your heart is clear. If you doubt yourself…" the Book's voice warned.
Too late.
The reflection rushed him, fist blazing.
Lucian ducked just in time, rolling under a wild blow. The clone moved like him—faster, even. Like a version of himself that never hesitated, never second-guessed.
"You left strength behind!" the copy screamed, voice ragged. "You chose family over power!"
Lucian blocked a strike with his forearm—bones nearly snapping—then retaliated with a burst of kinetic force from his boot, launching the clone back.
He snarled, panting. "I didn't leave power. I just stopped chasing it alone."
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Mirror Two Cracked.
Another Lucian stepped out.
This one was silent. Eyes blank. But his shadow moved… independently.
It split from him—forming a spectral weapon made of darkness and whispers.
Lucian took a step back. "Double fight? Seriously?"
The Book pulsed. > "You must defeat the versions you fear becoming… or you will be consumed by them."
Lucian gritted his teeth. "Then I'll break them all."
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[Combat Phase Begins]
The first Lucian struck with explosive punches. The second, with shadow tendrils and mental pressure.
Lucian weaved between them, heart pounding.
One fist grazed his cheek—cutting it like glass.
He bit down on his own blood, flipping backward and launching a focused Unity bolt into the silent Lucian's chest.
Direct hit.
But it passed through.
"…An illusion?" he whispered.
> "No. A half-memory. You must target the truth, not the form."
Lucian realized something—these reflections weren't just threats.
They were made of moments he never processed. Regrets. Fears. His subconscious given form.
He stared at the silent Lucian.
"You represent when I stopped caring," he said. "When I tried to cut emotion out."
He stepped forward.
The Unity spark in his hand blazed brighter.
The copy flinched.
Lucian roared, slamming his hand into its chest. "I'm not him anymore."
The second Lucian shattered—glass and memory vanishing into the void.
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The first one attacked from behind.
But Lucian anticipated it.
His palm lit up.
Fifth Week: Unity. Full charge.
He turned. "You're angry because I chose people over pain. But they're the reason I'm still here."
He fired.
Golden-white light exploded across the chamber.
The first Lucian screamed—then vanished.
Two down.
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Eight mirrors cracked at once.
Lucian's shoulders dropped. "Oh, COME ON—"
From each mirror, more versions stepped out.
One was twisted with horns. Another wielded a version of the Book that bled. One was simply laughing—a distorted, childlike Lucian who spoke in riddles.
> "They are accelerating," the Book said. "The Tower recognizes you now. It has prepared a tailored trial."
Lucian whispered, "Tailored?"
> "It means this wasn't Floor One originally. The Tower rewrote itself the moment you entered."
Lucian blinked. "Wait. It what?!"
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Then the floor shifted beneath him.
A circle of runes lit up.
Suddenly, everything froze.
The copies stopped moving.
The mirrors stilled.
And then—someone clapped.
Slow.
Measured.
Mocking.
A figure appeared in the center of the ring. Not from a mirror—but from outside.
Tall. Cloaked in layered gray. Face hidden beneath a bone-white mask carved with intricate script.
Lucian stepped back. "You're not one of my echoes."
The masked figure tilted its head.
"Lucian," it said. "You finally came."
The voice was male. Calm. Familiar… somehow.
Lucian narrowed his eyes. "Who the hell are you?"
The figure extended a hand.
"I am the Archivist. Keeper of the Original Floors. And I remember you."
Lucian's blood ran cold. "That… doesn't make sense. I've never—"
The masked man's voice cut like a blade.
"Not you. The first you."
Silence.
The Book trembled in Lucian's hand.
> "He speaks of the First Creator."
Lucian's voice turned sharp. "What do you know about him?"
The Archivist didn't answer. He turned—and every mirror in the chamber shattered.
Gone. All of them.
Lucian blinked. "What—?"
In their place appeared doors.
Thirteen stone doors. Each with a glowing sigil. Each humming with dangerous power.
The Archivist gestured.
"One of these paths will lead to the true Tower. The others? Death. Madness. Or worse—understanding."
Lucian's fist clenched. "Why are you helping me?"
The Archivist laughed, a bitter sound.
"Helping? No. I'm watching. Judging. Recording. The First Creator left a trail only a madman would follow."
He turned to leave.
Lucian called out. "Wait! What was he trying to find? The origin of the Weeks?"
The Archivist paused.
And said, softly:
"He was trying to break the Tower."
Then vanished into mist.
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Lucian stared at the doors.
The Book was quiet.
For once, even it didn't know.
> "Choose, Lucian."
Lucian stepped forward.
He stared at the doors—each one pulsing with a different colored sigil. Red. Blue. Black. Gold. Void. One was completely cracked and weeping ink.
And one had his own handprint glowing on it.
Lucian placed his palm against it.
It burned—but accepted him.
The door creaked open.
He turned back one last time.
"I'm not the First Creator. I'm not a reflection."
He smiled.
"I'm me. Let's climb."
And stepped through.
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End of Chapter 19.