The garden was still when morning came, if it could even be called morning in a place like this. The air was calm. The dome above looked the same as always, but something in the way the branches moved made the light feel softer, more distant. Almost like real weather, if you squinted hard enough and forgot what the sky actually was.
Chains slept curled against the wall, one arm tucked beneath her, the other wrapped tight in fresh bandages. I stayed where I was, legs pulled up, back against a pale stone. My eyes were open. I hadn't slept. I couldn't.
The threads had been quiet.
Not gone, just quiet.
I could feel them drifting near the edge of my thoughts, waiting. Most were faint. Gentle. One of them led to Chains. I let it settle across my hand, tracing a line of warmth against my skin. No pull, no warning. Just presence.
We were both still changing.
I wasn't sure how far that would go.
The Witch appeared mid-morning. No footsteps. No warning. Just there.
"You lasted longer than I thought," she said, like it wasn't a compliment or an insult. Just fact.
Chains stirred. Groaned. Pushed herself up with a hiss of breath. "We're stubborn."
The Witch gave a slow nod. "Good. You'll need that."
She walked toward the fire pit near the center of the garden. A kettle already sat over the coals, steam rising in lazy curls. Three cups waited nearby.
We followed. Not because we were invited. Just because it was easier than waiting.
Chains drank first. She always did. She winced, but kept drinking. I held my cup and watched the steam fade into the air.
"No training today," the Witch said. "Just talk."
We sat.
She didn't ask questions. She didn't test us. Just sat and stared out at the garden like it was something she'd built piece by piece, and didn't know whether to hate or miss.
"I climbed to Floor Forty," she said. "That was a long time ago. My partner and I... we thought we were close to the end."
She didn't look at us when she said it.
"But the tower doesn't end. Not like that. Past Thirty, it starts to change you. Not just your body. Your mind. The threads between who you are and who you were. They don't snap all at once. They fray."
Chains was quiet.
I stayed still.
"My partner didn't notice it at first," the Witch said. "But I did. He started forgetting small things. Then bigger ones. One day I woke up, and he was just gone. Not dead. Just… gone. Like he'd never been real."
She paused.
"I kept climbing anyway. I thought I could hold on longer than he did."
She looked down at her hands.
"I stopped when I realized I didn't remember his name."
The silence after that sat heavy. Thick. Like the weight of all the things we weren't ready to ask.
Chains said nothing.
I didn't either.
"You've started to change already," she said. "Both of you."
She looked at me first, then Chains. Not with fear. Just recognition.
"You still remember your names?"
I nodded.
Chains said, "Yeah."
"Good. Hold on to them."
She stood and left the fire behind. When she returned, she carried two objects. One was a cloth band with a cracked magnifier set into the center. The other was a long black needle, wrapped in thread.
"These are rare," she said.
She handed the band to Chains.
"It shows your limit. How close you are to collapse. If you go past it, it breaks."
Chains tied it on without a word.
She handed me the needle.
"This is for sensing direction, movement, and weight. You'll know what to do with it."
I took it gently. It felt heavier than it looked.
"Your real names will come back in full," she said. "The memory loss fades. Slowly. But it does fade. You were dropped into the tower raw. Once they return do not let go of them"
She walked away again, but this time, she returned with one more thing.
A flat metal pan.
She dropped it at Chains' feet.
"Final lesson," she said. "You'll be leaving soon."
Chains raised an eyebrow. "This is the lesson?"
The Witch didn't answer.
She stepped back, raised her hand, and the gravity shifted.
Hard.
The weight slammed down on us without warning. Chains fell to her knees, gasping. I crumpled, barely catching myself before my chin hit the ground.
"You need to understand something," the Witch said. "Pain is not punishment. Weight is not cruelty."
Chains gritted her teeth and forced herself upright.
"Then what is it?"
The Witch didn't smile.
"It's proof."
Chains dragged the pan into her lap. It felt like it weighed hundreds of pounds. She gripped it tight, lifted it an inch, and dropped it again.
The Witch didn't move.
"Again," she said.
Chains tried.
Again.
And again.
Each time, the red ethereal chain around her wrist brightened. I didn't say anything. I didn't need to. Her face was pale, her jaw clenched. Her whole body shook.
But she didn't stop.
I pressed my hand to the ground.
A thread hummed beneath it, not guiding me, just reminding me where I stood.
Eventually, the gravity faded.
The Witch sat down again. She looked tired, but her eyes were clear.
"You'll climb again tomorrow. You'll hurt worse. That's how you know it's working."
Chains collapsed beside the fire.
I sat next to her, staring at the needle still wrapped in thread.
"I don't know if I'm capable of keeping up," Chains whispered.
She let out a breath.
She stared at the sky again, or what passed for one.
"I think I'm starting to get it," she said.
"What?"
"This place. It doesn't want us dead. Not yet. It wants us tired. Empty. Bent just enough that we're too weak to remember what we used to be."
I didn't answer.
She turned her head toward me.
"You're strong," she said.
"So are you."
We didn't speak after that.
Not for a long time.