Minho stepped across the threshold and immediately the weight of the Tower's presence weighed upon him. The air was still here-new floor, no movement of life. He heard nothing but the soft cadence of his breathing, the slight whisper of his feet against the crystalline floor. The white walls rose around him, shining with an inner radiance pulsing-softly, living.
No other room existed quite like this. No grotesque monsters in hiding, no ever-changing landscapes to struggle on for survival-just that endless sea of glowing crystal each reflecting his own guarded expression back at him. But the quiet disturbed him far more than any monster could have.
The Tower was waiting.
Minho stepped further in, the cold of the room seeping into his bones despite the lack of wind. He let his fingers graze one of the massive crystal structures. It was smooth, polished like glass, but it thrummed beneath his touch. A subtle vibration, an almost imperceptible hum, like a pulse beneath the surface.
Then—
*Click.*
A sound, soft but deliberate.
The instant it did, the crystal under his fingertips began to glow. A ripple spread across its surface, warping and bending the reflection into something else-an image, hazy at first, then sharpening into focus. Minho stepped back instinctively, watching as the glow intensified, revealing a scene inside.
There was a man standing inside the crystal, his body distorted from the shifting light. He was tall, his dark hair damp with sweat, his grip tight around a long blade. His breathing was labored, his muscles taut with tension. He was standing in some huge cavern, the walls jagged and rough around him, and he faced an enemy out of sight. Minho could almost *feel* the tension in the air, the moment before battle.
A Raider.
Minho let out a slow breath as he stared at the dancing image. This wasn't recorded. It was happening *now*. Somewhere in the Tower's endless maze, this man fought for his life.
To another glowing crystal, he went. As he reached it, the image within sharpened itself.
A woman, her cropped hair framing sharp, focused eyes, stood within a vast arena. Surrounding her were creatures—grotesque, writhing things with too many limbs and too few eyes. But she wasn't afraid. Her stance was strong, her movements fluid. Every strike she delivered was precise, deliberate, the kind that came from endless experience.
Another Raider.
Minho's fingers curled into fists as he scanned the room. More crystals had started to light up. He walked over to another and then another, and each revealed a different scene to him. A young man tangled in some labyrinth of twisting vines, desperately hacking away at the creeping tendrils. An older woman with an axe, her face hardened by battle scars bringing down a massive beast with a single, earth-shattering blow. A boy, not much older than Minho himself, hurling bursts of fire at flying creatures, his face contorted in a mix of terror and resolve. The Tower was showing him something. Not battles. Not trials. It was showing him *them.* The others. The Raiders.
For the first time since he stepped into the Tower, Minho finally understood: he was not alone. He knew, logically, that others climbed the Tower just like he did; he had seen the Leaderboard, heard whispers of famous names. But to see them like this-fighting and struggling, pushing forward like he was-made it *real*.
The Tower was more than a testing ground; there was something else, something far *connected* with.
His heart started to pound once the realization descended. Every Raider had their story, their drive, but it all came to one thing: being here for the same wish-to rise, to be conquered, and to understand.
But did the Tower wish this?
The hum in the air deepened, like the low thrumming of a vast, unseen force. Minho turned, eyes scanning the endless expanse of crystal. The images flickered and shifted, some dimming, others bursting into sudden brightness. It was as if the Tower itself was breathing, observing, *recording*.
How much did it know?
Minho stepped back, his mind whirling. He had caught glimpses of what the Tower could do, how it could grant power, how it could heal. But this… this was different. This wasn't a show of strength in any way.
This was a *testimony.*
The Tower was witness to every fight, every defeat, every victory. And it wanted Minho to see it.
But *why*?
His fists clenched at his sides. Was this its true gift? Not the skills, not the rewards, but the *knowledge* of struggle? Of shared existence?
Or was it something else?
He took a slow breath, stepped forward beyond the glowing crystals. Ahead, the room extended into darkness: unlike the shimmering, translucent glow of the walls around him, this new corridor was pure black-as if suddenly, the Tower had closed its eyes.
An invitation-or a warning?
Minho hesitated for only a moment before pressing onward. Whatever lay ahead, he would face it. The Tower had given him a glimpse into the lives of the others. But he wasn't here to just watch.
He was here to rise.
As he stepped into the shadowed passageway, the crystals behind him flickered, their images fading into silence. The hum quieted, the presence of the Tower receding—watchful, but patient.
Minho walked forward.
The Tower was waiting.
And Minho was ready.
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