There were places even gods refused to look directly at.
The Tower of Sorrow was one of them.
It rose not from land, but from consequence — a spire of mourning anchored in no particular realm, adrift in the Veil between worlds. It had no true location, only coordinates woven from regret and memory. And Kaelith, following the cracked path shown by the mask and guided by the relic's pulses, found herself standing before it.
The tower shimmered — tall as divinity, narrow as guilt. Made not of stone but of mirrors, each panel whispering back at her in dozens of silent voices. Some reflected her as she was. Some as she had been. And others… showed things that should never have been.
Above the sealed entrance, carved in ancient runes that slithered when read aloud, was the phrase:
"To find the shattered one, you must first be willing to fracture."
Kaelith stepped forward.
The door didn't open.
It split — silently, down the center — revealing darkness not as absence but as invitation.
⸻
Inside, the air was thick with memories.
Not hers.
Tirameon's.
They clung to the walls like damp thoughts. Unfinished arguments. Stolen dreams. Echoes of gods who had once praised him… before they turned.
Kaelith ascended the spiral stairway. There were no steps — only rising platforms that moved when she remembered pain.
With each level, the tower reshaped. Not physically. But perceptually.
In one room, she stood in a chamber of mirrors, each reflecting a version of her relationship with Tirameon: comrade, betrayer, lover, killer. One spoke aloud:
"You trusted him because he spoke what you dared not think."
In another room, she faced a riddle inscribed on a sphere of tears:
"What lives only in silence, dies in revelation, and is reborn when forgotten?"
She hesitated. Then whispered, "Shame."
The sphere shattered — and with it, another piece of Tirameon's past bled into her mind: a memory of him kneeling before the High Council, pleading for mercy. Not for himself. But for the ones who had dared question the Codex alongside him.
Including her.
⸻
At the sixth level, Kaelith's name was removed from her. She could no longer remember who she was — only what she was searching for. She spoke into the dark:
"Tirameon."
The tower answered with light.
A mirror in front of her shimmered. It did not reflect her. Instead, it displayed a flickering vision: a battlefield where Celestials turned against each other — not out of rage, but out of doubt. The rebellion's first day.
And in the center of it, Tirameon. Eyes veiled. Hands bloodied.
Holding her sword.
"I led them for you," his voice echoed from within the mirror. "And you let them forget."
"No," she whispered. "I was made to forget."
The mirror shattered.
A piece embedded itself in her chest — not as a wound, but as memory. Her breath caught.
She had been there. She had chosen to forget.
⸻
Finally, at the top of the Tower, Kaelith entered a room of infinite silence.
No walls. No ceiling. Only a floor of still water.
Floating above it — fragmented like broken glass trying to reassemble itself — was Tirameon's soul.
He was not whole. His body was scattered light, parts of him flickering in and out of existence. His face remained veiled, but his voice, when it came, was steady. Tired. Like a song sung by someone who'd forgotten the melody.
"You came," he said.
"Why did you lead the rebellion?" she asked.
"Because I saw what they would do to you if you ever questioned them."
She didn't know whether to feel gratitude… or guilt.
"They fractured you," she said, stepping into the water. "Why?"
"Because killing me would make me a martyr. But breaking me makes me a warning."
The water rippled beneath her feet — not from her movement, but from the truth.
"Then let me help you," she said.
But Tirameon shook his head.
"You can't fix what was undone. But you can finish what we started."
The light around him dimmed.
"There's something buried deep in the city of Drah'zel. Something only I knew how to find. The Architects sent others to seal it. You must get there before they erase the final map."
Kaelith opened her mouth to respond—
But Tirameon was already fading.
"They will lie to you again," he said. "And this time, they will use your own memories against you."
A pulse of warmth bloomed in her chest — the mask fragment fusing deeper, unlocking one final phrase:
"When you reach Drah'zel, do not trust the light."
The Tower trembled.
Kaelith closed her eyes.
And when she opened them, she was kneeling in the forest again — the Tower gone.
Only the rippling water at her feet remained.
And the name Tirameon, now etched behind her eyes like an oath she had once made… and broken.