Countdown
The castle's bell rang out across the fourth floor courtyard—deep, resonant, final.
A voice followed, clear and ethereal, echoing in every chamber:
"The next trial will commence in five days."
And that was it.
No details. No location. No explanation.
Just a clock now ticking loudly in the back of every trialist's mind.
Leo stood on one of the outer balconies of the castle, leaning against the cool stone railing. Below, clusters of trialists gathered around benches and lantern-lit courtyards, murmuring and exchanging theories like gamblers huddled over a shifting bet.
He'd trained himself to the edge of exhaustion for weeks. Pushed his body. Opened his fifth qi point. Caught a glimpse of mastery.
And now?
He was plateauing. He could feel it. The breakthroughs had slowed. His form work was becoming repetition. There was still refinement, yes—but advancement would take more time than he had.
So he let himself breathe.
For the first time in weeks, Leo relaxed.
He wandered the castle grounds, chatted with survivors from other groups—only twenty left now, each person bearing marks of trials barely survived. They weren't strangers anymore.
They were comrades.
Rumors about the next trial buzzed like flies.
"I heard the next one's solo. Final filter before the fifth floor."
"Probably a direct battle trial. You versus a chosen opponent."
"Or a mirror trial. They say sometimes, the Tower makes you fight yourself."
"You ever heard of the 'Judging Flame'? One guy swore the Tower set him on fire just to test if he'd crack."
Leo mostly listened, smiling, nodding occasionally, filing it all away. The guesses varied—but one point was unanimous:
It would be individual.
The last gate before the fifth floor had to be walked alone.
But it was the talk of the fifth floor that lingered with Leo long after the gossip faded.
That floor wasn't like the others.
It wasn't just another trial.
It was different.
"It's where the residents are," someone whispered.
"What residents?" Leo had asked.
"The ones who stay." The speaker had leaned in. "Guards. Instructors. Spirit-tamers. Craftsmen. Anyone who made it far enough, strong enough—but chose to stop climbing. Or couldn't push past. Or just… settled."
"Is it permanent?"
"Yes but It's not a prison," they'd said, "Once you settle there, the Tower stops opening doors. And you become one of them" as they gesture at the guards
Aric would later explain it in simpler terms. "Fifth floor's not a test. It's a choice."
Mira, lounging with her boots on a stone bench, had grunted. "Yeah. And the moment you choose to stay… the Tower starts forgetting you."
That night, as Leo returned to the high chamber alone, he looked up at the sky illusion shimmering above the castle.
Five days left.
And then whatever came next, he'd face it alone.
And after that—the choice
The Fourth Night
Leo sat cross-legged in the center of the high tower chamber, his spear laid beside him.
There was no training today. No cultivation drills. No form practice.
Just silence.
The essence here still thrummed, coiling through the air like lazy smoke—but Leo wasn't reaching for it. He wasn't trying to push forward. Not tonight.
He was listening.
To the stillness.To himself.
The countdown ticked in his head—four days left. And then he'd step into a trial alone. No Mira. No Aric. No plan. No help. Just himself and whatever test the Tower decided was fair.
For weeks now, he'd been certain of what he wanted.
Climb.
That was the only answer that made sense. Power, purpose, progress—everything else was secondary.
Wasn't it?
But now, with the decision close enough to feel, doubt crept in through the cracks.
He thought of the guards on the lower floors—the ones who watched over the trials, who nodded when a group succeeded, who laughed quietly with those who chose to stay. None of them looked unhappy.
Not satisfied with just surviving.
They had homes now. Roles. They'd carved a life out of the Tower's bones and didn't look back.
Leo's brow furrowed.
Could he do the same?
Could he step onto that fifth floor, breathe deeply, and say: this is far enough?
His eyes drifted toward the sky illusion above him—stars that didn't move, a world painted by power, not nature.
And then he thought of Earth. Of home.
His friends.His family.
Were they still searching? Still wondering?
What were they thinking, not knowing where he'd vanished to? Not knowing if he was alive or gone forever?
His mother's voice surfaced in memory, faint but warm.His sister's laughter.
A knot formed in Leo's chest.
He hadn't just climbed for power.
He wanted to go home.
To make it back with stories. With answers. Maybe even with the means to change something. Save someone. Fix something.
Staying on the fifth floor wasn't a crime.
But it would mean not returning.
The Tower didn't let people back down.
Not unless you climbed it all.
He opened his eyes slowly.
The chamber was quiet.
But the uncertainty remained.
He wasn't sure yet.
Not fully.
But somewhere inside, a part of him still whispered:
Keep climbing.