---
The door creaked open.
Not mechanically. Not magically.
It groaned like an old man exhaling his last breath—slow, reluctant, ancient.
Dust fell like ash from its frame.
He stepped through.
And the world changed again.
---
It wasn't a room.
Not in the way rooms should exist.
There were no walls. No ceiling.
No floor that welcomed footsteps.
Just a vast… space. Still. Hollow.
Endless shelves spiraled upward, sideways, downward—gravity defied, logic abandoned.
The air smelled of rust and old pages.
A library—but not for books.
No, this room didn't store knowledge.
It stored people.
---
> "Welcome back," a voice whispered.
Not from ahead.
From within.
He turned.
And froze.
---
A little girl stood before him.
Tattered dress. Wild hair. Hollow eyes.
A smile that never reached her face.
He knew her.
Even if he didn't want to.
> "Remi?" he whispered.
She didn't nod.
She didn't speak.
She just raised her hand—
And pointed.
---
One by one, doors opened along the endless shelves.
From each stepped a face.
Some were warm.
Others, cold.
All familiar.
All impossible.
---
The man he betrayed for survival.
The woman who died screaming his name.
The boy who followed him into battle—and never came back.
A parade of memory.
Of regret.
Of unfinished goodbyes.
---
They didn't scream.
They didn't blame.
They simply watched.
As if judging him wasn't even necessary anymore.
As if the weight of their presence alone was enough.
---
Then the shelves shifted.
Collapsed.
Reshaped.
Until the room became a corridor of mirrors again.
But this time, the reflections weren't him.
They were moments.
---
> A burning village.
A broken promise.
A stolen future.
Each mirror shimmered like water—inviting him to touch.
To step in.
To relive.
---
And that was the test.
Not to fight.
Not to survive.
But to remember.
To walk into each moment.
To feel what he buried.
To face what he'd called "necessary evil" for far too long.
---
He clenched his fists.
The blade-mark on his skin pulsed—warm, aching.
He approached the first mirror.
> Remi's scream.
He flinched.
> Her hand slipping from his.
He touched the glass—
And the pain bled through like venom.
---
Time twisted.
He saw her again, crumpled in the rubble.
Begging him not to leave.
He had.
And she had died.
---
Back in the corridor, he staggered.
One mirror down.
Dozens to go.
Each one a scar re-opened.
Each one, a truth he had refused to speak.
---
Some heroes wear crowns.
Others wear chains.
He wore memories.
And every one of them was heavy.
---
Hours passed—or days.
Time was a casualty here.
Eventually, he reached the final mirror.
It showed nothing.
Just darkness.
No face.
No image.
Only words etched in red:
> "This is the memory you never owned."
---
He touched it—
And fell.
Not through space.
Through self.
---
A white room.
A cradle.
A scream.
Not his.
His mother's.
Blood. Screams. Fire.
> "He's not human."
The first words spoken about him.
Before he had even opened his eyes.
---
He stumbled back from the mirror, gasping.
That wasn't memory.
It was origin.
---
He wasn't born into pain.
He was pain.
---
The mirrors cracked.
The shelves fell.
The faces disappeared.
Only he remained.
Kneeling.
Broken.
Awake.
---
A new symbol burned on his chest:
> A closed eye.
The mark of someone who has seen too much—
And still chooses to keep seeing.
---
Another door appeared.
Stone. Ancient. Sealed.
But the seal crumbled now.
Because the Tower had accepted something new:
He no longer ran from who he was.
He carried it.
And that made him dangerous.
---
> "Next: Chapter 12 — The Heart That Was Never Yours"
---