LEONA:
There was no ceiling. At least, not one I could see.
The platform lifted us into a blinding white void, soft and endless, where space bent and sound had a strange, muffled quality. I glanced around at the others. Olamilekan stood with fists clenched, shadows flickering behind his calm exterior. Joshua was unusually quiet, eyes scanning the void with sharp focus. Ibou… he looked like he was trying not to breathe too loudly. That said everything.
We had no idea what was on this floor, and that terrified me more than the monster we fought earlier.
Then, the light changed.
From white to gray.
From gray to pitch black.
And then—without warning—the world fractured.
Like a shattering mirror, reality around us splintered, and I fell.
Not physically. Mentally. Emotionally. I wasn't falling down—I was falling inward.
---
I was back at the school. Before the Daylight Reversal. Before everything. My classmates laughed as I stood in front of the classroom, eyes wide, hands trembling. I couldn't speak. I couldn't explain why I was different. Why fire listened to me.
They all looked at me like a freak.
Except... that never happened.
This memory—was wrong. Skewed.
I blinked.
My surroundings wavered like smoke.
Something's not right.
---
The walls melted into a battlefield. Screams. Blood. Fire dancing across the sky—my fire. I stood in the center, surrounded by charred corpses. My hands glowed red-hot.
I did this.
But I didn't.
The smell of burnt flesh clawed its way up my throat, and I gagged.
"Make it stop," I whispered. "Please."
And then a voice answered, not with comfort—but amusement.
"They are pieces of your truth."
The words echoed from everywhere and nowhere.
I screamed, blasting flame out in every direction. The illusion shattered—at least partially. I saw cracks forming in the darkness. A glimpse of reality—Ibou hunched over, fists to his temples. Joshua kneeling, whispering to himself. Olamilekan standing completely still, eyes wide, face pale. He was shaking.
We were all trapped in our minds.
No monsters. No beasts.
Just ourselves.
---
I focused.
The tower was playing with perception—preying on our deepest fears, regrets, and memories. This was not a fight of strength.
It was a fight of will.
I steadied my breath, closing my eyes.
None of this is real.
None of this is real.
None of this is real.
When I opened them, the burning battlefield had vanished. A dark, glassy plain stretched out before me—broken fragments of memory and illusion scattered like shards.
I ran.
Through whispers of my mother's disappointment.
Through my brother's tears when I left.
Through the moment I first killed someone in the line of duty.
And I didn't look back.
I found Joshua first. He was locked in a cage made of shadow, repeating the same name over and over: "Olamilekan… Olamilekan…"
I broke the bars with flame, and he snapped awake, gasping.
"I—was back home," he said shakily. "Back when Dad—"
"Later," I said firmly, pulling him to his feet. "We need to get Ibou and Ola."
We found Ibou curled into a ball, muttering in another language—something harsh and ancient, something that hurt to hear. Joshua touched his shoulder and whispered his name. Ibou jolted like he'd been electrocuted, then stood without a word.
He looked at both of us and said, "The tower doesn't attack the body. It attacks the mind. Smart."
"Too smart," I muttered.
We found Olamilekan last.
And what I saw…
His illusion was different.
It wasn't fire or shadows or blood.
It was gold. Glowing symbols circling him in the air, forming a constellation that pulsed with ancient, draconic power.
A massive winged shadow towered behind him—ten times his size. Its eyes were like suns.
The thing spoke, in a voice made of thunder and ash.
"You are not ready, hatchling. But you will be. The darkness in you is mine. Do not forget that."
Joshua reached toward Olamilekan—then stopped.
"He's dreaming of the dragon," Joshua whispered. "The same one… from Antarctica."
"Danakah," I said softly. I'd only read the briefings. But if this was him… it explained too much and not enough.
Olamilekan stirred.
The dragon vanished.
The gold symbols crumbled.
And he opened his eyes.
"I remember nothing," he said immediately. "Don't ask."
We didn't.
Ibou helped him up, his face unreadable.
And just like that, the floor dissolved.
The void gave way to stone beneath our feet again.
The elevator platform appeared, quiet as ever.
As we stepped onto it, no one spoke.
The Mindcage floor had shown us our truths—some half-forgotten, some terrifyingly new.
As we rose to Floor Four, I realized something chilling:
The tower wasn't testing our strength.
It was studying us.