We didn't talk after leaving the chamber.
Chains limped, her burns still red and raw. I walked beside her, not touching, just matching her pace. The stairs kept going up, no doors, no sounds, just that same quiet breath from the tower pulling us higher.
Eventually, the stone gave way to something else. A tunnel. Wide. Damp. The smell hit first—wet dirt, old bark, and thick moss.
We stepped into the light.
It wasn't real sunlight, I knew that, but it felt close enough, warm and gold, streaming through leaves above. Trees stretched from the ground to the ceiling, pale and twisted. Roots covered the walls. The tower stone was buried beneath it all.
The air was heavy. It clung to my skin, made it hard to breathe.
Chains raised a hand to block the glare. "You seeing this?"
I nodded, but didn't answer. My eyes were on the treeline.
The space was wide, more open than before, but still wrong. Trees too even, too still. Boulders sat between them like they were left there on purpose. It felt like a fake forest built by something that had never seen one.
We moved slowly, brushing aside vines, stepping over roots. Insects hummed. Leaves rustled, even without wind. I saw movement once. Shadows behind a trunk. Then nothing.
"Almost feels like outside," Chains muttered.
We reached a clearing. Trees pulled back. Light poured down from above, golden and soft. At first, I thought it was the sky.
It wasn't.
Chains stopped. I stepped up beside her.
Above us, the ceiling was stone, same as every floor. The light came from glowing rocks, vines hanging around them like curtains. The sun was fake.
Chains swore. I just stared.
"They even faked the sun," she muttered.
She stepped forward, scanning the clearing.
Then I heard something.
A crunch, light but sharp, behind us.
I moved toward a nearby boulder, crouched low. Something felt off.
"Watch out!" Chains shouted.
Too late.
Something small and fast rushed at me. I turned, but it was already there. The knife sank into my shoulder like it belonged there. I gasped, fell backward. Pain hit fast, sharp and cold. My hand flew to the wound. Blood spilled between my fingers.
Chains tackled it off me.
I curled up, trying not to scream, pressing my palm into the wound as hard as I could.
Chains dropped beside me, tore a strip of her pants, shoved it against the cut. "Hold that. Tight."
I nodded, barely.
She stood.
The thing was back on its feet.
Gray skin. Long ears. Small but fast. Its eyes looked like wet glass. The knife was still in its hand, dripping red.
My red.
Chains didn't wait. She ran.
She drew back her fist like she was about to punch as hard as she could, but then her boot slammed into its chest. It flew back, hit a rock, wheezed.
It moved again.
Chains kicked it.
Again.
And again.
I watched as the shape of its body started to change. The way it bent. The way the blood sprayed. The crunch of bone. My stomach turned.
Oh my god.
She didn't stop.
The sound of it breaking filled the air. I couldn't look away.
Then, finally, it was still.
Chains stood there, breathing hard, blood on her boot.
She turned back to me.
I was still holding my shoulder. Still shaking.
She dropped beside me again.
"This place," she said, voice tight and low, "is really starting to piss me off."