The stars above Veritas dimmed as Kairo ascended.
Step by step, the stone stairs gave way to obsidian chains suspended in the void. Floating platforms twisted around a central monolith — an anvil the size of a mountain, glowing red-hot with cursed runes.
At its base… a forge.
And from the forge… a heartbeat.
Not his.
Hers.
---
> Clang.
Clang.
Clang.
Each strike echoed like a drumbeat in hell.
Kairo landed on the lowest platform. A ripple passed through the air — the scent of burning metal and blood thick around him.
This place wasn't a battleground.
It was a womb.
And something inside was still being born.
---
He moved toward the forge.
Chains swayed above, some still glowing, some shattered.
Then he saw her.
---
She stood with her back to him — tall, muscular, wrapped in layers of blackened smithing leather. Her arms were bare, etched with molten scars that pulsed with light at each hammer strike.
Her hair was tied in a braid of barbed wire.
Her forge was alive.
Flames breathed.
Anvils whispered.
The runes above rearranged themselves with every heartbeat.
And she was singing.
A deep, guttural hum — a melody that did not belong in this realm.
---
Kairo spoke:
> "You're the next Trial."
She didn't turn.
> "Trial?"
> "No. I'm the choice."
---
> Clang.
She struck again — this time, the sparks formed names in the air:
Soraya. Elira. Kairo.
They evaporated.
She sighed.
> "All of you climb and scream and cry, but none of you forge."
> "You wear your curses like chains."
> "I made mine a crown."
---
She finally turned.
And she was beautiful.
Not in a delicate way — but in the way a sword is beautiful, or a storm that knows your name.
Her eyes were molten silver.
Her chest heaved with heat.
A forge-goddess carved in fury.
But her mouth?
Curved in the faintest smile.
> "I'm called Varra."
> "The Curse-Smith."
---
Kairo narrowed his eyes. "You're not from the Maw?"
Varra chuckled.
> "No."
> "The Maw takes souls."
> "I built my curse from mine."
She raised her hammer — glowing with runes.
> "And I offer you this:"
> "One weapon."
> "Forged from a memory you sacrifice."
> "You pick the memory. I shape it into steel."
> "But you will never get it back."
---
Kairo hesitated.
"Why?"
Varra looked at him.
And for a moment — the forge fell quiet.
> "Because climbing isn't enough," she said.
"You have to shed the man who entered this tower."
> "Forge a new one."
> "Or die as someone unfinished."
---
She stepped toward him.
Close.
Heat radiated from her body like a furnace alive.
> "You're not afraid of pain, Kairo."
> "But are you afraid of losing what kept you human?"
The forge groaned.
Not with heat, but hunger.
Kairo stood before Varra — the Curse-Smith — as molten sigils danced around them. The anvil pulsed with rhythm. Each beat was a question.
What will you sacrifice?
Varra offered him an open palm.
> "I need blood," she said.
"But more than that… I need a memory."
> "One you swore you'd never give away."
---
Kairo's mind blurred.
Images surfaced.
His mother's face before the first disaster.
The way Meika looked at him after he first killed.
Elira's voice — the last "I'll wait for you."
Each memory stabbed.
Each one a tether.
But only one could be melted.
---
Varra watched, calm. Her hammer floated beside her, rotating slowly, pulsing with light. The forge behind her roared.
> "You don't just lose the memory," she warned.
"You lose what it gave you."
> "Choose carefully."
---
Kairo clenched his fists.
Then whispered:
> "Take the memory of her smile… the last time I saw her alive."
The room fell silent.
Varra blinked — genuinely surprised.
> "Not her name. Not her death."
> "Her smile?"
He nodded.
> "Because that's the only part I still believe in."
> "And believing… is making me weak."
---
Varra exhaled — a sound like a furnace sighing.
> "As you wish."
---
She reached forward — and touched Kairo's forehead.
The moment she did, he felt a scream inside his soul.
Not pain.
Emptiness.
The forge blazed.
A swirl of gold, ash, and crimson twisted from Kairo's body — condensing into her hands.
A small orb. Glowing, fragile.
The memory.
Varra turned, wordless, and slammed it onto the anvil.
---
> CLANG.
CLANG.
CLANG.
Each strike pulled pieces of it outward.
The memory unfurled — a visual now — projected in air.
---
Kairo watched.
He saw her.
Elira.
Laughing at something he said. The sun behind her. The wind through her hair.
The color of her eyes.
And then—
> It faded.
First the laugh.
Then the mouth.
Then the warmth.
---
Varra kept hammering.
The memory twisted into metal.
But not ordinary steel.
This was emotive alloy — shaped from grief, guilt, and love.
It pulsed with violet-black light.
When she was done, she plunged the blade into a basin of molten sorrow — a silver liquid that screamed.
And then…
She lifted it.
---
> "This is your weapon," Varra said softly.
"It has no name."
> "Because you no longer remember who gave you the strength to name it."
She handed it to him.
It was light.
Too light.
Kairo held it… and realized the sigil on his hand had closed a loop.
Another ring.
Third tier.
Bound Blade: Sorrowcut.
> [Passive Effect]: Weapon adapts to emotional state.
[Hidden]: Unlocks deeper with genuine loss.
---
Kairo staggered slightly.
He felt… hollow.
Not weak. Not sad.
Just less.
---
> "It hurts," he said quietly.
Varra nodded.
> "It should."
> "You gave up something pure."
> "And that's the only way to make something unbreakable."
---
She turned back to her forge.
Kairo lingered.
> "Why do you stay here?"
Varra paused.
> "Because I lost everything I cared about."
> "So I built a place where pain could be useful."
> "And until I find a reason to stop forging…"
> "I'll stay."
---
Kairo nodded once.
The gateway behind him opened — a floating circle of blades and sparks.
Varra looked at him one last time.
> "Climb carefully, Cursed Ranker."
> "Every curse you wear was once a choice someone made."
The wind changed the moment Kairo stepped through the forge gate.
No warmth.
Only silence — thin, brittle, like glass right before it breaks.
He was high up now. No tower, no stairs. Just floating rings of metal suspended over a sea of black clouds. Lightning cracked below, but it didn't flash — it glowed, like veins opening across the sky.
The platform he stood on was narrow, surrounded by mirrored spires. Not reflecting his body — but his intentions. As he moved, the reflections twitched, shimmering with shapes he didn't recognize.
In his hand was the blade Varra forged — the weapon born from a memory he no longer possessed. It felt… wrong. Balanced, yes. Responsive. But wrong. Not like it belonged to him.
The blade pulsed gently, adjusting to his grip. It was pitch black, but the edge shimmered faintly with ghostlight — a hint of silver-gold that rippled like breath caught in a lie.
Then the wind shifted again.
And something landed behind him.
Not loud.
Just… present.
He turned slowly.
What stood before him looked human — but only at a glance.
Tall, lean, armored in plates of tarnished brass and bone. No face beneath the helm, only void. In its hand: a weapon similar to Kairo's, but jagged, cracked — and humming with echo.
The air tasted like ozone and memory.
The creature cocked its head. The voice, when it came, was inside Kairo's mind — but layered. Like two versions of himself speaking at once.
"I am the Echo of Who You Could Become."
It raised its blade.
"Let's see if you're still worth being."
Kairo didn't hesitate. He charged, swinging with full momentum. The blade sang through the air — and the moment it clashed with the echo's weapon, something strange happened.
The entire battlefield froze.
But Kairo didn't stop moving. His body kept flowing through the motion, but the world flickered — colors fading, sound draining.
And then the blade pulsed.
A scene burst into Kairo's vision — not memory, but possibility.
He stood on a throne of bones. Blood on his hands. Elira nowhere. Meika, dead. The forge broken. The Maw bowing to him.
He blinked — and the scene vanished.
The battle resumed.
Steel clashed again.
And again, it pulsed.
This time, a vision of him walking away from the climb. Living a quiet life in a village no longer burned by war. Alone. Unhaunted. Weaker. But at peace.
Each strike of the blade wasn't just a weapon.
It was a future.
And each future wanted something from him.
The echo struck back, fast — slicing through Kairo's shoulder. The pain was sharp, real. He grunted and rolled back, skidding across the metal platform, blade still in hand.
The cursed sigil on his hand flared.
Not in agony — in confusion.
Even it didn't understand this weapon.
Kairo panted. "What… is this sword?"
The echo didn't answer. It walked forward slowly.
"It's what you sacrificed," the voice echoed again. "And it wants you to replace what you lost."
Lightning cracked again.
The world stuttered.
Another clash.
Another vision.
This time, Meika stood in chains, begging Kairo not to leave her. He turned away in the vision. His own voice said: "I already forgot what love feels like. You're safer without me."
He nearly dropped the blade.
But the echo was relentless.
Each movement was perfect — not brutal, but elegant, cold, practiced.
It wasn't trying to kill him.
It was trying to be him better.
"You sacrificed your last human tether," the voice intoned. "That makes you dangerous. But also… incomplete."
Kairo grit his teeth, stood again, and reversed his grip.
The blade pulsed stronger now, responding to his resolve, not just his will.
It wasn't a sword forged from memory.
It was a mirror.
The weapon didn't cut his enemies.
It cut the futures he chose not to walk.
And each time it struck, it sealed a path away forever.
He lunged again. Fast, vicious, aiming low.
Steel screamed.
Another vision erupted — this one bright.
Kairo, older. A girl running toward him. Calling him "Dad."
Her eyes were familiar.
She reached him, held out a drawing.
The sword screamed in his hands — wanting to erase the image, seal it away.
He hesitated.
And the echo struck again.
This time, it buried the blade into Kairo's gut.
He gasped, falling to one knee.
Blood spilled — slow, not fatal, but enough to sap clarity.
"You can't wield a weapon like this without knowing what kind of man you want to become," the echo whispered.
Kairo coughed. "Then I'll decide."
He grabbed the blade — still glowing — and stood.
His voice steadied.
"I'm not going to be the one who forgets."
"I'll be the one who remembers everything… and still climbs."
And with one final charge — he moved.
The blade pulsed.
This time, no vision came.
Just silence.
And in that silence… clarity.
He drove the weapon into the echo's chest.
The faceless figure shuddered — then nodded.
"Well chosen," it said quietly.
And vanished.
The world fell still.
The sigil on Kairo's hand expanded — a new ring forming.
Third Tier Unlocked: Truth-Wielder
Perk Gained: Futures Severed
> Weapon unlocks additional effects based on choices resisted.
Emotional burden grows with each vision struck down.
If burden reaches threshold: weapon breaks — and shatters memory permanently.
Kairo stood alone, trembling slightly.
The sword hummed faintly in his palm.
He had power.
But at a cost he couldn't yet measure.
And at the edge of the floating platform… another door opened.
Dark stone. Carved with a sigil he didn't recognize — not of a curse, but of a contract.
Below it, etched in fire:
"All debts must be paid."
Kairo didn't hesitate.
He walked forward.