Joe stood beside Dawn, guarding the entrance to the chapel room. The air hung heavy, thick with sorrow, as TJ, Brian, and Rose formed a quiet circle around the Blanche Brigade. Their heads were bowed, their shadows long against the flickering candlelight.

  “I’m not leaving her.” The cold iron in Ryan’s voice masked the rawness of his grief, but the tremor in his hands betrayed him.

  Luna lay at the center of it all.

  The lily pad-shaped cushions cradled her small frame, her pale features softened by the dim glow of mana lamps placed around her. Her family—her newfound family—stood vigil.

  Joe’s chest tightened at the sight of Grizzle, his shoulders shaking with each quiet sob. Gaia stood stiff beside him and placed an awkward hand on his little shoulder.

  Faint static crackled before the familiar rasp and clacking of bones echoed through the room. “Time and mana tide wait for no ascender. Return to the common room, or I will be forced to make this sacred space...most uncomfortable for you.”

  Joe’s gaze drifted to the ancient squawk box perched near the chapel’s altar. The Lich seemed like a ghost haunting the room. Joe was thankful for the barrier the altar provided. Seeing the Lich’s cruel, bony face while mourning Luna would have been too much.

  Ryan didn’t flinch. “Go ahead, Lich.” He tilted his chin up, a quiet defiance in his stance. “Where I come from, our loved ones receive a proper burial only after we celebrate their life with close family and friends. You’ve taken so much from all of us for your own entertainment. If you won’t allow us this time, I will take it.”

  The air shifted, the mana around them growing cold and restless. Joe’s breath hitched as the calm sanctity of the space began to unravel. A low hum pulsed in his ears, like the living tower itself was reacting to the Lich’s displeasure.

  Dawn’s hand slipped into his, her fingers cold but steady. She gave it a gentle squeeze, grounding him. “I wanted so badly to be wrong about this.”

  Joe glanced at her, her face cast in the soft, flickering light. Her lips pressed together in a faint tremble, her eyes glistening. “But I knew.” Her voice quieted. “I just knew when you messaged and asked to meet here that something was terribly wrong. I think everyone did...”

  Joe looked away, his throat tightening. On his way back to the common room, he’d turned the words over and over in his mind, trying to find the right way to break the news. But every version felt wrong. Luna deserved more than the chaos of the common room, where curious onlookers would crowd her death like a gruesome spectacle.

  It was Hal who had suggested the chapel—the same place where Dawn had come to confront her god in a vision after taking that magic peyote. Joe had agreed without hesitation. It felt right, even as the Lich’s presence now threatened to dismantle the sanctuary they’d found there.

  Gaia stepped away from Grizzle, her movements stiff, her gaze flicking to Joe. Her brow furrowed, her hand briefly pressing against her chest as if trying to steady herself. She whispered something to Grizzle, then crossed the room to join Joe.

  “I don’t like this... this feeling.” She closed her eyes for a moment but quickly opened them again, shaking her head. “I tried shutting it out, but it’s everywhere. I wish it would go away.”

  Joe studied her, his stomach knotting. She looked lost in a way he hadn’t seen before. How many deaths had she witnessed as a goddess? Thousands? Millions? He didn’t know. But this...

  This was different.

  This was her first time experiencing a real death as a human, and it left a mark. A raw, aching wound that was written across her face, visible in her eyes. Luna’s death would stay with her forever.

  Joe reached out, his hand brushing her arm. She didn’t pull away, but her gaze remained fixed on the room, her expression heavy with the weight of something Joe couldn’t begin to put into words.

  Somehow, he knew they all felt it. Luna’s absence. Her finality. It was a wound none of them could ignore.

  Dawn released Joe’s hand and stepped forward, clasping hers together. Her head bowed, and her lips moved in silent prayer. The air in the chapel grew warmer, a subtle hum vibrating through the space like distant, unseen whispers.

  “I invoke Nerus’ blessing” She lifted her head, her eyes gleaming with a strange light. “To extend to all those who gather in this sanctuary to mourn the passing of our beloved Luna.”

  The temperature shifted again, the warmth intensifying as faint chittering echoed from the shadows, like the soft patter of countless unseen paws. A tingle ran down Joe’s spine, a mix of awe and unease at the ancient power being called forth.

  The squawk box crackled, and the Lich’s sneering voice sliced through the reverence. “Pathetic.” His bony fingers clacked together. “You worship a god of rats. Small-time. Insignificant.”

  Joe stiffened, sensing the tension crackling like static. But Dawn? She smiled.

  “Yes.” She smiled. “Nerus prides himself on being a god no one pays attention to. He’s practically invisible. I remember what that was like in my last life. The older I got, the more invisible I became.”

  She paused, letting the words hang in the air. The Lich said nothing, his silence an admission of unease.

  “But do you know what?” Dawn leaned toward the altar. “That invisibility became my superpower. I saw and heard things that would make your very phylacteries crack. All because no one noticed me. Imagine what an unnoticed god sees and hears, especially one with those big rat ears of his. No one is untouchable.”

  The silence from the Lich stretched uncomfortably long. Joe held his breath, glancing at Dawn. Was she bluffing? He couldn’t tell—but judging by the weight of her words, neither could the Lich.

  The squawk box sputtered to life again. “Your paladin class,” the Lich sneered, his voice regaining its cold edge, “was facilitated by the system I created. The changeling body you inhabit? I gave you that. All of you have a second chance because of me. Do not throw it away for this futile defiance. Your god is nothing but a scavenger, and you...a fool to follow him.”

  “Scavengers luck.” Dawn tilted her head. “Imagine who gave that to them. Imagine what an ability like that can uncover. You’re old and powerful, Lich. But tell me, are you older than the gods?”

  The Lich’s silence returned, longer and heavier this time. Joe’s pulse quickened.

  Dawn leaned back, folding her arms with a calmness that cut sharper than any blade. “You keep hiding behind screens and squawk boxes. You’re not untouchable, no matter how much you tell yourself otherwise.”

  The squawk box hissed, the Lich’s mocking laughter grating on everyone’s ears. “I do this for your protection, not mine.”

  “That’s not what Nerus told me.” Dawn’s words sliced through his laughter like a dagger.

  The room froze. Even Joe wasn’t sure if she was bluffing, but the tension in the air was palpable. The Lich’s silence lingered, crackling with unspoken uncertainty.

  “This is a waste of my time.” The screen clinked with a bony tap. “Poppy, remind our guests what happens if they do not leave this chapel now and prepare to enter the fifth floor.”

  Poppy’s avatar appeared in Joe’s vision, her cheerful demeanor cutting through the tension. “Ascenders must do their best! Kill-kill monsters, solve puzzles, earn time in Battleboxes. Go up, up!” Poppy beamed, waving while looking like she might explode into sparkles.

  The Lich sighed, clearly impatient. “Thank you, Poppy. Now—what is it?”

  Poppy hesitated, her tail twitching. “Rule also says blessings from gods protect chapel spaces. No override allowed!”

  The Lich’s voice sharpened. “I didn’t include that.”

  Poppy gave a small, nervous squish of her tail. “I did. Poppy must keep balance. Real death changes things. Faction members can decide what to do to honor ascender memory if they gather in tower chapel and have a god’s blessing.”

  “Undo it.” The Lich groaned.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “Quantum threads say no.” Gaia stepped forward. “I can see them protecting this place like a cocoon. If you try to undo the protection, you’ll destabilize your tower.”

  Joe’s interface pinged with a notification from Caspar. He ignored it for now, focusing on the rising tension.

  An icy wind swept across the room as the Lich spoke. “Rules bent or broken, one thing is absolute: I am your creator. Luna’s body belongs to me. This shell is not yours to keep.”

  A glass capsule materialized beside the altar, glowing with runes. Above it, a timer appeared, counting down with precision.

  “You have until the timer runs out.” The Lich’s hollow eyes flared indigo. “Place her body inside and leave.”

  Ryan stepped forward, his scaled hand trembling. “What will happen to her?” His voice was tight, but the emotion behind it was unmistakable.

  “None of your concern.” The Lich leaned closer to the screen.

  Ryan slammed his fist into his palm, the sound echoing through the chapel. “Tell me.”

  The Lich’s mocking laugh returned, grating and cruel. “The same thing that will happen to you if you continue this defiance. You cannot compel me, as you did my guardians, but it amuses me greatly to see you try. Now, I am rather busy. Until next time...”

  “Running and hiding again?” Dawn crossed her arms.

  “No. That’s what rat gods do. Did Nerus forget to tell you that? Right now, I am merely showing mercy. Do not mistake it for weakness. Defy me, and I will make an example of every one of you.”

  The mana lanterns flickered, the Lich’s presence dissipating like smoke. Only the hum of static remained from the squawk box.

  “Thanks, Poppy.” Dawn sighed. “You found a loophole.”

  Poppy puffed out her chest, tail flicking with pride. “It was always there. Lich forgot about it.” She released a triumphant squish of her tail.

  Nick placed a hand on the glass coffin, his fingers trembling as they rested on the cool surface. He stared down at Luna’s still form, his expression raw with grief. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Luna.”

  Joe swallowed hard, the weight of Nick’s words settling over him like a shroud.

  Nick leaned closer, brushing away a stray wisp of hair from Luna’s pale brow. His fingers lingered, and he closed his eyes, as if replaying a memory in his mind. “I didn’t want to live anymore,” he began, his voice thick with emotion. “I found myself here with 300 years in the bank, and I was…done. I felt sorry for myself, for how my life had turned out. Then Luna bumped into me—literally. She was chasing down a monster in the tutorial and bowled me over like a freight train.” He smiled, his eyes glistening as he focused on her body. “She had thirty years—thirty. And she still had more joy for living than I ever had in three centuries.”

  Nick’s breath hitched, but he kept going, his words tumbling out like a confession. “She didn’t tell me to ‘get over it’ or try to fix me. She just gave me a big hug, told me she understood why so many of us were scared, angry, or simply… lost. She said it made sense—we all died in infinite, terrible ways to end up here. But she reminded me that while we don’t get to choose our outcomes, we do get to choose our choices. And that maybe, just maybe, the small things we do matter more than we think. She helped me see that trying to find permanent happiness only leads to more misery. But living—living anyway? That’s the point.”

  A lump formed in Joe’s throat as Nick hung his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “She saved me.”

  One by one, others stepped forward to pay their respects, sharing their stories of how Luna had touched their lives in ways big and small. Each tale painted a vivid picture of her—a warrior, a friend, a light in the darkness of the tower.

  Gaia approached next. Joe had never seen her so vulnerable, so profoundly human. She knelt by the coffin and placed a trembling hand on Luna’s cheek, her other hand clutching her own chest as though trying to hold herself together. “You can have everything,” she paused, her voice breaking. “Absolute cosmic power… and still feel absolutely nothing. I’m glad I met you, Luna.”

  Joe’s interface pinged with a notification, piercing the solemnity of the moment.

  Caspar: I am still waiting. The system tells me you are alive and still on Floor 5. It is in your best interest to see me as soon as you can.

  Joe exhaled, reluctant to interrupt the moment.

  Joe: On my way.

  He turned to Dawn, his eyes filled with apology. “I’ve got to go. Caspar seems really eager to talk with me in person. I’ll meet you back in the common room.”

  Dawn reached out, giving his back a gentle pat. “We’ll be there.”

  Joe’s gaze flicked to the timer hovering above the coffin. It ticked down with cruel indifference. He approached Ryan, who stood vigil by Luna’s side, his scaled hand clenched into a trembling fist.

  Gently, Joe placed a comforting hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “May I?”

  Ryan hesitated, then gave a solemn nod, stepping aside to give Joe space.

  Joe bent down, his heart aching as he pressed a kiss to Luna’s forehead. Her skin was cool but not yet lifeless, as if some small spark of her lingered still. “This isn’t goodbye,” he whispered, holding back from the verge of tears. “See you in the stars, my friend.”

  Straightening, Joe turned and walked toward the door. He didn’t look back—couldn’t look back. If he did, he wasn’t sure he’d have the strength to leave.

  The chapel door closed behind him, but the weight of Luna’s absence followed him into the hall.

  ***

  Joe found himself back in front of Caspar, the journey there nothing more than a blur. If talking to the curator via the virtual store had been an option, he’d have gladly taken it to stay with his friends. But no matter how many times he tried, the same infuriating message popped up: Access Denied.

  Caspar adjusted his dicky bow, the crisp snap of fabric echoing in the quiet space. His ghostly brows knitted together as he regarded Joe, his orb eye glittering like it was stuffed with a galaxy of tiny stars. The other eye—human enough to unnerve—flickered with something unreadable. Was it pity? If anyone in the system knew about Luna, it would be him.

  “Master Joe,” Caspar began, his voice smooth and polite as he gestured a welcoming hand. “So glad to see you. Thank you for indulging me with this in-person visit, and a thousand apologies that this discussion could not take place through the convenience of our chat.”

  Joe drummed his fingers on the polished counter, the faint tap tap tap drawing Caspar’s attention. “Good to see you too, Caspar. Sorry for the delay.”

  “I won’t keep you long.” Caspar glanced around the empty room like he expected ghosts to fill the silence. “It’s the same every time—when ascenders reach the fifth floor, it gets rather lonely here.”

  The curator’s words hung in the air, and Joe found himself wondering if the pity in that flicker of an eye was meant for him—or for Caspar himself. The thought stuck, prickling at the edges of his mind.

  “Can’t you leave here?” Joe blurted, before realizing how blunt it sounded.

  Caspar leaned forward, resting his long-fingered hands on the counter. His head tilted, that orb eye catching the light. “I can leave,...but I choose not to.”

  “Why?” Joe couldn’t help but ask.

  Caspar smiled the kind of smile that carried the weight of a thousand untold stories.

  “Love.” Caspar dipped his gaze.

  Joe blinked, his brain stuttering over the single word. Love? For a moment, he stood there like a clueless NPC waiting for a quest prompt. He’d half-expected Caspar to dodge the question, but this? It threw him for a loop.

  “Love?” Joe repeated, finally finding his voice. Who did Caspar love? The guy never talked about anything except MadOrbz and the memories he curated from ascenders.

  Caspar leaned in further, the air around them thickening like they’d been sealed inside a bubble. Joe’s ears popped, a pressure shift he couldn’t ignore. Everything beyond Caspar’s voice seemed muffled.

  “I’ve seen your world’s memories.” Caspar’s gaze met Joe’s with an intensity he’d not seen from him before. “Heartfelt songs proclaiming that all you need is love. I wish I didn’t know all that I do—I wish it were true. But love is not enough. It amplifies what’s already there. In a good relationship, it makes things beautiful. In a bad one?” His voice grew quieter, tinged with something Joe couldn’t quite name. “It becomes your own personal hell.”

  Joe shifted under the tension. The conviction in Caspar’s voice was unmistakable, as though the curator spoke from painful experience. Whatever had happened to him, it wasn’t ancient history—it still lived in the lines etched on his face. Joe wanted to ask more, but the words caught in his throat.

  “I’m sorry…” It was all he could manage.

  Caspar straightened, the faintest shimmer of regret flickering across his ghostly features before vanishing. “It is I who should apologize again. I called you here for a reason.”

  The pressure in Joe’s ears intensified again, like stepping into a high-altitude cabin. Caspar noticed his reaction and offered a faint smile.

  “The sensation you’re feeling is an appraiser’s insight bubble that I created.” Caspar folded his hands. “It is undetectable by the system. Anything we discuss here is private.”

  Joe hesitated, studying Caspar’s expression. Could he trust this? Caspar claimed to have origins outside the system, but what was he, really? An NPC? A rogue cog in the machine? For now, Joe decided to play it safe and let the curator do the talking.

  “Okay.” Joe nodded. “You’ve got my attention.”

  “I can tell you’re skeptical.” Caspar raised a brow. “Good. You should be. Even though I am telling the truth.” He glanced at the MadOrbz display behind him, the glittering orbs casting prismatic reflections across the counter. “I denied all chat discussions about that loot box for a very good reason. All that glitters is not gold, but you already know that, Master Joe. The information I’m about to give you will cost you. There must be a record of a transaction, so as not to arouse suspicion.”

  “How many time crystals?” Joe leaned forward, ready to haggle.

  Caspar’s human eye twitched, and his voice turned softer, almost conspiratorial. “I did not say it would cost you your time.”

  The words hit Joe like a punch to the gut. Every instinct screamed trap. He tensed, his fingers brushing the hilt of his butterfly knife, though he kept the movement subtle.

  “What will it cost me, then?” Joe’s heart pounded in his chest.

  Caspar didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let the orb eye lazily rotate in its socket, its glittering gaze fixed somewhere beyond Joe, like it saw things Joe couldn’t even imagine. The silence dragged, and Joe’s unease grew.

  “Please hear me out before we dive into those specifics, Master Joe.” Caspar’s tone was polite, with a ring of sincerity that kept it from sounding like the opening line of a used car pitch.

  Still, Joe wasn’t about to let his guard down.

  He nodded, keeping his expression neutral, but his fingers itched with the urge to fidget—a habit he suppressed as he leaned casually against the counter, waiting for the curator to elaborate.