Chapter 561: Tower II
The bridge stretched on, each glowing link trembling with the Tower’s growing voice. The aurora no longer drifted like light painted across glass—it pulsed in great, resonant waves, a tide of color bending toward the climbers as if acknowledging them.
Then came the first chord.
It was not a sound so much as a pressure, a weight of resonance that shook the woven path beneath their feet. The song of freed voices fractured, not silenced, but re-shaped—drawn upward into a single vast harmony.
Roselia staggered, stars flaring wildly around her. "It’s not just answering," she gasped. "It’s... weaving us into its song."
Naval grimaced, planting a fist into the bridge to steady himself. The light around his knuckles flared, chains of sound ringing out like drums against the Tower’s tide. "Feels like it’s trying to drag my bones out through my skin."
Milim, half laughing, half snarling, forced her flames higher, violet fire wreathing her frame. "Tch—don’t care if it wants to sing me into dust, I’m not letting it write my verse!"
Liliana cried out as threads burst uncontrolled from her hands, shooting upward into the aurora. The Tower seized them, pulled them taut, made her part of the vast web. Her knees buckled, but Leon caught her, chains lashing outward to anchor them both.
"Hold," he growled, his marrow flame burning raw and jagged. The Tower’s resonance struck him hardest, vibrating his very essence like glass on the verge of shattering. His chains thrummed as if pulled by unseen hands. Yet instead of recoiling, he clenched tighter, forcing his jagged rhythm against the Tower’s smooth, crushing harmony.
The bridge shook violently—light unraveling and reforming in great arcs. The aurora bent downward, spiraling into a vortex that framed a colossal silhouette. A shape of glass and flame, a vast figure crowned in shards of fractured light. No face. No body. Just the Tower given form, its voice resonating through every bone, star, thread, flame, and chain.
"YOU CLIMB."
The words were not spoken but carved into the marrow of those who heard them.
"YOU CHANGE. YOU DEMAND."
The figure’s vast hands spread, and the bridge rippled like a string plucked by a god.
"THEN SING. ANSWER US."
The aurora roared, its light crashing like waves. The bridge quaked, splintering into countless paths that braided and unbraided, each one glowing with different voices.
Leon’s marrow flame surged, jagged but unwavering, as he lifted his gaze to the Tower’s vast silhouette. His chains rattled, vibrating with defiance and resonance both.
"We already have," he said, voice cutting through the storm. "Now it’s your turn to listen."
The Tower’s form leaned closer, its endless resonance crashing against theirs like an ocean testing a single flame.
And the duel of voices began.
The bridge shattered into song.
Not falling apart, but fracturing into countless streams of light, each carrying a voice, a story, a memory. They wove into rivers of resonance that circled the Tower’s colossal silhouette, orbiting like planets caught in a star’s gravity.
Leon’s marrow flame flared ragged, clashing against the Tower’s vast harmony. Every pulse from him was sharp, uneven, like broken glass grinding into melody. The Tower pushed back with overwhelming smoothness, a chord so absolute it sought to drown every jagged note in its tide.
Roselia’s stars whirled around her, their light bending and bending again under the Tower’s pull. "It wants to erase the differences," she gasped, voice strained but steady. "To fold us all into one perfect chord." Her stars strained, flickering. "But that’s not harmony—that’s silence painted pretty."
Naval roared, slamming his fists into the trembling bridge. Each strike sent out ripples, drumbeats of defiance that broke against the Tower’s resonance. "Not a choir of slaves!" he bellowed. "We ain’t singing the same damn note!"
Milim’s fire burst upward in a pillar of violet, her laughter wild and raw. "You want my verse?!" she screamed. "Then choke on it!" Her flames twisted into sound, jagged crescendos that spat sparks into the Tower’s vast chord.
Liliana swayed, her threads stretched taut by the Tower’s pull. Each one hummed with stolen resonance, threatening to snap her apart. But her trembling voice rose anyway, weaving words through the cords that bound her. "You don’t get to take them. You don’t get to take us. We choose who we carry."
The Tower’s silhouette shifted, its voice deepening, cracking the bridge with every word:
"YOU ARE NOISE. YOU SCATTER. YOU FRACTURE. YOU BREAK."
The aurora thundered, crashing down like an ocean of glass, shards of light raining across the path.
Leon stepped forward. His marrow flame howled against the deluge, chains spreading outward like a broken net. Each link caught fragments of falling light, vibrating in wild dissonance. His voice cut jagged through the storm:
"Yes. We break. We scatter. We fracture." He raised his head, the marrow flame jagged but blazing brighter with every word. "And that’s why we’re real."
The chains sang, not smooth, but discordant, clashing against one another until they found a brutal, impossible rhythm. The freed voices of the aurora bent toward him, pulled not into uniformity but into resonance—different, clashing, alive.
The Tower reeled, its vast hands clenching, its silhouette rippling as its perfect chord faltered.
The duel of voices deepened—not one against one, but cacophony against absolution.
The Tower demanded silence made beautiful.
Leon and his allies gave it chaos made meaningful.
And the bridge itself began to blaze with their answer.
The bridge blazed like a constellation set on fire.
Each strand of woven light flared brighter, no longer trembling under the Tower’s chord but answering it. The voices of the freed dead, the fractured echoes, and the living defiance of Leon’s group collided, fusing into something rawer than harmony—resonance born of difference.
The Tower shuddered. Its colossal silhouette rippled, glass and flame flickering as though the perfect shape it wore could not bear the weight of contradiction. From its faceless crown came another bellow, thunderous and absolute:
"IF YOU WILL NOT BE MADE WHOLE—"
The aurora convulsed, colors collapsing inward until the sky was a single, blinding white. The bridge beneath them screamed, its glowing strands pulling taut as if ready to snap.
"—THEN BE ERASED."