Lucien stepped into Floor B94 and immediately knew something was wrong.
There were no walls. No sky. No floor.
Just endless glass.
It stretched in every direction, reflecting not just his face, but echoes of himself. Twisted. Weaker. Purer.
And then the system spoke.
[Welcome to Floor B94 — The Mirror of Choices.]
Here dwell the reflections of paths you never took.
Defeat them, or be replaced.
Lucien's eyes narrowed. "So. My regrets become my executioners. Clever."
Mirrors shattered with a sharp crack.
Four figures emerged.
Each wore his face. But none wore his soul.
The first stepped forward, wearing soft eyes and a kind mouth. He carried no weapon.
"I am Lucien who saved Cassandra."
Lucien said nothing.
The second slinked into view, hunched and pale.
"I am Lucien who ran. Who chose life over pride."
The third walked like a king.
"I am Lucien the Savior. The one who embraced belief, led the desperate, and built a church of lies so beautiful they believed it true."
Lucien smirked. "Ah. The charismatic coward."
The fourth said nothing. He simply stared with dead eyes. A reflection too close to the real.
Before they clashed, something pulled at Lucien.
A memory.
A room.
Not from the Tower. From Before.
FLASHBACK: BEFORE THE TOWER
The sky outside was on fire. The world, collapsing.
Lucien, ten years old, knelt beside his mother's corpse.
Not crying. Learning.
He had trusted once. She had begged for help. The guards came. Promised safety.
Then slit her throat.
And left Lucien to clean the blood.
Later, they told him:
"You have a good face. Honest. People believe you. You can be useful."
He became a symbol. The Savior Child.
They dressed him in white and fed him lines to recite. And when he tried to speak truth—they whipped it out of him.
So he learned:
Truth is not sacred. It's a currency.
And lies? Lies are survival.
Back in the Mirror Realm, the battle began.
The kind Lucien hesitated. The runner begged. The Savior preached.
Only the dead-eyed one attacked.
Lucien fought with precision. Not fury. Not panic. But certainty.
One by one, the other selves fell. Because they had hearts.
Lucien had none left to spare.
But as he struck the final blow into the Savior's heart, he heard him whisper:
"You were not meant to win. You were meant to doubt."
And then, the glass cracked again.
MEANWHILE: FLOOR B90 — CALEN'S DOMAIN
Naia sat in a trance beside the Library's ash.
In her hand: a glowing shard of memory.
She had found it where Calen had vanished.
When she touched it, pain lanced through her skull. Then—his voice.
"Naia?"
She gasped.
Calen stood in a mirror-world. Armor of light and sorrow. Eyes older than before.
"You're alive," she whispered.
"In a way. The Tower made me into something else. But it left a part of me... human."
"I need to stop him."
"So do I."
"Then let's do it together."
Their minds linked.
For the first time, Lucien had opposition both above... and below.
Lucien stood alone.
The mirrors had faded. Only one reflection remained.
His own.
No lies. No edits. Just a man who chose power over people. Manipulation over mercy.
And yet—the system chimed.
[Floor B94 Cleared.]
New Trait: Sovereign of the Unchosen.
You may now access suppressed timelines for manipulation.
Lucien smiled faintly.
But something in him whispered:
They remember.
They're coming.
And for the first time in a long time...
Lucien felt something close to fear.