The door opened like the others. No sound, just a space that hadn't been there before. We stepped through.
The air felt colder right away, dry. It scratched the inside of my throat, not in a dangerous way, just empty. Hollow in a way that made me think of rooms without people. Rooms that were built and left behind.
The floor was flat stone. The ceiling hung low enough to feel like it might press down if we stayed too long. The walls curved around us in a wide circle, making the space feel both open and small. There was no door on the other side. No windows, no cracks. Just soft white lighting from above, like the tower itself was watching without showing anything.
The door behind us closed, slow and final, with the kind of soundless pressure that made your chest tighten a little.
Chains didn't flinch. I didn't either.
We stood in place for a minute. Waiting. Listening. The room was still, not dead like some of the others, just blank. Like it hadn't decided what it wanted to be yet.
There was a pipe in the corner, rusted, sticking a little out of the wall. Water dripped from it every few seconds. Slow and steady. The sound echoed slightly, just enough to remind us we weren't deaf.
Chains walked the room once, dragging her hand along the curved stone. She tapped gently in some spots, pressed harder in others, but didn't say anything. I stayed near the pipe, crouched beside it, catching a few drops in my palm. It was cold. Tasted like metal. But drinkable. Barely.
Chains sat down across from me, letting her back press into the wall like she didn't want to stand again anytime soon. She stretched her legs out and sighed through her nose. "I hate this floor already."
I didn't answer.
There wasn't much to say.
We waited. Minutes passed. Then more. The light didn't change. The walls didn't move. The air stayed the same, thin and dry and strange. I started breathing through my mouth just to feel something different.
After a while, I gave her half the vine scraps we'd cooked on Floor Five. They were hard and bitter now. I chewed mine slowly, feeling every fiber scrape against my teeth.
Chains took hers without speaking. She chewed slower than I did.
We drank from the pipe every so often. Just a little. Just enough.
Time passed.
Nothing happened.
No monsters, no puzzles, no traps. No messages.
Just the two of us in a room that didn't care we were there.
It could've been hours or days. I lost track. But eventually, something changed.
Letters.
Carved into the stone floor between us. I didn't see them appear, but they weren't there before. They weren't scratched in or etched messy. They were clean and perfect, like something invisible had carved them with care while we weren't looking.
Ten days. No shortcuts.
Chains read it, then gave a dry, humorless laugh. "Ten days? They want us to sit here for ten days?"
She looked up at the ceiling, eyes half-lidded. "How are we supposed to do that with nothing?"
I didn't answer. Just kept sipping water.
That night, or what felt like night, we took turns pretending to sleep. I closed my eyes for a while but never really left the room in my head. Chains tossed and turned, her arm twitching in short, sharp movements. She muttered things I couldn't understand. Names, maybe. Or just noise.
I stopped counting the drips from the pipe.
On the second day, the hunger started. Not sharp. Just slow and patient, curling around my stomach like a knot tied too tight. My hands felt colder. My thoughts took longer to form. Chains didn't talk. She lay still most of the time, her breathing deep and steady like she was forcing herself to stay calm.
We sipped water in silence. Measured, careful.
The third day came. My legs felt hollow, like the muscles had unspooled inside them. I could walk if I had to, but I didn't want to. My shoulder still hurt from the stab wound, but it felt far away now, like it belonged to someone else. Pain faded slower than hunger, but it still faded.
Chains stood up once to stretch. Then sat right back down. "My legs don't work," she said softly, barely audible. She didn't talk again for hours.
Later, I thought I saw something on the wall. A door, maybe. Just for a second. Then it was gone. The wall was just stone again. I didn't say anything.
On the fourth day, my fingers started to go numb. I flexed them in turns, just to make sure they still moved. Chains sat with her back against the wall, her eyes open but unfocused. Her lips were cracked. Dry skin flaked from the corners of her mouth. One of the burns on her arm had started peeling, long raw strips curling off her skin like paper. She didn't touch it.
Once, she said something soft and broken. I looked up. She didn't even seem to know she'd spoken.
That night, we ate the last of the vine scraps. Barely food. But it helped. Just enough.
The fifth day was worse.
My hands trembled sometimes. My head felt clogged, like my thoughts had to wade through mud to reach me.
Chains kept staring at the far corner of the room.
I tried not to look at it. But she wouldn't stop. Her eyes were locked on it like something was moving there.
"What is it?" I asked.
No answer. Not right away.
Then, quietly, "It's watching us."
I looked.
There was nothing there.
Just stone.
But I didn't say that.
"Who?" I asked.
She didn't answer.
She curled up tighter, pulling her knees to her chest, arms wrapped around herself like armor that didn't work. Her breathing picked up. Not panicked, just fast.
She didn't sleep that night.
Neither did I.
We still had five more days to go.
Time wasn't real anymore. Not in here.
We stopped counting the hours. The room never changed. The light stayed the same, soft and sterile, casting no shadows. Just that same curved wall, that same rusted pipe, dripping water like a metronome no one was listening to.
Chains sat still with her arms locked around her knees. She hadn't spoken since the fifth day. Not really. Just muttered things or cursed when the pain surged. Her face was gray now. Her lips cracked wider when she opened her mouth. The burn on her arm oozed slightly. She didn't flinch.
I stayed close enough to hear her breathing. That was all I focused on sometimes. The slow in and out. Like an anchor in a place where everything else stopped mattering.
My legs barely held me up anymore. I could still move, still sip water, still breathe. But everything I did cost something. I felt like a cracked cup being emptied, slow and quiet.
I had one vine scrap left. Just one. I'd hidden it when she wasn't looking. Wrapped it in cloth and tucked it away.
I held it in my hand now, too tired to unfold it.
Then Chains spoke.
Not a curse. Not a mutter. Just a quiet line, slow and real.
"I don't think I'm supposed to be anyone."
I blinked.
She didn't look at me. Just stared across the room at the pipe.
"When I woke up. On Floor Zero. I didn't feel like a person. Not a blank slate. Just nothing. Like if I didn't stand up, I'd disappear."
I didn't know what to say. My tongue felt heavy.
"I keep thinking, maybe the tower didn't do this to me. Maybe this is just what I was already."
She hugged her knees tighter. Her voice cracked.
"What if I was already no one?"
My chest ached. Not from hunger. Just from hearing her say it like that.
I took a breath. Careful. Slow.
"I don't think I was anything either."
She looked at me. Her eyes were dull, but clear. Focused.
"I don't remember being strong. Or brave. Or useful. Sometimes I think I'm just following. And if I stop, everything will break."
Chains snorted. A dry, broken sound. "You're the reason we're not dead."
I looked down. "I don't feel like that."
We sat in silence.
Then I pulled the vine scrap from my sleeve.
Her eyes widened. "You saved that?"
I nodded. "Didn't want to eat it unless I had to."
She licked her lips. "We both need it."
I broke it in half. Gave her the larger piece.
She took it with shaking hands and ate slowly.
It wasn't enough. But it was something.
Something warm in our stomachs. Something real.
We didn't speak after that.
Somewhere in that silence, she leaned her head on my shoulder.
I let her.
My body twitched sometimes. Tiny, involuntary spasms I couldn't stop. She had them too.
"I was going to give up," she whispered.
I turned to her.
"Yesterday. Or the day before. If the wall didn't open soon, I was going to lie down and stop."
"You didn't."
"Only because you kept sitting up."
I didn't answer.
I just leaned my head against hers.
And we stayed like that.
Together.
Eventually, the message on the floor faded.
The wall opened.
Just like that.
Clean. Quiet. Like the room was bored with us.
Chains didn't move right away. Neither did I.
When we finally stood, our legs almost gave out. We had to lean on each other just to walk.
We didn't cheer.
Didn't speak.
We just stepped through.
Because that's what came next.
And we were still alive.
Starved,
Hurt,
Weak,
Alive.