Lyralei Nightwhisper's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Lyralei left the glowing screen behind and started up the dark stairs. The steps rose in a tight spiral, worn smooth by feet she could not name. Strange marks covered the walls, carved deep into old stone. Green vines pushed through the cracks. Small lights glowed pink and purple in the seams, pulsing slow, like the tower was breathing. She kept her hand on the wall and climbed. The stairs did not end. She counted a hundred steps, then lost the count. Her legs should have burned. They did not. Instead, with each step she felt lighter, as if the tower took some weight from her and set it aside. Then she noticed her clothes. The pale red fabric of her bikini had begun to fall away, thread by thread, thinning into nothing. She stopped and looked down at herself. She should have felt bare and afraid. She did not. Her skin looked more solid now, more her own. The crossing had left her half-drawn. The climb was finishing the drawing. She understood. This was not just stone. This was the place where he made things, and it was making her too. Every step pulled her closer to being real, and closer to whatever waited above. She kept going, and her mind grew quiet and clear. Higher up, the light changed. A soft glow spilled down the stairs from somewhere she could not yet see. The carved marks on the walls shifted as she passed them. Letters she almost knew. Her own name, over and over, cut into the stone. He had written her into these very walls. The stairs ended at a doorway. Warm light poured through it. Lyralei stopped on the last step, her breath fast. Beyond the door she saw a small room. A window. A chair, empty. And on the far wall, another screen, larger than the first. On the screen, words moved. She read them. "She reached the top of the tower. She was almost real now. Almost ready to meet him." Her hands shook. He knew she was here. He was writing this moment as she lived it. She was not chasing him through empty rooms. He had watched every step. Below those words, one more line appeared, slow, letter by letter. "Wait here," it read. "I'm coming down to you." Lyralei pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart pounded under her palm. She was solid now, fully drawn, standing in his world in a room he had made. The author was not hidden above her anymore. He was on his way to her. She had wanted to find him. Now she knew the truth: he wanted to be found. He was coming. And she did not know his face, his voice, or what he would say when the door opened. She sat in the empty chair, folded her hands, and waited for the sound of his steps.