TOWER OF THE EXILED GOD

Chapter 2: The Silent Floor

The staircase spiraled upward for what felt like hours, every step echoing in the vast silence. Kaelen’s breath fogged in the cold air, his bare feet slick with dried blood. 

The crimson runes burned faintly beneath his skin, a reminder of the deal he had made. 

The Exiled God’s voice had gone quiet after the battle, leaving Kaelen alone with his thoughts. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or uneasy about the silence. Whatever he’d bound himself to, it wasn’t done with him yet. 

At last, the staircase ended in a massive archway that opened onto a sprawling corridor—the second floor. 

Kaelen paused, scanning his surroundings. The chamber beyond was unlike the ruin below; this level looked like the remains of a once-grand cathedral, its towering pillars carved with intricate murals. 

Shafts of pale light filtered through cracks in the ceiling, illuminating motes of dust that floated like snow, so quiet.

Kaelen crouched, examining the floor. The cracked tiles were streaked with dried blood, and claw marks gouged the stone. Something had died here, many things. He tightened his grip on his dagger and moved carefully, staying close to the shadows. 

His body felt different now. Stronger. Faster. The exhaustion from his injuries was gone, replaced by a coiled energy that thrummed through his veins. 

But there was a weight behind it, a presence lurking at the edge of his mind. You’re welcome, the Exiled God’s voice murmured suddenly, silky and smug. Kaelen’s jaw tightened. “What are you?” he whispered. 

A prisoner like you, the voice replied. But unlike you, I remember when this tower was built. I remember the chains that bound me here. Mortals… they call me a god. Do you believe that, mortal? Do you believe in gods? 

Kaelen scanned the corridor for threats, his voice low. “I stopped believing the moment they betrayed me.” 

The god chuckled darkly. 

A faint sound caught Kaelen’s attention, a soft drip of water, echoing from somewhere deeper in the floor. He moved cautiously, slipping between fallen pillars and shattered pews. The cathedral stretched on endlessly, with no sign of other climbers. 

That was strange. The prisoners who had entered with him… had they all died below? He clenched his jaw, pushing the thought aside. Dwelling on it would only slow him down. 

The air grew colder the deeper he went. His breath formed mist, and the light grew dimmer. A distant hum reverberated through the walls, like the tower itself was alive. 

Kaelen paused at a wide doorway, peering into a vast chamber beyond. 

The room was circular, its ceiling domed and cracked. At the center stood a massive statue of a robed figure, faceless and looming. Around its base lay piles of bones, human, beast, and things Kaelen couldn’t identify. 

The god’s voice purred in his head, a shrine to one of them. 

“One of whom?” Kaelen murmured. 

The jailers, the god hissed. Those who built this prison. They called themselves gods and demanded worship from mortals. Look what remains of their glory. 

Kaelen studied the statue. Its head had been severed, the broken fragments lying at its feet. Whatever worship had been offered here was long gone.

Something glimmered among the bones. Kaelen knelt, brushing aside a cracked skull, and uncovered a relic: a dagger, its blade black as obsidian, etched with glowing red runes. 

The moment his fingers closed around the hilt, power thrummed through him. 

Ah, the god whispered, pleased. A relic forged with divine blood. That weapon was meant to kill gods. 

Kaelen turned the blade in his hand. It was perfectly balanced, unnaturally cold to the touch. A weapon like this could make the difference between life and death. 

The floor creaked behind him. 

Kaelen spun just as a shadow moved between the pillars. He slipped into cover, his grip tightening on the dagger. 

A figure emerged from the darkness. 

It wasn’t a beast. 

It was a man, or something close enough. He was tall, lean, and wrapped in a tattered cloak. His armor was mismatched, scavenged from fallen climbers, and his face was hidden behind a cracked porcelain mask. He carried a spear as long as Kaelen was tall, its tip glowing faintly with blue light. 

The man stopped, tilting his head. The mask’s hollow eye sockets seemed to study Kaelen. 

“You survived the first floor,” the stranger said, his voice low and rough, as if unused for years. “Impressive.” 

Kaelen didn’t lower his blade. “Who are you?” 

The man chuckled softly. “A ghost like you will soon be enough.” 

He moved with frightening speed. The spear darted forward, and Kaelen barely dodged, the blade grazing his shoulder. Sparks flew as Kaelen’s dagger clashed against the spear’s shaft. 

The man pressed forward, his strikes precise and relentless, forcing Kaelen back. 

Kaelen ducked under a swing and slashed upward, but the man twisted aside effortlessly. Whoever he was, he wasn’t just another climber; he was skilled, seasoned. 

The god’s voice murmured in Kaelen’s mind. “Kill him.” 

Kaelen ignored the voice, focusing on his opponent’s rhythm. The man’s style was efficient, but his attacks had a pattern, a slight pause before each thrust. Kaelen feinted left, then lunged right, driving his dagger toward the man’s ribs.

The stranger deflected the blow, but Kaelen’s strength caught him off guard. The dagger sliced across his side, leaving a shallow wound. The man hissed and leaped back, gripping his spear. 

“You’re not like the others,” he said. 

Kaelen wiped blood from his lip. “Neither are you.” 

The man tilted his head again, as if reassessing him. Then, to Kaelen’s surprise, he lowered his weapon. 

“You’re marked,” the man said, gesturing toward the glowing runes beneath Kaelen’s skin. “The tower chose you.” 

Kaelen frowned. “Choose me?” 

The man chuckled darkly. “Or cursed you, either way, you won’t die easily.” He turned and began walking toward the far side of the chamber. 

“Wait,” Kaelen called. “Who are you?” 

The man paused, glancing back over his shoulder. 

“They call me Varin,” he said. “Once, I was a captain in the emperor’s army. Now, I am a prisoner of this tower, same like you.” 

Kaelen’s grip tightened on his dagger. “Why attack me, then?” 

Varin’s laugh was low and bitter. “Because that’s what this place does to you. It makes you paranoid. Hungry. Desperate. I needed to see if you were worth sparing.” 

He stopped near a collapsed archway, resting his spear across his shoulders. “And you are.” Kaelen studied him warily. “What do you want?” 

Varin’s masked face turned toward him. “To survive, same as you. But I’ve been here far longer, and I’ve seen things you can’t imagine. The beasts are the least of your worries, boy. This tower… it watches us and tests us.” 

The god’s voice growled in Kaelen’s mind. He talks too much. 

Kaelen ignored it. “Then help me since you know this place.” 

Varin chuckled softly. “I might, but knowledge isn’t free.” He tapped his mask with one finger. “You want my help? Prove you can survive another day, meet me at the bridge on the fourth floor. If you make it that far, maybe I’ll tell you more.”

Before Kaelen could reply, Varin vanished into the shadows, moving with a predator’s grace. In seconds, he was gone. 

Kaelen stood alone in the shrine, the dagger’s runes glowing faintly in his hand. He didn’t trust the masked man, but he couldn’t ignore him either. Varin had survived here for years, longer than anyone Kaelen had heard of. 

The god’s laughter echoed in his skull. That one is dangerous, I like him. 

Kaelen glanced toward the staircase at the far end of the chamber. He had choices to make, but none of them involved stopping. 

He tightened his grip on the dagger and stepped forward. 

Somewhere in the darkness ahead, Varin was watching. 

And Kaelen intended to catch up.