“Are you finally going to talk?”

  Several minutes had passed since Myrddin began trailing the peculiar stranger through the oppressive gloom of Stage 10’s feather-forest.

  The man walked with an oddly carefree bounce, causing the wide brim of his oversized hat to sway rhythmically.

  For reasons Myr couldn’t quite articulate, the sight set his teeth on edge.

  He was usually patient—proudly so. Yet something about this stranger’s overly casual demeanor and theatrical gestures threatened to erode his composure entirely.

  “How about introducing yourself first, my friend?” The stranger’s voice was bright and lilting, tossed casually over one shoulder, further irritating Myr.

  He exhaled slowly. “Fine. Myrddin—but just call me Myr.”

  “Myr it is, then! Now—”

  Without warning, the stranger leapt into the air, twisting gracefully mid-spin before landing dramatically in a low crouch.

  An instant later, he sprang upright, the oversized hat nearly tumbling from his head as he whirled to face Myr directly.

  Myr flinched instinctively, taken aback by the bizarre display. “What the—?”

  With exaggerated flair, the stranger puffed out his chest and placed a thumb theatrically against his sternum, as though issuing a royal proclamation.

  “My name is Sage. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  Myr forced himself to take a calming breath, regaining some measure of his composure.

  “Alright then… _Sage._ You clearly know more about this entire ordeal than I do.”

  “Indeed, I do!” Sage chirped enthusiastically, spinning once more and resuming his buoyant stride.

  Together, they ventured deeper into the unsettling expanse of forest.

  The thick canopy of oversized black feathers rustled quietly overhead, casting fragmented beams of dim light onto the dusty earth beneath their feet.

  “This charming place is Stage 10—as you’ve probably gathered,” Sage explained cheerfully. “But more specifically, it’s known as the Nest of Silent Wings. Rather ominous, isn’t it?”

  He paused dramatically, savoring the moment before continuing.

  “Legend says this stage once housed an ancient flock of giant, sentient birds. Their wings made no sound, created no breeze—just carried the silent weight of forgotten knowledge. They neither sang nor cried out. Instead, they whispered directly into your mind…but only if they deemed you worthy.”

  Myr shot a skeptical glance at one of the oversized feathers nearby, twitching eerily despite the lack of any obvious breeze.

  “That sounds made up.”

  Sage turned his head sharply, giving Myr a playful but pointed grin. “Oh, my friend, I assure you—my intel is far from a fairy tale. I happen to be a proud and dedicated member of the Lower Stages Information Guild.”

  “The what?” Myr asked skeptically. “Does something like that actually exist?”

  “Of course,” Sage replied with a flamboyant sweep of his arms, as though unveiling some grand, hidden masterpiece.

  “Based primarily out of Stage 9, the Guild’s purpose—and livelihood—is information. Anything worth knowing about the lower stages is ours to uncover. If there’s a secret hidden down here, we’ll sniff it out!”

  Myr let out a noncommittal grunt.

  He’d never heard of this “Information Guild” during his isolated life in Stage 6, though admittedly his home was notoriously secluded—cut off even from basic contact with other stages.

  Just as Myr began mulling over the implications, Sage abruptly spun around again in another extravagant, unsettling twist.

  Startled, Myr instinctively stepped back as Sage’s gaze snapped onto him with intense curiosity.

  Up close, Sage was slightly shorter than Myr and looked young—perhaps in his early twenties.

  But his near-childish enthusiasm made it difficult to pinpoint his exact age—or sanity, for that matter.

  Myr couldn’t help but wonder if the dramatic behavior was genuine, or simply an elaborate act.

  Either way, something about Sage’s bright, unsettling smile left Myr distinctly uneasy.

  “Aha!” Sage suddenly exclaimed, pointing dramatically toward Myr’s tunic.

  His eyes sparked with genuine delight. “Long, black tunic—buttons down the front, intricate patterns woven subtly into the fabric, and a rather distinguished high collar.”

  Myr glanced downward, momentarily puzzled by the sudden, intense scrutiny.

  “Though I must admit, that violet pattern is new to me,” Sage continued, tracing imaginary shapes in the air. “Three wavy lines on the right side, hm? Almost like miniature rivers flowing... or gentle waves lapping against shorelines.”

  Myr’s gaze lingered on the delicate embroidery, stitched meticulously in fine violet thread.

  It was a small emblem, one he had seen often on the clothing he'd inherited—garments whose origins had always been uncertain.

  He’d always assumed it was a family crest, though no family remained to confirm or deny its significance.

  Sage’s eyes narrowed slightly, a knowing smile playing across his lips. “Still, I’ll trust my hunch—you’re from Stage 6, aren’t you?”

  Myr’s posture stiffened instantly. “How did you—?”

  Sage’s smile widened triumphantly.

  “Well, aside from your reaction practically screaming confirmation… it’s rather elementary. Clothing styles vary distinctly from stage to stage. Different materials, unique cuts, regional markings—if you have a trained eye, pinpointing origins becomes a simple game of deduction.”

  Before Myr could fully process the implications, Sage leaned in abruptly, tilting his head to inspect Myr’s face at an uncomfortable closeness.

  Myr instinctively drew back, the sudden invasion of personal space making his skin prickle.

  “And those eyes…” Sage murmured thoughtfully, his voice quieter now as he studied Myr carefully. “Hazelnut, flecked with a striking orange sheen. Not exactly common, are they?”

  A ripple of unease stirred within Myr’s chest.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He cleared his throat, forcing his features back into a neutral mask. “Let’s just keep moving,” he urged curtly, trying to deflect the discomfort.

  “But... I’ll admit your Guild’s insight is impressive. Identifying someone’s stage simply from their clothes isn’t trivial.”

  Despite his outward calm, Myr’s mind buzzed uneasily.

  Stage 6 was isolated, notoriously closed off from external information and trade.

  This man knows far more than he should.

  Yet Myr could see no benefit in openly challenging Sage’s expertise—not now, anyway.

  For better or worse, Sage’s broad knowledge might prove useful in the Tower’s unpredictable depths.

  Sage accepted the acknowledgment with an oddly graceful nod, as though savoring some unseen applause.

  Then, without warning, he dropped fluidly to the dusty ground, legs folded beneath him as if settling onto a luxurious cushion.

  Myr blinked in confusion. “What are you doing?”

  “Sitting,” Sage responded breezily, patting the hard-packed dirt as though it were a comfortable seat.

  “Need I remind you? I nearly became lunch for a giant feather earlier. You can’t expect me to shrug that off immediately. A little empathy would be appreciated.”

  Myr pressed his lips into a tight line but said nothing.

  With a quiet sigh, he lowered himself to sit nearby, muscles aching and stiffening in protest.

  The lingering terror of being trapped beneath one of those monstrous feathers still sent chills down his spine.

  After a short pause, Myr spoke cautiously. “So these feathers… they really devour people?”

  “Oh yes,” Sage said matter-of-factly.

  He stretched leisurely, interlacing his fingers and pushing his palms skyward.

  “Dark Feathers suffocate their prey first, then secrete a particularly nasty toxin designed to dissolve flesh. Bones, organs—everything is absorbed. Quite efficient, really.”

  A queasy wave rolled through Myr’s stomach at the vivid imagery. He cast a wary glance upward, uneasily eyeing the enormous feathers rustling ominously in the gloom above.

  What in the Tower is Stage 10…?

  “But hold on,” Myr said after gathering his thoughts. “I wandered around this forest for hours without knowing. How is it you’re still alive?”

  Sage smiled ruefully, shrugging with playful nonchalance.

  “Simple. I knew to dodge them when I landed. Anything falling from above is fair game for them, after all.”

  He chuckled, a self-deprecating glint in his eye.

  “Unfortunately, knowing something doesn’t always protect you from your own curiosity. Let’s just say I _may_ have been experimenting with one of these Dark Feathers, got a bit careless, and ended up trapped before I could reach my trusted partner.”

  “Your partner?”

  “My weapon, of course,” Sage clarified cheerfully, rolling his eyes as if the answer were entirely obvious.

  With a casual flourish, Sage reached up and removed his oversized, fluffy hat, revealing a neatly bound bun of blond hair beneath.

  Yet what truly captured Myr’s attention was the strange, translucent sheet perched oddly atop Sage’s head.

  Myr watched, confused and curious, as Sage gently took the thin, plastic-like material into his hands.

  Raising it to his lips, he blew softly across its surface—and to Myr’s astonishment, the material inflated like a delicate balloon, quickly taking the shape of a small, rectangular box.

  Sage flipped open the newly formed lid, revealing two neatly wrapped pieces of fresh bread inside.

  With a genial grin, Sage extended one toward Myr. "Hungry?"

  Myr eyed the offering warily, suspicion flickering in his hazelnut eyes. "It’s not poisoned, is it?"

  Sage chuckled, shaking his head in exaggerated exasperation. "If it were, would I really tell you?"

  A brief silence settled between them, taut with Myr’s guarded hesitation.

  Yet hunger soon outpaced caution, gnawing relentlessly at the edges of his resolve.

  Slowly, Myr took one of the bread packets—but deliberately waited until Sage took a confident bite of his own before cautiously unwrapping it.

  "No need to be quite this paranoid, you know," Sage remarked between hearty mouthfuls, cheeks puffed from the food.

  "Perhaps not," Myr conceded reluctantly, still scrutinizing the bread in his hand.

  "But you’re using strange items I’ve never seen before, in a stage I know almost nothing about. Given this strange trial we’re in, caution seems... smart."

  He stopped just short of openly accusing Sage of malicious intent.

  For all the stranger’s flamboyant theatrics, Myr had a nagging sense that Sage was not the type to kill without reason—or perhaps at all.

  Taking his first cautious bite, Myr nearly sighed aloud in relief.

  The bread was fresh, far tastier than the stale scraps that usually passed for food in Stage 6.

  After endless hours of tense wandering, this small reprieve was surprisingly welcome.

  "So," Myr said after swallowing, "I assume you don’t actually know what the Monarch meant by ‘testing our potential’? That information is likely only held by higher stages."

  "You assume correctly," Sage replied, dusting crumbs off his lap with a carefree flick of his wrist.

  "Everything at this point is mere speculation. Lower-stagers being abruptly summoned, promised the chance to join Houses? Completely unprecedented. Rumor in Stage 9 is that even the middle stages are experiencing something similar. My theory? The Monarch might be searching for an heir—a worthy successor. Perhaps he’s decided to let the Tower itself identify the most deserving candidate."

  Myr absorbed the information quietly.

  Politics within the Tower, the Houses—he felt no strong attachment to any of it.

  Yet, a faint spark flickered within him.

  He’d never had anything substantial to strive toward in Stage 6, but now—even if this was all some elaborate gamble—he found himself drawn forward by something resembling purpose.

  "That said," Sage continued, tossing the remaining crumbs aside casually, "I’m certain the Houses are observing us somehow. Those illusions and the tech in the arena? Far beyond anything you’d see in the lower stages."

  Myr thought back to the coliseum, recalling vividly the shifting displays, the eerie announcement of names, the feeling of countless unseen eyes watching. "Then you believe they're watching us even now?"

  Sage gave a short, humorless laugh. "Would that really surprise you? Is it any different from how things always are inside the Tower?"

  He allowed the rhetorical question to linger briefly in the air before shrugging, dismissing its significance.

  "In any case," Sage said, lowering his voice with conspiratorial enthusiasm, "I’m also quite certain this stage is crawling with Flawed Bloods. Which is precisely why you're fortunate you stumbled across me—and why I’m equally fortunate you did."

  Myr finished the last bite of bread, brushing crumbs from his fingertips. "Flawed Bloods?"

  "Most people know them as Mutants."

  Recognition dawned in Myr’s gaze. "Ah, Mutants. I’ve heard that name."

  "They show up in every stage," Sage continued knowingly. "At least, according to all accounts I've gathered. If memory serves me, Stage 6 is divided into two regions, isn't it? Licht, and—"

  "Finster," Myr quietly confirmed. "That's correct."

  His voice lowered instinctively, an uneasy shadow crossing his features at the mere mention of that cursed, dark region.

  Myr had grown up fearing these so-called Mutants—predators twisted by hunger and madness, creatures said to devour anything that dared to move, sometimes even each other.

  He'd always considered himself lucky to live in Licht, where Mutant sightings were rare enough to become mere stories whispered by firelight.

  So they're not just confined to Finster. They're everywhere in the Tower.

  Before Myr could dwell too deeply, a sudden, bloodcurdling scream shattered the eerie silence.

  Both men jolted upright, instincts taking over as their hands reached instantly for their weapons.

  Sage's gaze darted toward the sound, wary but curious. "Should we help whoever that was?"

  Myr shot him a skeptical look. "Why would I?"

  Sage raised his eyebrows slightly, feigning surprise. "You saved me, didn't you? I thought you might have a heroic streak."

  "Not even close," Myr said bluntly. "I helped because you were helpless, and it was convenient. But if that scream reached us, then it wasn't the Feathers. Whatever caused this is hunting. Loudly."

  "Still," Sage pressed gently, "we should at least take a look."

  "And why, exactly?"

  A faint smile ghosted Sage's lips.

  "Because if we spend the trial hiding, do you really think the Houses would offer us any kind of reward? They're watching to see how we handle ourselves—without Blessed Blood, without a Thorn, without special powers. Running toward the danger may be exactly the kind of action they expect."

  Myr hesitated, grudgingly acknowledging Sage’s logic.

  If the Houses truly were observing—and by now, he had little doubt—they likely weren't rewarding caution.

  Besides perhaps the stories exaggerated these Mutants.

  "Fine," Myr relented finally, eyes narrowed as he scanned the shadowy depths of the forest.

  "Better to face whatever's out there head-on than wait to be ambushed. Let's just hope that scream belonged to a human, not something else."

  Sage nodded approvingly, but his expression turned serious. "You know about the Food Chain, don't you?"

  Myr shrugged uneasily. "Only that if you see a bigger Mutant, you'd better run faster. That's all the wisdom Stage 6 offered."

  Sage chuckled dryly. "Close enough. Officially, they're Flawed Bloods—but 'Mutants' stuck because, well, look at them. The bottom of their hierarchy is the Strain. Believe me when I say even a single Strain can rip through a hundred normal people if it's desperate enough."

  "And yet, you still want to chase after whatever made someone scream?"

  "Curiosity is a powerful motivator," Sage replied, the levity now absent from his voice.

  Behind his casual facade, a tension simmered, revealing that Sage knew exactly how dangerous their decision was.

  Perhaps he believed they could handle a single Strain—or at the very least, survive long enough to flee.

  "Fine. You lead, I'll follow."

  "Gladly," Sage said, his voice now tight with sobriety. "But listen closely: if we see anything even a hair stronger than a Strain, we run. No noble heroics. Just pure, unapologetic escape."

  A shiver traced down Myr's spine. Sage's newfound seriousness made the oppressive darkness around them feel even deeper, the towering black feathers above even more suffocating.

  He nodded again, slower this time. "Understood."

  Taking a steadying breath, Sage gently patted the expandable case at his side. "Then let's get moving."