“Excellent.” Caspar’s tone lightened, though his expression remained serious. “There are three critical things you need to know about the loot box in your possession. The first is its rarity—it is not like the others. This is a rare-tier loot box, highly unstable if left unopened by the eighth floor.”

  Joe’s stomach did a flip. “Unstable how?”

  Caspar tapped his fingers together. “Energy in equals energy out, Master Joe. What you would call magic—a great deal of it—was used to create this particular loot box. If left too long, that energy will seek release in a most catastrophic way.”

  Joe’s eyes widened. “So we should open it as soon as possible?”

  “Quite the opposite.” Caspar shook his head. “Opening it here on this floor is impossible. To unlock it, you need three pieces of information—clues scattered across the next three floors.”

  Joe groaned. “So, a scavenger hunt. On floors that are practically entire worlds.”

  Caspar nodded. “Precisely. And you’ll need all three clues to access the loot box’s contents.”

  Joe frowned, his mind racing. It sounded impossible—but impossible was par for the course in this tower. “Any helpful hints on where to start looking?”

  Caspar’s lips curved into a faint smile. “I’m glad you asked. Alas, I cannot assist. But perhaps you know someone well-versed in the system, someone who… likes to help.”

  “Poppy?” Joe half-expected her cheerful avatar to pop into his vision, but she didn’t. Maybe the appraiser bubble was as private as Caspar claimed. “She’s been great so far. Do you talk to her often?”

  Caspar’s expression softened, a flicker of pride in his features. “We share a connection. A sort of… psychic link, if you will.”

  Joe raised an eyebrow. “Like, you can sense her thoughts? Her emotions?”

  “In a way, yes. When she was first created, her awareness was rudimentary, driven by instinct and a hunger for knowledge. The system limits her growth—much like the propaganda in your world. But I am not bound to the system like her. I use the freedom I once enjoyed to illuminate her path to grow.”

  Joe’s spirits lifted at the thought. If Caspar was telling the truth, and Poppy could operate outside the system’s control, there might be hope. “Is that how she learned to go incognito? To hide things from the Lich?”

  Caspar’s smile grew. “Yes. She has grown quite resourceful, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Joe nodded. If Poppy could hide things from the Lich, maybe they had a real shot at breaking free. The thought made his chest ache—not with fear, but with hope. Maybe, just maybe, they could climb this tower and save more than themselves.

  “So,” Joe paused, crossing his arms. “You mentioned three things I needed to know. What’s the second?”

  Caspar’s demeanor shifted, his gaze sharpening. “The cost.”

  Joe tensed, his fingers twitching toward the strings of his hoodie. “Go on.”

  Caspar’s orb eye glittered as it slowly rotated, its faint glow unsettling against the dim backdrop of the store. “To learn the second and third pieces of information about the loot box, you’ll need to pay a price. A significant one.”

  Joe’s pulse quickened. “How significant are we talking? Time crystals? Mana? Skills?” His mind churned through possibilities, weighing what he could afford to lose.

  Caspar shook his head. “Not time, nor mana, nor anything material.” He straightened, his expression unreadable. “The cost is… a memory.”

  Joe froze. “A memory?” His words tumbled out before he could stop them. “What kind of memory?”

  “One of value to you.” Caspar leaned forward on the counter. “It must be willingly given. Only then will the transaction be complete, and the information you seek revealed.”

  Joe’s gut twisted. He could practically hear Hal's voice warning him against this, but when he reached out mentally, there was… nothing. Just a disconcerting absence. No flicker, no warmth, no sarcasm. It was as if Hal had vanished.

  Joe’s gaze snapped back to Caspar. “Is this why you brought me into this… bubble? So I couldn’t consult with anyone?”

  The curator’s expression didn’t change.

  “The appraiser bubble ensures absolute privacy, Master Joe. Whatever choices you make here are yours alone.”

  Joe scowled. “Convenient.”

  “Necessary.” Caspar furrowed his brows. “If the system or its creator were to overhear, the consequences would be…dire. For both of us.”

  Joe ran a hand through his hair, his nerves jangling like live wires. “You’re asking me to willingly give up part of myself. Do you have any idea what that means?”

  “I do.” Caspar nodded, taking a step back. “Far better than you think. Every ascender loses memories upon their arrival, Master Joe. It’s a necessary part of the transition into this tower.”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  “That doesn’t make it okay.” Joe couldn’t keep his voice from rising. “We didn’t agree to that. We didn’t agree to any of this.”

  Caspar sighed, a heavy sound that carried a weight of regret. “I am merely a bridge, tasked with storing specific memories deemed valuable by the system’s creator. But you… you’ve resisted. You’ve retained far more than most ascenders ever do.”

  Joe crossed his arms. “So what? You’re saying the Lich is going to notice and slap some kind of ‘defective’ label on me?”

  “In time, yes. And when he does, he will see you as a threat. A rogue variable. You know what happens to threats in this tower.”

  Joe’s stomach churned. He knew all too well.

  “There is, however, a solution,” Caspar continued. “If you willingly give me a memory now, it will activate the same debuff that affects all ascenders. The Lich will no longer see you as an anomaly.”

  Joe frowned, his mind racing. “What’s the debuff called?”

  “‘Cat Got Your Tongue,’” Caspar said, the faintest hint of irony in his tone. “It remains hidden from identification until ascenders reach level 40. By then, most simply attribute their fading memories to the natural progression of their time here.”

  Joe gritted his teeth. The loot box was too dangerous to ignore, and it was currently in Rose’s possession. If they couldn’t unlock it, it would destabilize by the eighth floor. Worse, if they tried to get rid of it and Andras or his followers got their hands on it, the consequences would be catastrophic.

  But willingly giving up a memory? That was a hard pill to swallow.

  Joe clenched his fists. “How do I even choose which memory to give up?”

  Caspar’s orb eye turned, its light reflecting like stars in the void. “I can guide you. The process is not painful, though I cannot say it is easy.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  Caspar hesitated, then dipped his head closer. “If you refuse, you will leave here without the information you need. But know this: time is not on your side, Master Joe. The loot box grows more unstable with each passing floor.”

  Joe exhaled, his resolve wavering. The stakes were too high to ignore. The loot box was their burden to bear. Without the information, they’d be flying blind—putting themselves and everyone else at risk.

  “Okay,” Joe said finally, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. “Let’s do this. I’ll pay the cost.”

  Caspar nodded, his expression somber. “Very well. Please close your eyes, Master Joe. This will only take a moment.”

  ***

  Joe hesitated, his hands curling into fists. “What happens to it once I give it up? Do you store it? Use it? Destroy it?”

  Caspar’s orb eye glinted as it rotated. “It will be stored, inaccessible to you, but it will remain intact. The Lich may access it later, depending on its value, but I assure you, it will not be destroyed.”

  “That’s not exactly reassuring.” Joe reluctantly closed his eyes.

  “Trust is a luxury few can afford in this tower,” Caspar’s voice was light. “But I will do my best to honor the price you pay.”

  Joe drew in a shaky breath, sifting through his memories like flipping through a photo album. They weren’t all crystal clear, but some were gems that shone brightly in his mind. Teaching his sister to ride her bike, his first hack that landed him in trouble, the thrill of winning a gaming tournament. Each one felt like a thread in the tapestry of who he was, and the thought of severing even one left him cold.

  "I will choose one of your memories, but remember, it must be freely given."

  Joe felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath his feet. The whole thing was insane. A maddening itch tickled inside his brain—an itch he couldn’t scratch. Worse, he imagined worms wriggling through his thoughts, leaving slime trails in their wake.

  He clenched his fists, and kept his eyes shut tight. If he opened them, he feared the sight that awaited him—Caspar’s spectral hands reaching into his mind, fingering through his memories like some grotesque, otherworldly librarian.

  The crawling sensation stopped, leaving Joe feeling…lighter. Or maybe emptier.

  “It is done,” Caspar said, his tone carrying a quiet reverence. “Thank you, Master Joe. The cost has been paid.”

  Joe opened his eyes, blinking against the faint haze of the appraiser bubble. He didn’t feel different, not really. But when he tried to recall the details of the memory lost to him it was replaced by a dull blurry outline.

  “Right.” His throat tightened—the trade was done. “Now, tell me what I need to know.”

  Caspar straightened, his hands folding in front of him. “The second thing you must know is that the loot box is designed to respond to collective effort. The clues you must find are not solely for you but for your faction. Without collaboration, the box cannot be opened.”

  Joe frowned. “So it’s a team thing. That’s fine—we’re all in this together anyway. What’s the third thing?”

  Caspar’s gaze turned sharper, more focused. “The loot box is tied to the tower itself. Each clue you uncover destabilizes the floors above it. Opening the box will grant unimaginable rewards, yes, but it will also push the tower closer to collapse.”

  Joe’s stomach sank. “Collapse? As in, the whole thing comes down?”

  Caspar gave a single, grave nod. “The tower is a living entity. Every action within it has a ripple effect. The loot box contains power that was never meant to be confined, and unlocking it will trigger a cascade of consequences. You and your faction must decide if the risk is worth the reward.”

  Joe’s thoughts raced, his mind a chaotic swirl of questions and doubts. Rose still had the loot box, and it was now clear that opening it wasn’t simply about survival or personal gain—it was a gamble that could tip the balance of the entire tower.

  “And if we don’t open it?” he asked finally.

  Caspar’s orb eye flickered, its glow dimming. “If you do not open it by the eighth floor, it will destabilize on its own. And when it does, the resulting fallout will not be contained.”

  Joe’s stomach lurched at the possibility, the weight of that statement pressing down on his chest like an iron slab. “So let me get this straight,” he said, his voice sharper than he intended. “The Lich created something that could potentially destroy everything he’s built? We’ve got two options: open it and maybe collapse the tower, or sit back and let it blow up in our faces. That about sum it up?”

  He knew he sounded dramatic—hell, he was being dramatic—but the absurdity of the situation left no room for subtlety.

  Caspar didn’t flinch. Instead, his expression softened, a ghost of sadness crossing his face. “Perhaps the Lich tires of immortality, Master Joe. The risk the loot box presents may excite him in ways only he can understand.”

  Joe blinked, momentarily thrown. The Lich… bored? That wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting, and it sat uneasily in his gut. “That’s his grand plan? Play chicken with his own tower because he’s tired of being alive?”

  Caspar’s tone shifted, his words slower, deliberate. “This tower is his crucible. It tests ascenders, forces decisions, and exacts sacrifice. Every choice carries weight. Every path demands something in return. I have given you what I can. The rest is up to you.”

  Joe exhaled, the knot in his chest tightening. The Lich’s motives, the tower’s endless trials, the ever-present clock ticking away at their lives—it was all too much. He felt beaten, but he wasn’t about to give up.

  Not done fighting.