The routine resumed like nothing had changed.

  First Bell. Wake, dress in grey, file to the refectory. Flavorless breakfast consumed in practiced silence. Second Bell. Training on Floor Six. Siphon Chambers, absorption drills, the same controlled vessels, the same clinical instructions.

  But everything had changed.

  I went through the motions with mechanical precision—place hands, open self, absorb, withdraw. The Taint flowed into me as easily as ever, that familiar warmth, the whispers just beneath comprehension. But now I listened differently. Searched for patterns in the noise. Meanings in the colors behind my eyelids.

  They’re feeding it.

  Aldric’s words from the vision haunted me. What did it mean? Feeding what? The Rot? The Taint itself? And why?

  Warden Thale watched me more carefully now. Made longer notes. Asked probing questions after each session.

  “Any unusual sensations, 2147?”

  “No, sir. Standard absorption.”

  “Clarity of thought afterward?”

  “Clear, sir.”

  “Dreams?”

  I hesitated. I’d been dreaming every night since the Rot—violet landscapes, voices calling names I didn’t recognize, a figure standing in light, watching, waiting.

  “No, sir. I sleep well.”

  He made a note. Didn’t believe me. But he moved on.

  Three days passed this way. Training. Meals. Evaluation. The knife stayed hidden against my calf, growing warmer each time I absorbed, as if slowly filling with captured Taint. I wondered how much it could hold. What would happen when it reached capacity.

  Tavin was declining.

  He’d been given a medical exemption from training—placed on “observation” in the Medical Wing. I only saw him at meals, where he sat apart, trembling hands wrapped around a cup of water he couldn’t drink without spilling. His disc glowed faintly green now, constantly. A warning light that never went out.

  The suppressant doses were increasing. I could tell by the way he moved—slower each day, more distant, his eyes focusing on things that weren’t there.

  “He’s fraying,” Caius muttered during one meal, loud enough for Tavin to hear. “They should decommission him before he becomes a liability.”

  Seren’s hand slammed down on the table, rattling trays. “Shut. Up.”

  Caius blinked, startled. Seren never raised her voice. Never showed emotion.

  But her eyes when she looked at Tavin held something fierce. Protective.

  “He’s still here,” she said quietly. “He’s still one of us.”

  Caius looked away, chastened.

  Tavin just stared at his water, his reflection distorted and wrong.

  On the fourth day after our return, during evening free time, I was in my cell when a soft knock came at my door.

  I opened it to find a Warden I didn’t recognize—young, junior, with the nervous energy of someone new to the job.

  “Hollow 2147. Correspondence.” He handed me a folded piece of parchment, sealed with red wax.

  My heart lurched. “From who?”

  “Delivery manifest says civilian post, Forge District, Valdrence.” He consulted a slip of paper. “Sender… Finn. No family name listed.”

  Uncle Finn.

  The Warden left. I closed the door, hands shaking as I broke the seal.

  The letter was short. Uncle Finn’s handwriting, usually neat, was rushed, jagged. Some words were smudged, as if he’d been writing quickly, or his hands had been unsteady.

  Kieran,

  I don’t know if this will reach you, or if they read everything before it does. I’m writing anyway. You need to know.

  Your father is gone.

  Three days ago, he didn’t come home from the forge. I went looking. The forge was locked from the inside. When I finally broke in, the place was… wrong. Tools scattered. The furnace still burning, but nothing in it. And on the anvil, burn marks in a pattern I didn’t understand. Like he’d been working on something, then stopped mid-strike.

  No blood. No signs of struggle. Just… absence.

  I reported it to the City Guard. They took a statement. Said they’d investigate. But Kieran—when I mentioned his name, mentioned he was your father, the guard’s expression changed. He left to “consult with superiors.” Came back an hour later and told me the investigation had been “escalated to Tower authority.”

  Tower authority, Kieran. The Wardens.

  They came the next day. Two of them, in grey robes. They searched the forge, top to bottom. Took some of his tools. His personal journals. The ore he’d been storing in the back room—that strange, iridescent metal he used for special commissions.

  They wouldn’t tell me anything. Just said it was “a matter of institutional security” and that I should “refrain from speculation or spreading concern.”

  I asked about you. If you’d been told. They said all correspondence would be handled through proper channels.

  I’m writing this anyway. Proper channels be damned.

  Lira doesn’t understand. She keeps asking when Father’s coming home. I’ve been telling her he’s on a commission, working late. I can’t keep lying to her much longer.

  If you know anything—if they’ve told you anything—please write back. Even if it’s just to say you’re alright.

  Be careful, Kieran. Whatever your father was working on, whatever he knew… I think that’s why they took him.

  Stay safe. Remember who you are.

  —Finn

  I read the letter three times, the words blurring as my hands shook.

  Your father is gone.

  Not missing. Not delayed. Gone.

  And the Wardens—they’d searched the forge. Taken his tools. His journals. The iridescent metal.

  The same metal as my knife.

  I thought of Korr’s words from four days ago: I will ensure your father remains unmolested. That he continues his work at the forge, unbothered by questions…

  A promise. Or a threat.

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  If you receive any letters from home mentioning your father’s absence… bring them to me immediately.

  He’d known. Before I did, Korr had known this was coming.

  I sat on my bed, the letter in my hands, and felt the walls of my cell pressing closer.

  I had a choice to make.

  Option 1: Obey. Take the letter to Korr immediately. Report as ordered. Trust that cooperation would keep me safe, keep Lira safe, maybe even help find Father.

  Option 2: Hide the letter. Investigate on my own. Break the rules, violate the direct order, risk everything.

  The smart choice was obvious.

  The right choice was harder.

  I stood, walked to my small desk, and pulled out parchment and ink. Started to write a response to Uncle Finn. Then stopped.

  If they were reading correspondence—and of course they were—anything I wrote would be intercepted. Analyzed. Used against me or Father or Finn.

  I crumpled the blank page.

  There was a third option.

  Find someone who knew more than I did. Someone who’d been in the Sanctum longer. Someone who might have answers.

  I thought of Garrett. The veteran Hollow who’d survived seven years. Who’d warned us: Don’t draw attention. Don’t absorb more than asked. And if the Taint ever starts making sense—decide who you trust first.

  I needed to decide who to trust.

  And I needed to do it now.

  The Common Room on Floor Eight was nearly empty at this hour—most Hollows were in their cells, sleeping or trying to. Only a few scattered figures sat in the shadowless space, staring at nothing.

  Garrett was in his usual spot, leaning against the inner wall, arms crossed, eyes half-closed. He looked like he was sleeping, but I’d learned that Garrett was always aware.

  I approached slowly. “1603?”

  His eyes opened—not startled, just… activating. Like a machine switching on.

  “2147. You look troubled.”

  I sat on the bench across from him, keeping my voice low. “I need to ask you something. About Hollows who… disappear.”

  His expression didn’t change, but something shifted behind his eyes. Wariness.

  “Disappear how?”

  “Not decommissioned. Not fraying. Just… gone. Taken, maybe.”

  Garrett was quiet for a long moment. Then: “You’re asking dangerous questions.”

  “I know.”

  “Why?”

  I made a decision. Pulled out the letter, unfolded it, and held it so he could see the key lines.

  Your father is gone. The Wardens came. Took his tools.

  Garrett read in silence. When he finished, he leaned back, exhaling slowly.

  “Your father’s the blacksmith. Gareth. The one who knew Aldric.”

  “You knew my grandfather?”

  “Knew of him. I was here when he… left. Or whatever the official story is.” Garrett glanced around the Common Room, checking for eavesdroppers. We were alone. “They say he went mad. Claimed the Taint was conscious. That we were all part of some larger system he’d figured out. Started trying to convince other Hollows. Caused disruptions.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Officially? He fled the Tower. Died in the wilderness, consumed by wild Taint.” Garrett’s voice was flat, reciting memorized text. “Unofficially… there are rumors. Stories the veterans whisper.”

  “What stories?”

  Garrett met my eyes. “That he didn’t flee. That he was taken. Deep into the Tower, to levels we’re not allowed to access. That he’s still there, somewhere below us, in the places the Wardens don’t talk about.”

  A chill crept down my spine. “You think my father—”

  “I think your father knew things he shouldn’t. Made things he shouldn’t.” Garrett nodded at my calf, where the knife was hidden. “That blade you used on 2146. I saw it. Recognized the work. Aldric made tools like that. The Wardens destroyed them all when he was… removed. But if Gareth learned from Aldric before the end…”

  “Then he’d know how to make them,” I finished.

  “And having that knowledge makes him dangerous.” Garrett stood. “Come with me. There’s something you should see.”

  He led me through the curved corridor to a section of Floor Eight I’d never explored—past the Common Room, past the dormitories, to where the outer ring met the inner wall. Here, the seamless ivory was broken by a single door.

  It was smaller than the forbidden doors I’d seen before. No handle, no hinges visible. Just a seam in the stone and a small bronze plaque: ARCHIVE - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

  “I shouldn’t be able to open this,” Garrett said. “But after seven years, you learn things. Watch patterns. Guards change shifts at the third bell. Wardens rotate floors. And some locks…” He pressed his hand against the door at a specific point. “…aren’t as secure as they think.”

  Something clicked. The door swung inward, revealing a narrow staircase descending into darkness.

  “This leads down?” I asked.

  “To Floor Three. The Archive. Where they keep records. Mission logs. Intake files.” He started down. “And information they don’t want us to see.”

  I followed him into the dark.

  The stairs were steep, the air growing colder with each step. No lights here—just the faint glow of Garrett’s disc, pulsing with a dull grey light that barely penetrated the shadows.

  We reached the bottom. A corridor, narrow and oppressive, lined with doors marked with numbers and cryptic labels. Garrett moved with the confidence of someone who’d been here before, stopping at a door marked: INTAKE RECORDS - 1015-1025.

  He pushed it open.

  Inside was a small room, walls lined with shelves holding leather-bound ledgers. Garrett pulled one down, flipped through pages, then handed it to me.

  “Class of 1024. Read.”

  I scanned the page. Names listed in neat columns, each with an intake number. Most had notations beside them: ACTIVE. DECOMMISSIONED. ELEVATED (though those were rare). FRAYED.

  Then I found it.

  Aldric. Intake #147.

  And beside his name, a notation in red ink: DETAINED - RESTRICTED ACCESS - SEE CASE FILE K-07.

  Not deceased. Not fled.

  Detained.

  “He’s still here,” I breathed.

  “Somewhere.” Garrett took the ledger back, returned it to its shelf. “The deep levels. The ones that don’t appear on any public map. That’s where they take the ones who know too much. Or who become too useful to discard but too dangerous to release.”

  He looked at me.

  “If your father knew what Aldric knew, made what Aldric made… they won’t kill him. They’ll use him. Extract every bit of knowledge, every technique, every secret. And then, when he’s empty…”

  “They’ll put him in a cage,” I whispered.

  “Or worse.”

  We stood in that dark, cold archive, surrounded by the records of hundreds of Hollows who’d passed through the Tower. How many of these names were lies? How many “deceased” were actually detained? How many “frayed” had just asked too many questions?

  “Why are you showing me this?” I asked.

  Garrett replaced the ledger carefully, making sure everything looked undisturbed. “Because you remind me of him. Aldric. The way you absorb. The way you don’t struggle. The way the Taint… responds to you.” He moved toward the door. “And because if you’re going to survive what’s coming, you need to know what this place really is.”

  “What is it?”

  He paused at the threshold, his disc casting long shadows on the wall.

  “A machine. Designed to extract, contain, and study the Taint. And we’re not the mechanics. We’re the filters. Expendable parts that get replaced when they wear out.”

  He started up the stairs. “Come on. We need to get back before the shift change.”

  We emerged onto Floor Eight without incident. Garrett sealed the Archive door behind us, the seam disappearing back into the seamless wall.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked.

  I thought of the letter, still in my cell. The order to bring it to Korr immediately. The promise that cooperation would keep my father safe.

  But Father was already gone. And cooperation had never kept anyone safe.

  “I’m going to find him,” I said.

  “How?”

  “I don’t know yet. But…” I touched the knife at my calf. “If he’s in the deep levels, if he’s detained like Aldric… there has to be a way down. A way in.”

  “The deep levels are sealed. Guarded. Even I don’t know how to access them.”

  “But someone does.” I looked at the forbidden door at the corridor’s end—the one that led to the Tower’s inner core. “The Wardens go down there. There must be a route.”

  Garrett studied my face. “You’re serious.”

  “My father is down there. Maybe my grandfather too. I’m not going to just… forget them. Accept it. Move on.”

  “You’ll be caught. Probably killed.”

  “Maybe.” I met his eyes. “But I have to try.”

  He was quiet for a long moment. Then: “Give me three days. I’ll ask around. Quietly. See if anyone knows about access points, guard rotations, anything useful.” He gripped my shoulder. “But Kieran—once you go down there, you can’t come back up. Not as who you were. You understand that?”

  I did.

  “Three days,” he said. “And for Taint’s sake, be careful.”

  He left me standing in the corridor, alone with my choice.

  I returned to my cell, pulled out the letter from Uncle Finn, and read it one more time.

  Be careful, Kieran. Whatever your father was working on, whatever he knew… I think that’s why they took him.

  I folded the letter carefully, tucked it inside the locket against my chest.

  Then I pulled out fresh parchment and began to write. Not to Uncle Finn—that would be intercepted. Not to Korr—that would be surrender.

  To Lira.

  Lira,

  I know you must be scared. I’m sorry I’m not there.

  Uncle Finn will take care of you. Trust him. Do what he says.

  I can’t explain everything in a letter. But I want you to know—Father didn’t abandon us. He didn’t choose to leave. Something happened, and I’m going to find out what.

  There’s a locket I wear. It was Grandfather’s, then Father’s, now mine. Inside is a message: “Remember.” I used to think it meant remember the past. Remember who we were.

  But I think it means something else. Remember the truth, even when they tell you to forget. Remember who you are, even when they try to take it away.

  I’m going to remember, Lira. And I’m going to come home.

  I promise.

  —Kieran

  I folded the letter, sealed it with wax from my candle, and addressed it to Lira in care of Uncle Finn.

  Tomorrow, I’d give it to the correspondence Warden. They’d read it, of course. But I’d written nothing incriminating. Just… a promise.

  A promise I intended to keep.

  I lay down, the knife cold against my leg, the locket warm against my chest, and stared at the ceiling.

  Three days.

  In three days, Garrett would have information. Or he wouldn’t.

  Either way, I was going down.

  Into the deep levels. Into the truth. Into whatever darkness the Tower had been built to hide.

  They were gone.

  And I was going to find them.

  Or join them.

  The Taint in my chest pulsed, warm and patient, as if it approved.

  As if it had been waiting for this choice all along.

  From the wall beside me, I heard Tavin’s voice, thin and wavering:

  “Kieran? Are you awake?”

  “Yeah.”

  A long pause. Then: “I’m scared.”

  “I know.”

  “Are we going to be okay?”

  I thought of the Archive. The detained. The frayed. The crossed-out names.

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “But I’m not giving up. And neither should you.”

  Silence. Then, so quietly I almost didn’t hear:

  “Okay.”

  The counting started again through the wall. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.

  Still holding on. Still human.

  I closed my eyes and let the hum of the Tower lull me toward sleep.

  Tomorrow, routine would resume.

  But in three days, everything would change.

  And this time, I wouldn’t be alone.