Awakener's Guide to Climbing the Tower

Multiple windows appeared in front of Misha, but she ignored every one of them. Rewards, notifications, status changes... whatever the Tower wanted to throw at her could wait until her head was clear enough to process it.

Olivia was the last person to cross into the Bell House.

She stepped beneath the black stone arch without hurrying, Twinfang still loose in Misha’s hands and amber light burning faintly through her eyes. Behind her, the final Husher had already lowered itself to its knees, hands clasped beneath its chin as though the violence of the last several minutes had never happened.

Inside, survivors collapsed wherever their legs finally gave out. Some leaned against the walls, others sank directly onto the stone floor, and the six people who had carried the funeral cart stood with shaking arms and bowed shoulders where the bier had rested only moments earlier.

"Shana!"

Carl pushed away from the woman and child he had helped and hurried toward her. He looked exhausted enough to fall over himself, nearly stumbling over his own feet in the process. He looked exhausted enough to fall over himself, but apparently that had not stopped him from deciding Misha required immediate inspection.

"Are you alright?" he asked when he reached her, looking up with worry pinching his brows together. His eyes moved from her cloak covering her body to the amber glow still burning faintly in her eyes, as though he could tell something was wrong without knowing exactly what.

Olivia looked down at him but did not answer immediately. Her expression was calm, too calm compared with the dangerous amusement she usually carried, and that alone made Misha’s nonexistent stomach tighten.

"Olivia, please give me my body back."

Misha followed beside her own body, even though the distance meant almost nothing while she was displaced.

"The Quest is over, nobody is attacking us, and I would really like to be inside myself again before you decide somebody here looks stab-worthy."

Olivia’s attention shifted past Carl, straight toward Dorian.

The Guildmaster stood several meters away beside the other Blackthorn members gathered near him. His breathing had not recovered yet, one hand rested against the wall while the others remained pressed over his ribs, but his eyes had already found Luka across the room.

He was alive. That fact seemed to have reached Dorian only after he entered the Bell House. Since then, his gaze had returned to the injured Blackthorn member several times, but he had not approached him yet.

Luka sat against the opposite wall with his damaged leg stretched in front of him while another survivor worked at loosening the blood-soaked bindings around it.

Hiiro crouched nearby, rubbing one shoulder and complaining loudly enough that anyone within ten meters could hear him.

"I swear he got heavier through," Hiiro said, rolling his shoulder with a pained grimace. "There’s no way Luka weighs that much normally. Trauma adds weight. That has to be a mechanic."

Luka leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. "I survived being abandoned to the dead only to be insulted by the boy who carried me away from them."

"You’re welcome."

"That was not gratitude."

"I’m choosing to hear gratitude."

Even across the room, Misha could tell Luka was too tired to argue properly with a human ball of energy.

Olivia barely seemed to hear them. Her eyes narrowed toward Dorian, and a distinct coldness entered her gaze.

The change was small. To anyone else, it might have looked like nothing more than fatigue settling in, but Misha had spent enough time watching Olivia.

"Olivia." Misha moved closer to her own body. "Please don’t stab anyone using my body."

Her lips curled faintly beneath the mask. "I had not intended to."

"Great." Misha folded her arms. "Because the way you’re looking at Dorian right now says otherwise."

"I am merely observing."

"Hm." She looked toward Dorian, then back toward Olivia. "That is somehow worse coming from you."

Carl continued staring up at her body, increasingly confused by the long silence. "Shana?"

Olivia finally looked down at him. "I am well."

His brows pulled together harder. "You don’t sound like Shana."

She raised one eyebrow. "Do I not?"

Carl stared at her for another moment, then stepped back half a pace. His expression became suspicious in the way only a child could manage, equal parts concern and accusation.

Misha immediately pointed at Olivia despite knowing the gesture could not be seen. "Do not mess with the kid."

Olivia ignored her completely. Her attention returned to Doiran, and this time, the man noticed it.

He pushed himself away from the wall and straightened. His exhaustion did not disappear, but his posture changed enough to show he understood that whatever was currently looking at him through Misha’s eyes was not merely exhausted.

For several seconds, neither of them spoke.

Then Olivia began walking toward him.

Misha followed immediately. "Oh, absolutely not."

Dorian watched her approach, and Misha caught the subtle way his hand moved closer to his weapon at his side. He did not draw it, but the instinct was there.

"Relax," Misha muttered, mostly to Olivia. "Nobody needs a guild massacre after surviving a funeral road, so please, just this once, listen to me."

Her body stopped a few paces from the man, the coldness in her gaze did not leave.

Dorian’s mouth pressed into a thin line. "Is there something you wish to say?"

Olivia studied him without answering at once. Her gaze moved over his face, then lowered toward the Blackthorn crest fastened to his cloak. It was the same emblem Luka still wore across his shoulder, a broken crown with thorns wrapped around it.

Something old and distant moved through Olivia’s eyes, then she smiled faintly, not kindly.

"A name can be inherited," she said, her gaze remained on the crest. "Worth cannot."

Dorian furrowed his brows. "What are you–"

Her hand caught the edge of his cloak where the Blackthorn insignia had been fastened. One sharp pull tore the stitch patch free with a dry rip of fabric.

Everyone nearby went silent.

Dorian stared at the piece of cloth in Misha’s hand, and was rather speechless at the moment.

Olivia lifted it between two fingers. "You are no thorn."

His face changed with shock coming first, then anger. "You–"

「 Capricorn Constellation Soul has relinquished control. 」

Misha barely had time to understand what Olivia had done. One second, she was weightless beside her body, the next, she was violently inside it again.

Pain returned all at once.Every overworked muscle screamed to the point her knees gave way before she could lock them. The world lurched sideways as her body pitched directly toward the person standing the closest, Dorian.

His reaction overrode his anger as both hands caught her beneath the arms before she could hit the floor.

Misha found herself half-collapsed against the chest of the man whose insignia Olivia had just ripped off, so her thoughts went blank for one glorious second... then horror arrived.

’Great! That damn woman really had to do something outrageous before returning my body!’

Misha could practically feel the questions forming from the man who caught her, so she made a decision... She went limp.

Dorian stiffened. "Gravekeeper?"

She let her head fall sideways against his shoulder. She even loosened her grip on the patch and prayed she was convincing enough to sell unconscious.

Footsteps approached quickly.

"Shana!"

Carl reached them first and immediately grabbed at Misha’s sleeve. His voice rose with panic when she did not respond, and guilt stabbed her hard enough that she nearly ruined the entire performance by opening her eyes.

Astrid arrived a moment later. She stood beside them, pressed two fingers against Misha’s neck, then looked toward Dorian without wasting time on unnecessary panic.

"Lower her slowly," she said.

Dorian had no choice but to do it, especially when all eyes were on them. He shifted his hold and crouched, carefully lowering Misha toward the floor while Carl hovered so close that Astrid had to lightly nudge him aside with one elbow.

Misha kept her eyes closed, partly because the entire situation was humiliating. Still, humiliation was better than trying to explain that the person standing here now was technically not the same one they had been talking to a minute ago.

That explanation would probably make them think she had some kind of personality problem, which, annoyingly enough, was not entirely far from the truth. Only instead of multiple personalities, she had multiple souls.

"Her breathing is regular," Astrid continued after watching her chest for several seconds. "She may have simply reached her limit."

"Simply?" Hiiro crossed his arms. "She got possessed twice, carried us, fought a corpse army, and then apparently fired the guildmaster from his own guild. I don’t think that’s simple."

Dorian’s head snapped toward him with a sharp gaze.

The boy lifted both hands. "I’m just saying what everyone saw. You got demoted, bro."

Another pair of footsteps approached.

"Oh, my poor darling."

"..." Misha was on the verge of waking up just so she could punch him.

She felt him kneel beside her before she saw anything. His voice had lost most of its usual playful lilt, and when his hand reached toward her shoulder, some part of Misha’s body reacted before she could stop it.

Her arm jerked, pushing him away.

"..."

’What the hell?’ She had not consciously chosen that.

Alaric stared at her hand, then at her masked face. Something flickered through his blue eyes. Not offense, not exactly. Then his usual crooked smile returned.

"Well," he murmured. "Even unconscious, she rejects me. Remarkable consistency."

Astrid looked at him. "She is not unconscious enough to tolerate you .

"That wound was entirely unnecessary."

Carl looked between them. "Can you stop talking and help her?"

Then something changed, the voices became quieter. The voices around Misha seemed to move several meters away despite feeling a small hand holding her arm.

She tried to open her eyes, and saw everything blurred.

Astrid’s red hair became a smear of color, Carl’s worried face doubled, then slid sideways as though the room had forgotten how depth worked. Slowly, everything dissolved into gray, then black.