Before the twelve non-mages stood an eldritch monument that struck fear deep into their cores. A fear so thick it seemed almost tangible, forcing them all to step back, survival instincts urging retreat.
But the cave denied them such initiative. A rumbling roar echoed, sealing what they had assumed to be a way out. In a moment this critical, even Ezabel—lost until now in her self-centred fantasies—snapped back to reality. For what greater wakeup call is there than the icy crawl of death across one's skin?
"The entrance is blocked! What does this mean!? Are we going to die here!?" Ezabel cried, trembling.
"Sis… I'm scared!" Eliakim admitted, clutching his twin.
"Coward! You're the man! You're supposed to reassure me, not whimper!" Eliane shot back, tears gathering in her eyes.
Sigrid, who had helped Victoria walk, gripped her companion tightly, sharing the fear that ran through them all.
Unlike those who openly confessed their unease, the rest of the group-maintained composure, though sweat glistened on their faces.
True to form, Haltor proved himself a born leader.
"Pull yourselves together! Cast aside your fears!" Haltor bellowed, his voice firm and commanding. "We agreed to advance despite the warnings of these ruins. I know some of you are frightened—but remember, this is the consequence of our own choice to advance."
"How are we supposed to calm down!?" Ezabel exclaimed through tears. "The statues back then moved… and even spoke. How can we be sure these hideous faces over there won't do the same? And if they do, what then?"
"For someone who kept her mouth shut all this while until everything was resolved, you have the nerve to speak now! Do you want to die or something!?" Levor snapped, glaring at her.
The intimidation worked; Ezabel fell silent. Victoria, a few feet away, allowed herself a faint, dismayed smile. It was absurd to watch Levor scold Ezabel for not contributing when he himself had done nothing.
Leir, meanwhile, wasted no time. "We cannot dwell on what we cannot control. I do not know about the rest of you, but I refuse to stay here any longer."
"I feel the same," Taro Maro said. "You, and the young lady overcame the first hurdle—I believe you two can do it again."
Leir nodded, a small reassurance, though his mind was far from settled. The cave's architecture puzzled him. How could such a tower exist underground? They had not dug deeply into the earth… and yet here it stood.
As he wrestled with these questions, Mathurin broke the silence with another inquiry.
"You mentioned you worked as a mage's apprentice… are these circles something you're familiar with?" he asked.
"Of course. These are magic circles, imbued with mana. But the inscriptions and formulas are beyond my knowledge. I will need more time to examine them fully. Young lady, can you read what is written?" Leir asked Victoria.
"Unfortunately, no," Victoria replied. "But there is no need to attack their meanings directly. The tower itself might be linked to them. We should scout the place first and record anything that might help decipher these formulas."
"Very well. First, it is a shame we do not know each other's names. From this point on, clear communication will be essential—we must work together. Last names are unnecessary; first names will suffice. I am Leir."
One by one, the remaining non-mages gave their names. Levor and Victoria did so reluctantly, for different reasons: Levor, due to his obsessive lack of cooperation; Victoria, from a deliberate desire to remain unnoticed.
"Good!" Leir exclaimed. "All women shall remain here to watch for any movement or shifts in the statues. Sharpen your vigilance—alert us if anything unusual occurs. The men will circle the tower to gather information. Any objections?"
"No!" came the unanimous reply.
Ezabel exhaled in profound relief. She had already counted herself out the moment Victoria mentioned scouting. More than that, the fact that Leir's strategy spared her from venturing around the tower only fuelled the secret, romantic fantasies she had been weaving in her heart.
With that decided, the women—Victoria, Sigrid, June, Ezabel, and Eliane—remained behind, while the men moved to scout. Leir, Mathurin, and Taro Maro took the right flank; Haltor, Levor, Manir, and Eliakim took the left.
The frontal doorways came into view, though the interior remained shrouded in darkness too dense to penetrate. As they advanced, the men noticed that, unlike the statues they had encountered before, these all assumed identical poses, with not a hint of distinction.
They stood upright, clad in flowing chitons, halos hovering above their heads. Wings were absent, sparing the illusion of angels. Their faces were expressionless, hands folded in Anjali mudra, arms draped with beads, and bare feet grounded to the stone.
Leir walked among them in meditative silence, studying every detail. Mathurin and Taro Maro, despite pretending to search for meaning, anxiously awaited his assessment.
Levor, however, struggled to restrain his impatience. As the group circled the statues, he approached one of the doorways and reached forward to push through—a manoeuvre even Eliakim considered reckless.
"Sir, you shouldn't do that!" Eliakim warned, attempting to dissuade him.
"What are you doing? Giving me orders!? Interrupt me again, and I will kill you, damn brat!" Levor snapped, his tone menacing enough to silence Eliakim, who wisely refrained from provoking him further.
"Let him be!" Haltor reassured Eliakim with a gentle pat on the head. "He's his own man. Old enough to bear the consequences of his actions."
Haltor had not stopped Levor from proceeding—not out of approval, but because he had grown weary of his antics. Troublesome as he was, Levor made an ideal guinea pig for the real test; Haltor was curious to see what lay beyond the doorway and how anyone daring enough to cross it without caution would fare.
"That's enough talk. All these strategies are getting on my nerves. I'm going ahead!" Levor proclaimed.
"Levor, wait! This place is dangerous! Don't go alone!" Manir protested.
"When did you start questioning my decisions?" Levor snapped, twisting Manir's face into sudden fear and grief. "Remember your place: as long as I allow you to breathe, you are my underling. A worthless wretch to whom I have granted some purpose. Don't think that sharing laughs on that shitty girl gives you any claim to my name. For you, it's master!"
Manir's mind reeled. His family, the Archefeller, were known across Utopia as a fallen house. After the goddess's fall, the power structure partially shifted to an ochlocratic system. Towns destroyed in the battles against Eros and the Triad had caused the collapse of generational wealth and stability, bringing famine to some lands.
Meanwhile, the Falmianberry family—once humble farmers spared from the divine wrath—had risen over centuries to become one of the wealthiest houses in Utopia, employing servants across the land.
It was due to these historical shifts that Manir and June had been assigned to serve Levor since childhood, bound by a duty forged long before either could choose their fate.
"See you later, bottom feeders!" Levor declared, laughing loudly as he strode toward the doorway.
But just as he tried to cross, his face slammed against what seemed to be an invisible barrier. The impact was brutal, and a sharp pain burst through his nose—blood began to flow immediately.
"Argh!" he exclaimed, collapsing to the floor.
"Master!" Manir rushed forward, tearing a portion of his garment to staunch the bleeding. Levor, however, shoved him away, refusing any assistance.
Haltor observed quietly, his expression thoughtful. "So the doorways truly have no physical door; they are sealed by some invisible barrier. Anyone attempting to pass without permission without care would be struck. There must be a precise method to cross… Knowing Leir, he has likely already discovered it."
Moments later, all the men returned. Levor limped back, but no one dared question him—his aggressive temper made curiosity a dangerous choice. Too embarrassed to speak, Levor offered no explanation. June, however, as his devoted servant, hurried to his side despite his resistance.
"Did you notice anything while we were gone?" Leir asked the women.
"Nothing," Victoria replied calmly.
"Good. Haltor, did your group observe anything noteworthy?" Leir continued.
"Other than the doorways, which remain impenetrable, and the statues—all identical—nothing particularly caught our attention," Haltor answered.
"I see. I also tried extending my hand toward the door, but the access was denied, likely by some invisible magical barrier. I doubt the chained, screaming faces influence this trial," Leir explained.
"So… another enigma?" Sigrid asked, her voice cautious.
"Not exactly," Leir replied, rubbing his hair with a sigh. "I think the strategy we used for the previous puzzle should work here as well. All we need to do is cross the doorways simultaneously. But… there's a complication."
"What complication?" Victoria asked, curiosity flickering in her eyes.
"There are eleven doorways," Leir explained. "And we are twelve. One of us will have to stay behind."
"Fuck!" Levor shouted.
"The cult must have miscounted our numbers," Mathurin suggested.
"Or perhaps they planned it this way, knowing how determined we are," Taro Maro added thoughtfully.
Leir shook his head. "Neither explanation fits. The cult's operations show experience and precision. They clearly expect everything to unfold smoothly. A mistake in numbers makes no sense… Wait—now I understand." His eyes widened.
"What is it?" Haltor asked.
"It's crystal clear. We were never meant to be twelve," Leir said, leaning back to collect himself.
Confusion rippled through the group—everyone except the twins, who seemed to sense where he was heading ton with his explanation.
"The cult's treated Eliane and Eliakim as a single individual given their trick. The eleven spots were deliberately assigned with that in mind. But we've identified their ruse. Now we have an extra candidate… a hurdle created in the middle of an unsolved one," Leir explained, settling onto a nearby stone for a brief respite.
"So… who stays out?" he asked casually.
The group fell silent, each person staring at the others, unsure who would be chosen. The chamber seemed to hold its breath; even the faintest sound—a fly's wings—would have felt deafening.
Then, breaking the silence, the troublemaker spoke. Levor.
"Who will stay out, you ask? Nonsense! Isn't it obvious—the ones who caused this mess, of course! Hey, bratty twins, choose which of you stays behind, or I'll beat your bratty asses to death!" Levor bellowed.
For the first time, though no one spoke it aloud, their body language silently agreed with him. Cold, simple logic, however ruthless.
"I will never leave my brother behind!" Eliane cried.
"Me too! Sis and I are one!" Eliakim added, tears streaming down his face.
"Hein!?" Levor's anger flared at their defiance.
Victoria remained calm, her expression unreadable; life had already steeled her against cruelty. Sigrid, meanwhile, felt pity for the twins, believing they had only brought this misfortune upon themselves.
Levor began shoving them, forcing them to pick the "unlucky" one to stay behind—but they wouldn't relent.
"It's either we go in together, or none of us go!" they shouted.
"Then let it be!" Levor roared, swinging a punch, only to be interrupted.
"Stop! Violence resolves nothing," Leir said. "If the twins refuse to stay behind, we'll be ten in number—and that still won't grant us access. I have an idea."
Levor released the twins, wondering what Leir was up to, as everyone turned toward Leir.
"We will proceed with a vote," Leir announced.
"A vote? How? It's not like we have two parties here," Haltor asked, sceptical.
"No need for parties," Leir said. "Eliakim, do you have a piece of paper and a quill in that pouch of yours?"
"Yes," Eliakim replied, handing them over and wiping his tears.
Leir tore the paper into twelve pieces and distributed them, one to each person. A wave of curiosity ran through the group, but they waited patiently for him to explain.
"This is simple," Leir said, his tone calm. "I will pass the quill around. Write the name of the one you want to see stay behind. The name that appears the most will be the one to remain outside. After writing the names, fold the papers and hand them to me. Everything will be mixed—no one will know who wrote whose name. Let's begin."
Leir wrote a name on his piece of paper first, then passed the quill to Haltor, standing at his side. One by one, the others took their turn. Tension thickened with each passing hand, until the last name was written.
Leir stepped aside, unfolded the papers, and announced the results:
"Eliakim: 1 vote, Taro Maro: 1 vote, Ezabel: 2 votes, Levor: 3 votes, and Victoria: 4 votes!"
Victoria froze. She had been certain everyone would unanimously vote out Levor. Instead, reality struck her like a blow. Levor's face twisted into a deranged smile as he mocked her silently.
The reasoning behind the votes was a tangled web:
Three voted for themselves: Leir, confident in his brilliance, knew no one would choose him. So he chose himself. Taro Maro, hesitant to shatter anyone's hopes, cast his own name. Eliakim, pure of heart, could not bear the weight of deciding someone else's fate.
Mathurin and Haltor, who had long judged the group's weakest link and her lack of contribution, voted out Ezabel.
Sigrid, Eliane, and Victoria, disgusted by Levor's arrogance and babarity, cast their votes against him.
Manir and June, swayed by Levor's influence and loyalty, voted Victoria out. Ezabel followed suit—not due to an affinity to Levor, but because in her eyes, Victoria represented everything opposed her fantasies.
Before Victoria could fully process the judgement, the group drifted away, leaving only Sigrid at her side. But even the elf soon slipped away, leaving Victoria completely alone.
"I'm deeply sorry, Victoria," Sigrid whispered, tears glistening as she turned away.
Victoria's body finally gave in; sinking to her knees, despair her sole comforter.