The living forest of the Fourth Floor was behind them.

  Broken branches. Bones on the ground. The dark trail that only survivors leave behind.

  Boudica wiped the blood from her spears.

  She said nothing. But her eyes lingered on Lukas, as if finally admitting something.

  He didn’t know what.

  Perhaps respect.

  Perhaps… something else.

  Valquíria spun her warhammer with one hand.

  The weapon struck the ground, a silent gesture of defiance toward what awaited.

  — “Trevos, align yourselves. Let’s show why we bear this name.”

  Leli leaned against a fallen tree, exhausted.

  But she did not retreat.

  — “I’m fine,” she whispered, breathless, to no one in particular.

  And even trembling, she stepped forward.

  She wasn’t going to stop.

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  The Copas celebrated in silence.

  Luiz, his uniform torn and dust on his face, looked over the group like a satisfied general.

  — “You didn’t die. That’s good.”

  — “How motivating, Luiz,” Valquíria retorted.

  — “Better than a love speech, sister.”

  And in the center of them all, Lukas.

  Hands scarred from the struggle. Body aching. But his eyes…

  His eyes no longer trembled.

  — “This was only the beginning,” he said.

  He looked around. At every sweaty face. Every marked expression.

  — “You felt it, didn’t you?

  You felt what this tower wants from us.”

  Silence.

  Then Lukas drew a deep breath.

  And with a low, steady voice — like a younger brother who had already seen too much:

  — “Let’s go.

  The Fifth Floor awaits.”

  No one called him leader.

  But all followed behind him.

  The tower did not recognize crests.

  But it recognized soul.

  And at the end of that spiral staircase, in the shadows of the next level…

  …something laughed, preparing the price they would have to pay to stay alive.

  END OF VOLUME III — THE TOWER’S CALL