Chapter Text
The tower swallows any semblance of noise.
Usually, this would freak out Ragatha, deter her from going any further, but when the only sounds to be made are her own or Jax’s voice, she doesn’t mind too much.
It’s not all at once, not violently, just enough that Ragatha notices it slipping away. The echo of their footsteps dulls after the first few steps, like the walls have decided they’ve heard enough.
The staircase curves upward immediately, tight and narrow, hugging the inside of the tower like a spine. The stone steps are worn unevenly, deeper grooves carved into the center, as if whatever had come before them had favored the same careful line-up. There’s no railing, no real edge, just stone, curving forever.
Ragatha lifts the lantern higher without thinking. The light feels smaller in here, not weaker, exactly, but cautious. It spills forward and then stops, like it doesn’t want to overstep.
She steps first, only because she has to.
Behind her, Jax follows close enough that she can hear him breathe. It’s not heavy or strained, just present. Every step he takes lands a fraction of a second after hers, a shadow she can feel more than see.
It’s strange, walking like this.
Not arguing or circling each other with sharp words until they need to be pulled apart from one another, just moving in the same direction, one behind the other, like they’ve agreed on something without saying it out loud. Having Jax behind her like this, it doesn’t need to be stated outright that it’s unusual. For a man so headstrong, so bossy, so set in his own ways, he trails Ragatha like a dog on a leash, and it’s odd.
Ragatha doesn’t trust it.
She keeps expecting the moment to crack, the tension in the room to pull so taut that it sends both of them flying in opposite directions like it always does. Now, she almost wants him to say something sideways, something needling, something that makes her shoulders tense and her mouth tighten into that practiced smile. That’s how it usually goes: two sentences in and something goes wrong. Someone pushes, someone snaps, they retreat into familiar roles like muscle memory.
But it doesn’t happen. So, instead, her thoughts start filling the space, flooding in like she’s cracked the dam, and there’s no stopping it.
Ragatha clears her throat, then immediately wishes she hadn’t.
“So,” she says, aiming for casual and landing somewhere just shy of it. “Do you think Caine actually made this adventure himself? Or do you think Kinger might’ve… suggested it?”
Jax snorts softly. “You think Kinger asked for medieval trauma?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “He likes towers. And quests. And… moral lessons. I mean, he is a king chess piece.”
“That’s Caine’s whole brand.”
She hums, considering. “True. But Kinger likes rules. Caine likes chaos.”
“And this is?” Jax gestures vaguely upward with his chin.
Ragatha glances around. The stairs narrow just a touch as they climb, the curve tightening. The lantern’s glow pulls closer to her feet, like it’s decided not to get ambitious.
“…Structured chaos,” she says finally.
Jax makes a sound that might be a laugh if it weren’t so brief. “Yeah. That tracks.”
They climb in silence again.
Ragatha becomes acutely aware of the space between them, or rather, the lack of it. The staircase doesn’t allow for much distance. When she leans slightly to one side, her shoulder nearly brushes the wall. When Jax shifts his weight, she feels the movement behind her, a subtle redistribution of air.
She tells herself it doesn’t bother her.
It shouldn’t.
Still, she finds herself counting steps. One. Two. Three. Measuring how far ahead she is. How far feels safe.
The tower creaks softly.
Not above them. Not below. Just… around.
Ragatha slows without meaning to. The lantern brightens a hair, its glow pushing outward, shadows thinning along the wall. The stair widens slightly beneath her feet, giving her more room to stand.
Behind her, Jax exhales.
“Huh,” he mutters.
“What?” she asks, glancing back.
He’s looking at the wall, brow furrowed. “Nothing. Thought it got… easier for a second.”
She looks forward again. The light feels warmer in her hand now, steadier.
“That’s good,” she says. “Right?”
“Sure,” he says. “If you like the idea that it can get harder.”
She almost smiles.
They keep moving.
The further they climb, the more Ragatha feels the staircase encouraging a certain pace. When she slows, the steps seem to flatten, easier to climb. When she speeds up, they steepen, the curve tightening just enough to make her adjust.
She doesn’t say anything about it.
Instead, she walks a little faster.
Not dramatically. Just enough to test it.
The lantern’s light stretches forward, thinning. The shadows ahead don’t retreat so much as they compress, stacking on top of each other like layers of dark fabric. The air feels heavier the higher she goes, like pressing against something unseen.
Behind her, Jax’s footsteps falter.
“Hey,” he says.
She stops, turning halfway. “What?”
“You don’t need to sprint,” he says. “It’s not going anywhere.”
“I’m not sprinting.”
“You’re… three steps ahead now.”
She glances down. He’s right. She hadn’t noticed.
“It’s fine,” she says. “I can still see you.”
“That’s not the point.”
She tilts her head. “Then what is?”
Jax hesitates. Just a beat too long. The lantern flickers faintly, shadows thickening along the curve of the wall between them.
“…Stay where I can see you,” he says finally. Not sharp. Not angry. Just firm.
Ragatha blinks.
“That’s what I’m doing.”
He shakes his head once. “You know what I mean.”
She considers pushing back, a jab, maybe, or a light comment to ease the tension, but something in his tone stops her. Not fear. Not irritation.
Focus.
She takes a small step back.
The lantern brightens immediately, shadows thinning. The stair widens beneath her feet again.
Both of them notice this time.
Jax’s eyes flick to the light, then to the wall. “Okay,” he says slowly. “That’s new.”
Ragatha swallows. “It… didn’t do that before.”
They stand there for a moment, listening to the tower breathe around them.
“So,” she says carefully, “maybe we shouldn’t… rush.”
“Or lag,” Jax adds. “Or drift.”
She rolls her eyes. “Together, then, like I said.”
He gives her a look. “Don’t make a whole thing out of it.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
She smiles despite herself. “A little.”
The lantern steadies. The stair remains wide.
They start moving again, slower this time. Measured. Side by side in intent, if not in space.
After a few turns of the spiral, Ragatha speaks again. Not carefully, not planned, just kind of suddenly speaks like she used to.
“You know,” she says, voice echoing softly and then disappearing like everything else in the tower, “this kind of reminds me of those medieval dinner places.”
Jax doesn’t answer.
She glances back at him, half-expecting a joke, a scoff, something. He’s there, still following at the same careful distance, eyes forward, jaw set. He doesn’t react at all.
So, she keeps going.
“There was one near where I grew up,” she says. “Like… a fifteen-minute drive. A few of my friends had their birthday parties there, and I think I was invited to a bachelorette party there once. It looked just like a castle on the outside: big banners, fake torches, the whole thing!” She huffs a quiet laugh, raising her arms in the air as if she were painting the picture clearly for him. “I always wanted to go inside, but— um… my mother, it felt like she despised that place. She said it was gross, that the food was probably greasy, and the horses looked miserable, and I wouldn’t like it if I actually saw it.”
The lantern sways gently with her steps.
“But I wanted to go anyway,” she continues. “Just once. I didn’t even care about the jousting. I just wanted to see it, try it, everyone else got to talk about it at school like it was this big thing and I was just… imagining it.”
She pauses, then adds, quieter, “The bachelorette party, I’m pretty sure I was the maid of honor— well, until I “wasn’t dedicated enough to the wedding party,” and she took me out.” She sighs, “The horses they used were trained at the same place as mine. Not the same ones, obviously, but still.”
The staircase tightens slightly.
She doesn’t notice.
“I used to think— stupidly, I mean— that if I just explained it better, she’d change her mind,” Ragatha says. “Like if I was enthusiastic enough, or reasonable enough, or promised not to complain, then maybe—“ She trails off, breath catching just a bit. “She never did. Change her mind, I mean.”
Jax says nothing.
The silence stretched, but it doesn’t feel empty. It feels… deliberate. Like he’s letting the words land where they may.
Ragatha swallows and keeps climbing.
“I think that’s why this is messing with me,” she says quietly. “Because it’s all fake, but it’s… close enough to something I wanted. And I hate that part of me still reacts to it.“ She laughs, short and humorless. “It’s like the universe keeps insisting that I should enjoy this. That it’s something I finally get to do, like I have some sort of freedom from my mother, and I get to do what I want. That it’s fun, a story!”
Her grip tightens on the lantern.
“And I do,” she admits. “Sometimes, I mean— I like the adventures, I like the low stakes, I like being useful.”
For a brief, dangerous second, the lantern’s glow feels almost kind. Like it’s encouraging her. Like if she just keeps going, there might be something ahead that feels like standing in real sunlight with her eyes closed, letting it soak in without asking questions.
Her voice wobbles just enough to notice. “But after the last one…”
She slows.
The shadows ahead seem to thicken, leaning inward as if listening.
“After that—” she stops herself, “I would’ve given anything, anything to go back. To the real world. And I know that it wouldn’t be perfect and it wouldn’t fix anything with my mother, I know it might’ve hurt, I just—“ She exhales shakily. “When I thought we were really stuck? That there wasn’t a way out this time?”
Her shoulders draw in.
“I felt sick,” she says. “Like something was closing in on me from the inside. And I kept calm as much as I could because that’s what I do, and—“
She takes another step forward. The lantern light thins.
The staircase narrows sharply, the curve tightening until the stone presses close on either side. The air feels wrong, heavy, resistant, like pushing against a wall of water.
“—and then the button…” she continues, voice trembling now despite herself, “and I know it was all an adventure, I know it was just another choice that didn’t matter, but for a second I had hope and then it was taken away, and I really thought—“
She doesn’t finish the sentence.
Because suddenly, she’s yanked backward. Hard.
Jax’s hand catches the back of her belt, fingers fisting into the fabric as he drags her down the step she’d just climbed. She stumbles, the lantern jerking violently, light flaring, and then her back slams into his chest with a solid thud.
Her breath leaves her in a sharp gasp.
His other arm comes up automatically, bracing her, stopping her from falling as he hauls her fully back against him. She can feel the armor beneath her shoulder blades, the heat of him, the tension coiled tight through his frame.
His breath ghosts her ear.
“Stop talking.” He says, low and rough, right by her ear.
The words aren’t shouted. They don’t need to be.
Ragatha freezes.
Not from fear, from shock. From the suddenness of it. From how close he is, solid and real behind her, his breath warm against the side of her neck. She can feel the rise and fall of his chest, the tension locked into his shoulders, the way his grip lingers half a second longer than necessary before loosening.
Neither of them move.
The tower creaks softly.
Ragatha’s heart hammers in her ribs as she realizes something else, too.
The ground beneath her feet is flat. No curve. No upward pull.
She looks up, they’re standing on a landing.
Warm light spills across the stone floor ahead of them, steady and calm, nothing like the hesitant glow of her lantern. The shadows here behave themselves, pulled neatly back into corners like they’ve been told to wait their turn.
A familiar shape stands at the far end of the floor.
Ragatha breathes out, shaky. “…Pomni’s floor."
Jax releases her fully now, stepping back just enough to give them both space. He doesn’t look at her. His jaw is tight, gaze fixed forward.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “We’re here.”
The lantern’s light steadies completely.
Behind them, the staircase goes still.
And whatever Ragatha had been about to say stays lodged in her throat as the tower, once again, waits to see what they’ll do next.