At first he counted the steps. One, two, three. He stopped at thirty when he realized counting did nothing except remind him of how much road was left, so he abandoned it.
He kept climbing. The blue fog did not clear, it just receded before him by almost the same distance, as if it was politely running away from him.
At some point he stopped to rest his legs and leaned against the cold wall. He drank a small sip from his waterskin, small, because he no longer knew when he would find water again. He looked at the half empty waterskin, then returned it to his belt without comment.
He continued climbing.
When he reached what he thought was about the hundredth step, a small stone plaque appeared before him, similar to the one he had seen at the base.
"Second Floor," he read it in an exhausted voice, and smiled a sincere tired smile. "Finally."
He took a step toward what he expected to be a door or a new corridor.
He found himself at the base of the stairs again.
He remained standing there, not understanding. He looked behind him, looked ahead, looked at his feet as if they had tricked him in some way.
"No," he said. "No, no, wait."
He climbed again, faster this time, counting every step out loud, one, two, three, until he reached a hundred exactly. He stopped at the same plaque. "Second Floor."
He stepped.
The base of the stairs again.
"No!" His scream this time bounced off the walls and returned to him amplified. He hit the wall with his fist, his whole hand trembled from the pain, and he cursed with a word he had not used since he was in his old body.
He tried a third time. He climbed slower this time, examining every step, looking for a sign, for a slight difference in color or engraving that might explain what was happening. He found nothing. A fourth time, he thought the number might not be exactly a hundred, so he continued five extra steps after the plaque appeared, just to be sure. Nothing changed, except that he found himself at the base again having wasted extra effort for nothing.
On the fifth time, he stopped at step fifty, sitting, panting, his sweat wetting his back despite the cold of the place.
"What is this? What the hell is this" He did not finish the sentence. There was no one to finish it for him, and no system to answer.
He tried to run instead of walking, thinking speed might trick any trap returning him to the start. It did not work, he stumbled on the way and almost fell on his face, so he grabbed the edge of a step with his injured hand and cursed from the pain more than anger this time. He tried to close his eyes and climb by count only, relying on the feeling of his feet not his sight. It did not work either, he lost his direction twice and his shoulder hit the wall.
On the seventh attempt, he reached a hundred, saw the plaque, and felt something rising in his chest like a scream that had not yet come out. He wanted to kick the plaque, to smash the wall, to do anything with his bare hands even if he broke them.
He took a step.
The base of the stairs.
He sat there, on the cold floor, and did not move for a long time. He did not scream this time. Something inside him had exhausted all the screaming he had.
He sat like that until he felt his backside go numb from the cold of the stone. He thought of returning to the first room, and waiting there until his patience ran out completely, or until he starved to death, whichever was faster. A silly idea, but it passed through his mind anyway, with more seriousness than he wanted to admit.
He looked at his hands, trembling slightly, and at the stairs extending before him upward into the blue fog. He breathed slowly, once, twice, until his pulse calmed a little.
"Okay," he said finally, in a calmer voice than ever. "Okay, let us think."
He thought of the first floor. "Patience." That was the word, and he had not understood it then, he thought it was just a decorative name with no practical meaning. Perhaps it was not about speed or number. Perhaps the trap was not in the stairs themselves, but in something simpler and stupider than he imagined.
His stomach growled loudly in the silence, so he laughed despite himself, a short dry laugh. "Even my stomach mocks me now."
He climbed again, but this time he did not count the steps, did not run, did not think about anger or getting out. He walked slowly, looking at the walls, at the repeated engravings, at the fog receding before him with the same slowness with which he advanced. He stopped once in the middle for no particular reason, just to sit for seconds and rest, then continued.
He reached a hundred, this time he sat at it instead of stepping directly, and rested his back against the wall.
Hunger bit his stomach harder than before. He did not know how many days exactly had passed since his last real meal, three, four, maybe more, he lost count somewhere between this room and the stairs. Exhaustion was sitting in his bones like a heavy stone.
He remained there, doing nothing, attempting nothing. Just sitting, looking at the fog, and allowing his mind to empty for the first time since he entered this place. He thought of Kaiden for a moment, for no clear reason, wondered if he had noticed his absence yet, then pushed the idea aside because it did not help him with anything.
Minutes passed, maybe an hour, he was not sure.
He heard a faint sound before him, a stone friction, so he raised his head slowly, without rushing this time.
It was a door, forming from the fog itself, with solid stone edges hardening before his eyes, with a slowness similar to the slowness of everything else in this place.
He looked at it for seconds, without enthusiasm, without screaming, only silent exhaustion.
"So that was it," he muttered, and rose slowly, his joints screaming silently. "It was not about climbing. It was about stopping trying in this way."
He paused before reaching it, and went back in his memory to the seven failed attempts. He was not sure if he had really understood it. Perhaps patience was what was required, and perhaps there was something else he had not noticed yet. He did not care now. Hunger was more important.
He walked toward the door and pushed it, and it opened more easily than he expected.
Second floor.
Thank you so much for reading this Chapter! This has been King_of_sword. I truly hope you enjoyed following the journey of Loki, Kaiden, and Lucy through these unfolding events. Writing this story and sharing these intricate layers of the plot with all of you has been an absolute passion of mine. The choices they make now will ripple across the entire world, shaping destinies and bringing hidden secrets to light. If you loved this Chapter, please don’t forget to support the novel by adding it to your collection, leaving your thoughts in the comments, or dropping a power vote. Your continuous support, theories, and engagement mean the world to me and give me the motivation to keep pushing boundaries. Stay tuned, because the upcoming Chapters will dive even deeper into the mysteries and action. Until next time, wishing you all a wonderful time!"