CHAPTER 8 — When the Tower Bows
The Ninth Floor caverns should have been cold, oppressive, indifferent.
Instead, the ancient stone glowed faintly at Crow's footsteps—runes waking up in soft pulses of light, like old guardians greeting something they hadn't seen in a very long time.
Crow frowned.
"…This is new."
Sabriella walked beside him, staff tapping lightly, the golden threads of her blindfold catching the dim light.
"No," she said. "This is earned."
Crow shot her a look.
"I didn't do anything."
"You didn't," Sabriella agreed. "The boy did."
Baam.
Crow's jaw tightened, just a little.
Sabriella tapped her staff once. The sound echoed through the tunnel.
"The Tower hesitates with outsiders," she said. "You are unpredictable. You break rules simply by existing."
Crow rolled his eyes. "Not my fault your world is fragile."
"Precisely." Her smile was small and amused. "Which is why the Tower kept its distance."
She gestured ahead.
The tunnel widened as they walked. Bridges that should have been crumbled were whole. Old stone, but clean. Supports that had no right to be stable were steady as bedrock. The air felt clearer; the usual swamp-thick Shinsu currents had thinned, flowing aside when Crow drew near.
The Tower wasn't resisting him.
It was… accommodating him.
"…Huh."
Sabriella's voice stayed calm, ancient.
"The Tower does not oppose you, Crow. It never did. It simply refused to move for someone whose path was undefined."
Crow watched the way the floor lit under his boots—thin lines of light chasing his steps ahead of him like a drawn route.
"You're saying it's reacting because he decided something," he said.
Sabriella nodded.
"Baam's choice created a tether," she said. "He aligns with you—not for protection, but for identity."
Crow clicked his tongue and looked away.
She heard the denial he didn't say and smiled anyway.
"This is the first time the Tower recognizes your presence as purposeful."
"I'm not here for the Tower," Crow muttered.
"I know," Sabriella said gently. "You are here because of him."
He didn't bother denying that either.
Sabriella stopped walking and set her staff against the stone.
"Understand this, Outsider." Her voice dropped, quiet but absolute. "The Tower is not helping you because it favors you. It aids you because you now walk parallel to the boy's path."
She tilted her head slightly.
"And it wants him to reach the Tenth Floor alive."
Crow inhaled slowly through his teeth.
"So now it's opening the way?"
"Yes," she said. "With less resistance. Fewer traps. Clearer routes. Old doors unlocked."
Her blindfold turned toward him.
"And when you ascend, it will not fight you. It will… accommodate."
Crow's lips curved in a humorless smirk.
"So the Tower wants him to succeed."
"No." Sabriella shook her head. "It wants him to choose. And now he has."
She tapped the staff again.
"And because he chose—your path becomes clearer too."
Crow stepped forward. The cavern ahead flared brighter, the runes knitting into a single, unmistakable trail.
"Good," he muttered. "Makes walking easier."
Sabriella chuckled softly.
"You pretend not to care," she said. "But the Tower sees through you."
Crow absently kicked a loose shard of stone aside.
"Yeah? What's it see?"
Sabriella's answer was quiet, almost reverent.
"A guardian moving," she said. "Not for duty. Not for destiny. But for a boy who finally took his first step."
Heat shimmered faintly around Crow's shoulders.
He didn't respond.
He just walked.
The Tower lit his way.
⸻
They reached the heart of the trial chamber not long after.
The ceiling vanished into darkness; the walls were veined with dim blue lines of Shinsu. In the center lay three circular pools, carved deep into the stone like layered rings of an old well.
The first pool was still, a faint residue of earlier pressure clinging to the air above it. Crow had already passed that stage—forced Shinsu into his lungs until it learned his shape and stopped trying to crush him.
Now the second pool waited.
The Shinsu inside it glowed a darker, denser blue, pulsing in slow, heavy beats. The pressure coming off it made the air warp at the edges.
Sabriella's staff clicked once against the stone.
"This is the Old Path," she said. "The trial that measures those who do not belong to the Tower's script."
Her blindfold turned toward him.
"The Tower will measure your existence, Outsider," she murmured, "and decide if you are one who can touch the Ancient Route."
Crow rolled his shoulders. Heat rippled off his skin in a low, simmering wave.
"Good," he said. "Let it look."
He stepped to the edge of the second pool.
The Shinsu shivered.
Where Baam's Shinsu tests had been like walls, this felt like an eye. It watched him. It weighed him. It did not try to scare him away.
It waited.
Crow stepped in.
SHOOOM—
The cavern shook.
The Shinsu surged up to his chest in an instant, not wet, not cold—just weight and intent. Pressure wrapped around his ribs like invisible bands, twisted at his joints, dragged on his bones.
His body locked.
His breath hitched.
For a heartbeat, it felt like the Tower was trying to pull him apart into pieces small enough to understand.
Crow bared his teeth.
Heat rolled off him in answer, golden and steady, not flaring but refusing to fold.
Sabriella didn't move. She simply watched, the gold threads on her blindfold shimmering with reflected Shinsu.
"This is the Old Path," she repeated softly. "The Tower will measure…"
The pressure spiked.
Shinsu coiled around his lungs, his heart, the burned-out scar of his Ki center, the ruptured space where a Devil Fruit had once rooted itself. It probed, looking for anchors—bloodline, prophecy, contracts, administrator marks.
It found nothing it expected.
Outsider.
Star-blood.
Ki-torn.
Devil-fruit-ruptured.
Shinsu-compatible.
The Tower pressed harder.
Crow's muscles trembled.
Every instinct screamed to burn, to explode, to shove the pressure away—but he held it, forcing his heat to stay inside his frame, not lash outward.
You look at me? he thought. Then look properly.
The Shinsu roared.
It felt his refusal to bow. His refusal to break. The weight twisted, then—
Everything went silent.
The sound of his own pulse dulled. The drag on his bones vanished. The crushing weight shifted into something else: contact.
The Shinsu pools dimmed to a deep, pulsing glow.
The walls hummed, ancient lines waking fully as if they recognized a pattern they'd been waiting for. Even the air held its breath.
Sabriella lifted her staff and tapped it once against the stone.
"The test has begun," she said.
Crow didn't look back.
He took another step into the dark water-light, deeper into the second pool, Shinsu folding around him like a living seal.
And the Tower watched.
CHAPTER 8 — When the Tower Bows
The Ninth Floor caverns should have been cold, oppressive, indifferent.
Instead, the ancient stone glowed faintly at Crow's footsteps—runes waking up in soft pulses of light, like old guardians greeting something they hadn't seen in a very long time.
Crow frowned.
"…This is new."
Sabriella walked beside him, staff tapping lightly, the golden threads of her blindfold catching the dim light.
"No," she said. "This is earned."
Crow shot her a look.
"I didn't do anything."
"You didn't," Sabriella agreed. "The boy did."
Baam.
Crow's jaw tightened, just a little.
Sabriella tapped her staff once. The sound echoed through the tunnel.
"The Tower hesitates with outsiders," she said. "You are unpredictable. You break rules simply by existing."
Crow rolled his eyes. "Not my fault your world is fragile."
"Precisely." Her smile was small and amused. "Which is why the Tower kept its distance."
She gestured ahead.
The tunnel widened as they walked. Bridges that should have been crumbled were whole. Old stone, but clean. Supports that had no right to be stable were steady as bedrock. The air felt clearer; the usual swamp-thick Shinsu currents had thinned, flowing aside when Crow drew near.
The Tower wasn't resisting him.
It was… accommodating him.
"…Huh."
Sabriella's voice stayed calm, ancient.
"The Tower does not oppose you, Crow. It never did. It simply refused to move for someone whose path was undefined."
Crow watched the way the floor lit under his boots—thin lines of light chasing his steps ahead of him like a drawn route.
"You're saying it's reacting because he decided something," he said.
Sabriella nodded.
"Baam's choice created a tether," she said. "He aligns with you—not for protection, but for identity."
Crow clicked his tongue and looked away.
She heard the denial he didn't say and smiled anyway.
"This is the first time the Tower recognizes your presence as purposeful."
"I'm not here for the Tower," Crow muttered.
"I know," Sabriella said gently. "You are here because of him."
He didn't bother denying that either.
Sabriella stopped walking and set her staff against the stone.
"Understand this, Outsider." Her voice dropped, quiet but absolute. "The Tower is not helping you because it favors you. It aids you because you now walk parallel to the boy's path."
She tilted her head slightly.
"And it wants him to reach the Tenth Floor alive."
Crow inhaled slowly through his teeth.
"So now it's opening the way?"
"Yes," she said. "With less resistance. Fewer traps. Clearer routes. Old doors unlocked."
Her blindfold turned toward him.
"And when you ascend, it will not fight you. It will… accommodate."
Crow's lips curved in a humorless smirk.
"So the Tower wants him to succeed."
"No." Sabriella shook her head. "It wants him to choose. And now he has."
She tapped the staff again.
"And because he chose—your path becomes clearer too."
Crow stepped forward. The cavern ahead flared brighter, the runes knitting into a single, unmistakable trail.
"Good," he muttered. "Makes walking easier."
Sabriella chuckled softly.
"You pretend not to care," she said. "But the Tower sees through you."
Crow absently kicked a loose shard of stone aside.
"Yeah? What's it see?"
Sabriella's answer was quiet, almost reverent.
"A guardian moving," she said. "Not for duty. Not for destiny. But for a boy who finally took his first step."
Heat shimmered faintly around Crow's shoulders.
He didn't respond.
He just walked.
The Tower lit his way.
⸻
They reached the heart of the trial chamber not long after.
The ceiling vanished into darkness; the walls were veined with dim blue lines of Shinsu. In the center lay three circular pools, carved deep into the stone like layered rings of an old well.
The first pool was still, a faint residue of earlier pressure clinging to the air above it. Crow had already passed that stage—forced Shinsu into his lungs until it learned his shape and stopped trying to crush him.
Now the second pool waited.
The Shinsu inside it glowed a darker, denser blue, pulsing in slow, heavy beats. The pressure coming off it made the air warp at the edges.
Sabriella's staff clicked once against the stone.
"This is the Old Path," she said. "The trial that measures those who do not belong to the Tower's script."
Her blindfold turned toward him.
"The Tower will measure your existence, Outsider," she murmured, "and decide if you are one who can touch the Ancient Route."
Crow rolled his shoulders. Heat rippled off his skin in a low, simmering wave.
"Good," he said. "Let it look."
He stepped to the edge of the second pool.
The Shinsu shivered.
Where Baam's Shinsu tests had been like walls, this felt like an eye. It watched him. It weighed him. It did not try to scare him away.
It waited.
Crow stepped in.
SHOOOM—
The cavern shook.
The Shinsu surged up to his chest in an instant, not wet, not cold—just weight and intent. Pressure wrapped around his ribs like invisible bands, twisted at his joints, dragged on his bones.
His body locked.
His breath hitched.
For a heartbeat, it felt like the Tower was trying to pull him apart into pieces small enough to understand.
Crow bared his teeth.
Heat rolled off him in answer, golden and steady, not flaring but refusing to fold.
Sabriella didn't move. She simply watched, the gold threads on her blindfold shimmering with reflected Shinsu.
"This is the Old Path," she repeated softly. "The Tower will measure…"
The pressure spiked.
Shinsu coiled around his lungs, his heart, the burned-out scar of his Ki center, the ruptured space where a Devil Fruit had once rooted itself. It probed, looking for anchors—bloodline, prophecy, contracts, administrator marks.
It found nothing it expected.
Outsider.
Star-blood.
Ki-torn.
Devil-fruit-ruptured.
Shinsu-compatible.
The Tower pressed harder.
Crow's muscles trembled.
Every instinct screamed to burn, to explode, to shove the pressure away—but he held it, forcing his heat to stay inside his frame, not lash outward.
You look at me? he thought. Then look properly.
The Shinsu roared.
It felt his refusal to bow. His refusal to break. The weight twisted, then—
Everything went silent.
The sound of his own pulse dulled. The drag on his bones vanished. The crushing weight shifted into something else: contact.
The Shinsu pools dimmed to a deep, pulsing glow.
The walls hummed, ancient lines waking fully as if they recognized a pattern they'd been waiting for. Even the air held its breath.
Sabriella lifted her staff and tapped it once against the stone.
"The test has begun," she said.
Crow didn't look back.
He took another step into the dark water-light, deeper into the second pool, Shinsu folding around him like a living seal.
And the Tower watched.
CHAPTER 8 — When the Tower Bows
The Ninth Floor caverns should have been cold, oppressive, indifferent.
Instead, the ancient stone glowed faintly at Crow's footsteps—runes waking up in soft pulses of light, like old guardians greeting something they hadn't seen in a very long time.
Crow frowned.
"…This is new."
Sabriella walked beside him, staff tapping lightly, the golden threads of her blindfold catching the dim light.
"No," she said. "This is earned."
Crow shot her a look.
"I didn't do anything."
"You didn't," Sabriella agreed. "The boy did."
Baam.
Crow's jaw tightened, just a little.
Sabriella tapped her staff once. The sound echoed through the tunnel.
"The Tower hesitates with outsiders," she said. "You are unpredictable. You break rules simply by existing."
Crow rolled his eyes. "Not my fault your world is fragile."
"Precisely." Her smile was small and amused. "Which is why the Tower kept its distance."
She gestured ahead.
The tunnel widened as they walked. Bridges that should have been crumbled were whole. Old stone, but clean. Supports that had no right to be stable were steady as bedrock. The air felt clearer; the usual swamp-thick Shinsu currents had thinned, flowing aside when Crow drew near.
The Tower wasn't resisting him.
It was… accommodating him.
"…Huh."
Sabriella's voice stayed calm, ancient.
"The Tower does not oppose you, Crow. It never did. It simply refused to move for someone whose path was undefined."
Crow watched the way the floor lit under his boots—thin lines of light chasing his steps ahead of him like a drawn route.
"You're saying it's reacting because he decided something," he said.
Sabriella nodded.
"Baam's choice created a tether," she said. "He aligns with you—not for protection, but for identity."
Crow clicked his tongue and looked away.
She heard the denial he didn't say and smiled anyway.
"This is the first time the Tower recognizes your presence as purposeful."
"I'm not here for the Tower," Crow muttered.
"I know," Sabriella said gently. "You are here because of him."
He didn't bother denying that either.
Sabriella stopped walking and set her staff against the stone.
"Understand this, Outsider." Her voice dropped, quiet but absolute. "The Tower is not helping you because it favors you. It aids you because you now walk parallel to the boy's path."
She tilted her head slightly.
"And it wants him to reach the Tenth Floor alive."
Crow inhaled slowly through his teeth.
"So now it's opening the way?"
"Yes," she said. "With less resistance. Fewer traps. Clearer routes. Old doors unlocked."
Her blindfold turned toward him.
"And when you ascend, it will not fight you. It will… accommodate."
Crow's lips curved in a humorless smirk.
"So the Tower wants him to succeed."
"No." Sabriella shook her head. "It wants him to choose. And now he has."
She tapped the staff again.
"And because he chose—your path becomes clearer too."
Crow stepped forward. The cavern ahead flared brighter, the runes knitting into a single, unmistakable trail.
"Good," he muttered. "Makes walking easier."
Sabriella chuckled softly.
"You pretend not to care," she said. "But the Tower sees through you."
Crow absently kicked a loose shard of stone aside.
"Yeah? What's it see?"
Sabriella's answer was quiet, almost reverent.
"A guardian moving," she said. "Not for duty. Not for destiny. But for a boy who finally took his first step."
Heat shimmered faintly around Crow's shoulders.
He didn't respond.
He just walked.
The Tower lit his way.
⸻
They reached the heart of the trial chamber not long after.
The ceiling vanished into darkness; the walls were veined with dim blue lines of Shinsu. In the center lay three circular pools, carved deep into the stone like layered rings of an old well.
The first pool was still, a faint residue of earlier pressure clinging to the air above it. Crow had already passed that stage—forced Shinsu into his lungs until it learned his shape and stopped trying to crush him.
Now the second pool waited.
The Shinsu inside it glowed a darker, denser blue, pulsing in slow, heavy beats. The pressure coming off it made the air warp at the edges.
Sabriella's staff clicked once against the stone.
"This is the Old Path," she said. "The trial that measures those who do not belong to the Tower's script."
Her blindfold turned toward him.
"The Tower will measure your existence, Outsider," she murmured, "and decide if you are one who can touch the Ancient Route."
Crow rolled his shoulders. Heat rippled off his skin in a low, simmering wave.
"Good," he said. "Let it look."
He stepped to the edge of the second pool.
The Shinsu shivered.
Where Baam's Shinsu tests had been like walls, this felt like an eye. It watched him. It weighed him. It did not try to scare him away.
It waited.
Crow stepped in.
SHOOOM—
The cavern shook.
The Shinsu surged up to his chest in an instant, not wet, not cold—just weight and intent. Pressure wrapped around his ribs like invisible bands, twisted at his joints, dragged on his bones.
His body locked.
His breath hitched.
For a heartbeat, it felt like the Tower was trying to pull him apart into pieces small enough to understand.
Crow bared his teeth.
Heat rolled off him in answer, golden and steady, not flaring but refusing to fold.
Sabriella didn't move. She simply watched, the gold threads on her blindfold shimmering with reflected Shinsu.
"This is the Old Path," she repeated softly. "The Tower will measure…"
The pressure spiked.
Shinsu coiled around his lungs, his heart, the burned-out scar of his Ki center, the ruptured space where a Devil Fruit had once rooted itself. It probed, looking for anchors—bloodline, prophecy, contracts, administrator marks.
It found nothing it expected.
Outsider.
Star-blood.
Ki-torn.
Devil-fruit-ruptured.
Shinsu-compatible.
The Tower pressed harder.
Crow's muscles trembled.
Every instinct screamed to burn, to explode, to shove the pressure away—but he held it, forcing his heat to stay inside his frame, not lash outward.
You look at me? he thought. Then look properly.
The Shinsu roared.
It felt his refusal to bow. His refusal to break. The weight twisted, then—
Everything went silent.
The sound of his own pulse dulled. The drag on his bones vanished. The crushing weight shifted into something else: contact.
The Shinsu pools dimmed to a deep, pulsing glow.
The walls hummed, ancient lines waking fully as if they recognized a pattern they'd been waiting for. Even the air held its breath.
Sabriella lifted her staff and tapped it once against the stone.
"The test has begun," she said.
Crow didn't look back.
He took another step into the dark water-light, deeper into the second pool, Shinsu folding around him like a living seal.
And the Tower watched.