Awakener's Guide to Climbing the Tower

Misha had never considered that cross-channel convergence was possible.

Judging from the stray comments slipping into her Observation Chat, the Network had apparently recognized the two observed Raiders were participating in the same event location and began allowing limited overlap between their audiences. Which meant the viewers watching the Bard could see parts of her broadcast and her Observers could apparently see his.

More surprising was the fact that her own channel continued adjusting even while she was outside her body. So the Observation Profile followed her, not merely the physical vessel. It was interesting and potentially concerning.

Could the Network identify her soul directly? If her body and soul were somehow separated farther than this, which would the broadcast prioritize?

’Nope.’ Misha filed that problem into the growing mental cabinet labeled: Things I Do Not Have Time to Have an Existential Crisis About.

Her attention returned to the man crouched behind the ruin wall.

The virtual studio surrounding him reacted every time Nyxie’s situation changed.

That was far more interesting for Misha. The arrangement itself mattered, not merely the song. The Bard altered the composition depending on what Nyxie needed.

’Interesting... Also–’

The man suddenly glanced toward the place where Misha’s soul hovered. She froze and watched his blue eyes pass directly through her then continued toward the square.

’Right. He cannot see me.’ For a second, she almost thought he had seen her.

Misha drifted closer and examined the virtual console. Several luminous tracks moved across it, each carried a different symbol. One seemed tied to healing, another to stamina, and a third flared every time Nyxie accelerated.

The man tapped one with the side of his gloved finger, the entire arrangement changed and a sharper rhythm took over.

Nyxie practically launched across the square. "WHOAA!!"

Misha spun and saw her body crossed ten meters fast enough to leave ash hanging behind her.

Nyxie skidded to a stop, Starfall grinding against the street.. Her delighted laugh carried over the music. "DO THAT AGAIN!"

The Bard heard that. His eyes widened then a grin appeared on his face, not the brittle smile of someone pretending he was not terrified. This one was pure satisfaction. "My mysterious savior appreciates the accompaniment."

Straightening himself slightly behind the wall, his posture transformed by approximately ten percent now that someone had complimented his skill. Which, apparently, was enough. He swept one hand dramatically across the mandolin, and the virtual percussion doubled.

"Then allow me to improve the tempo, lovely stranger!"

Misha stared blankly before she floated back toward her own body. "He was terrified a few seconds ago."

Nyxie sliced through another Vestige. "People can be two things!"

"Not usually that quickly."

The Bard’s voice grew smoother now. Confidence returned the moment danger moved several meters farther away.

"♪ You look deadly! I look charming! ♪"

Then he peeked around the wall and actually winked at Nyxie.

"♪ Between us, surely this is working! ♪"

Nyxie laughed once again. "It is!"

Misha’s entire soul recoiled. "Do not encourage him."

"He’s nice. He healed us."

"He’s not nice. He’s useful."

"No, no." Nyxie smashed Starfall into a Vestige’s chest and sent it crashing into a storefront. "He’s nice and useful."

Misha looked at Bard. He was currently using a broken wall as a shield while flirting with the woman saving his life. "Your standards are concerning."

The man could only hear Nyxie’s side. Which meant, from his perspective, the masked woman had just enthusiastically agreed with him, paused to listen to someone invisible, then argued with thin air.

His fingers slowed for half a beat and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

<Endless Dominion> He noticed the communication anomaly.

<Prisoner of Floor One Hundred> Took him long enough.

<The Saint Buried Upside Down> Don’t be mean. He was busy composing under extreme emotional distress.

<Prisoner of Floor One Hundred> He’s hiding

<The Saint Buried Upside Down> Strategically alone. Please respect the terminology.

<First Mourner Beneath Creation> Curiosity survives even cowardice.

<Observer from the Maestro’s Channel> NO IT DOESN’T! DO NOT BE FOOLED!

<Observer from the Maestro’s Channel> WATCH HIM. HE WILL ASK HER OUT BEFORE ASKING WHAT HER NAME IS.

Misha stared at the last comment. ’That specific?’

<The Saint Buried Upside Down> How much are we betting?

<Prisoner of Floor One Hundred> Nothing. I am not here for matchmaking.

<The Saint Buried Upside Down> Yet you’re still here

<Prisoner of Floor One Hundred> I was here first.

Misha’s attention snagged on that. She had never paid attention to the order of her viewers.

"♪ And if we live, perhaps afterward, I could buy my mysterious savior a drink– ♪"

The Bard suddenly stopped singing.

Scratch.

He tilted his head and noticed something had moved behind the building beside him. A Vestige was climbing the opposite wall. His face slowly drained of color.

Scratch. Scratch.

Something scraped against stone

The virtual backing track continued cheerfully, utterly unconcerned with its creator’s impending death.

A gray hand appeared above the opposite wall. He looked at it then toward Nyxie. He resumed singing immediately. "I need you to save me!"

Misha turned sharply and noticed the corpse. "Nyx! Help him!"

"On it!"

The Vestige dragged itself onto the ledge above him, its dead fingers closed around the knife.

He looked up, every trace of flirtatious confidence vanished.

"♪ Hold on! Keep moving! Please don’t fall apart! ♪"

Starfall struck the street once. Nyxie used the rebound to change direction, crossed the distance in a burst of Bard-enhanced speed, and slammed her weapon into the Vestige. The corpse disappeared off the wall and flew across the alley, crashing through a shutter on the opposite building.

SIlence followed as the Bard stared at the hole.

Nyxie landed and rested Starfall over one shoulder. "You’re safe now!"

Slowly, he turned toward her, his expression changed almost instantly. Fear vanished beneath an easy, crooked smile.

Misha watched him with genuine fascination. The man had been one second away from getting killed and somehow, his first instinct afterward was to straighten his collar and sweep his brown hair away from his forehead with one gloved hand.

"Well." His voice dropped into a warmer, smoother register. "Beautiful, terrifying, mysterious, and apparently a very attentive stranger."

Nyxie blinked and tilted her head.

"Thank you for saving me." The man placed one hand over his chest then his smile deepened. "I believe I may be in love."

Misha gave him the blankest stare a disembodied soul could manage. "Absolutely not."

<Observer from the Maestro’s Channel> SEE? SEE?!

<Observer from the Maestro’s Channel> WE TOLD YOU.

<The Saint Buried Upside Down> I KNEW I LIKED HIM

〔 FAVOR +200 → Maestro 〕

<Prisoner of Floor One Hundred> No.

<The Saint Buried Upside Down> You cannot veto romance

<Prisoner of Floor One Hundred> There is no romance to veto. Not in this place

Nyxie burst out laughing. The sound had barely died when clicking answered from the three different streets.

More Vestiges emerged. One stepped onto the upper walkway, then another. A group appeared beyond the broken fountain.

Nyxie’s smile faded by a degree.

Misha saw the same thing. There were too many. Not because Nyxie could not kill them. Given enough time, she suspected Nyxie would happily attempt to turn the entire district into pieces just like Olivia wanted because they enjoyed the challenge. But time was the problem. Her possession was finite. The Vestiges did not appear to be. Another wave could replace every corpse they destroyed.

Nyxie clicked her tongue. "Change of plans."

Starfall vanished into Misha’s storage.

The Bard blinked. "Where did–"

Nyxie grabbed his forearm and his sentence died. "We’re leaving."

"What?"

She pulled him upright. The man stumbled out from behind the wall, mandolin clutched against his chest.

For the first time, Misha got a clear look at him standing. He was tall and lean, rather than heavily built.

His ornate dark clothes somehow remained elegant despite the ash and dust. Blue gemstones moved against his chest when Nyxie dragged him forward, and the virtual studio followed like an obedient stage built around its performer.

The man looked toward the square, then toward the incoming Vestiges, then back to Nyxie. "Yes," he said immediately. "Excellent plan."

’At least his survival instincts are excellent.’

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