My Infinite System.

The crowd had gathered before the sun cleared the ridge.

Finn saw them from a distance. A sea of faces, some curious, some reverent, some just bored and looking for entertainment. They lined the road leading to the rift site, held back by a cordon of nervous soldiers in Veridian blue.

"They knew we were coming," Mira said.

"The King announced it," Dorian replied. "Three days ago. Made it a spectacle. ’The Champions of the Academy’ coming to save the northern provinces.’"

"That’s not what we are."

"That’s what he needs us to be."

Finn walked ahead, letting the others fall in behind him. He’d learned that posture mattered. Shoulders back. Chin level. The same lesson Lucian had drilled into him years ago, in a different life. People saw what they expected to see. He’d give them something worth seeing.

The crowd parted as they approached. Hands reached out, not quite touching. Voices called out names, blessings, pleas. A woman pushed forward, clutching a child to her chest.

"Please," she said. "My son. He saw the rift. He hasn’t spoken since. Please—"

Finn stopped. Looked at the boy. His eyes were open but empty. His mouth moved without sound.

"We’ll see what we can do," Finn said.

The woman’s face crumpled. Relief. Gratitude. Tears.

Mira stepped forward, placed a hand on the boy’s forehead. Her eyes closed. Her staff hummed.

"There’s a shadow," she said. "Not a physical one. A memory shadow. He saw something he wasn’t supposed to see."

"Can you fix it?"

"I can try."

She worked in silence. The crowd watched. The soldiers watched. The boy’s mother held her breath.

After a minute, the boy blinked. His eyes focused. He looked at his mother, then at Mira, then at the sky.

"Mom," he said. "I’m hungry."

The mother collapsed. The crowd erupted.

Finn walked on.

---

The rift site was a crater.

Not the kind made by impact. The kind made by absence. A perfect circle, a mile wide, its edges smooth as glass. At the center, the air shimmered and twisted, colors bleeding into colors that didn’t exist.

A group of mages waited at the rim. Their robes were singed. Their faces were pale. They looked like they hadn’t slept in weeks.

"Champions," one of them said. The word came out flat. He was too tired for awe.

"Tell us what we’re dealing with," Finn said.

The mage gestured at the rift. "It opened three months ago. At first, it was small. Stable. We thought we could study it. Then it grew. Now it’s pulling things through."

"What things?"

"Shadows. Echoes. Fragments of places that don’t exist." The mage’s voice wavered. "We sent a team in. Six mages. Three returned. The ones who came back couldn’t remember what they saw."

Mira stepped forward. "I need to feel it."

She closed her eyes, reached out with her staff. The hum intensified. Her face tightened.

"There’s something inside," she said. "Not a person. Not a monster. A structure. A tower."

"A tower?"

"Made of memories. Or what’s left of them." Mira opened her eyes. "The rift isn’t natural. Someone built it. Someone built it to keep something in."

Finn looked at Dorian. Dorian looked at the rift.

"We’re going in," Finn said.

The mages protested. It was suicide. No one had survived a full expedition. The rift was unstable. The rift was—Finn stopped listening. He was already walking toward the edge.

---

The air inside was cold.

Not the cold of winter. The cold of absence. The kind that made you feel like you were the only person in existence.

The tower rose before them. Not made of stone or metal—made of something else. Something that flickered and shifted, like light through water. Windows opened and closed in patterns that didn’t make sense.

"Stay together," Finn said.

They entered through an archway that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

The first floor was a hall. Endless. Pillars rose to a ceiling that disappeared into darkness. Everything was grey. Everything was quiet.

"Where are the enemies?" Dorian asked.

"Look closer," Mira said.

The shadows moved.

Not attacking. Watching. Waiting. They shifted as the three of them passed, flowing like water around obstacles.

"Don’t touch them," Finn said.

He led them through the hall. The shadows parted. Then closed again behind them.

---

The second floor was a library.

Books without titles. Shelves without ends. A figure sat at a desk in the center, writing with a pen that left no ink.

"Who are you?" Finn asked.

The figure didn’t look up. "I’m the one who remembers. That’s all."

"Remembers what?"

"Everything that was erased." The figure’s voice was hollow. "I write it down. So it won’t be gone forever."

Mira approached the desk. "Caleb? Is that you?"

The figure looked up. Its face shifted. Became a boy with dark hair and tired eyes. Became someone else. Became no one.

"I was Caleb," it said. "Now I’m the memory of Caleb. There’s a difference."

"What happened to you?"

"I was taken. Erased. But I didn’t forget. I couldn’t. So I stayed. I built this place. To hold the memories."

Finn stepped forward. "Evelyn. Do you know Evelyn?"

The figure’s face shifted again. Became a woman with silver hair and steady hands. Became no one.

"She was here," the figure said. "A long time ago. She passed through. She was looking for something."

"What?"

"The source. The beginning. The Aethel."

The name hung in the air.

"Where is it?" Finn asked.

The figure pointed to the ceiling. "At the top. Through the trials. Through the forgetting."

"How do we pass the trials?"

The figure smiled. It wasn’t a happy smile. "You don’t. You endure them."

---

The third floor was a maze of mirrors.

Every reflection showed a different face. Some old. Some young. Some unknown.

"Don’t look at them," Mira said.

Too late. Finn had already seen himself. Not the current him—the old him. The hungry boy in the alley. The thief who’d had nothing and expected nothing.

"I’m not him anymore," Finn said.

The mirror cracked.

---

The fourth floor was a battlefield.

Ghosts fought wars that had never happened. Men and women in armor that didn’t exist. The sounds of combat echoed without source.

"Keep moving," Dorian said.

A ghost turned. Looked at him.

"Ashford," it said.

Dorian froze.

"Father?"

The ghost smiled. "You think you’ve escaped me."

"You’re not real."

"I’m real enough."

Dorian raised his hand. Fire erupted. The ghost burned. But another took its place.

Dorian kept burning. Kept walking. Didn’t look back.

---

The fifth floor was a room with a single door.

Finn pushed it open.

The room was empty. Except for the woman standing at the window.

She had silver hair. Violet eyes. She turned when he entered.

"Hello, Finn," Evelyn said. "I’ve been waiting."