None Shall Climb

— Deal sealed~!!

Necraia's tongue flicked across her fingertip once again.

— Mmm~!! Bitterness. Shame. Rage. Ahh… Envy really adds depth to the flavor profile.

She gave a long and satisfied exhale like someone finishing an expensive wine before she turned her eyes to me, flicking a ring from her pocket. 

I fumbled as I caught it. 

— That's a Pocket. Every single person in this Tower has one, except you. I assume you're not dumb enough not to know what it's used for, right Mr. Take Everything, I Only Need a Year?

A Pocket.

Of course I knew what it was.

But I had only ever heard about them. After all, it was personal and only the user could see their pockets. 

It was a combination of translator and communicator used to communicate with beings from the higher floors, along with an inventory feature that allows the storing of weapons, gear, and items inside a subspace. 

The pocket was also bounded and cannot be taken off once worn.

But.

"...How does it work?"

Necraia grinned, hopping upright like she'd been waiting for that question all along.

— Simple, ehe~! Bleed into it.

I blinked.

"...What?"

— Blood, Rhaen. Blood. It needs a drop to bind. That's how the underworld syncs to your soul. It's very picky about its owner, so it might… 

Before she could finish, I placed my pinky finger between my teeth and bit down.

"Urgkh…"

I felt the pain from my pinky finger up to my arm, but I didn't stop. I kept grinding until the taste of iron overflowed in my mouth and blood poured down my wrist and dripped to the floor.

Necraia blinked, her sentence halting mid-word.

The blood didn't just drip, it steamed. 

Right after, I inserted the ring on my bloody pinky finger and it sizzled immediately like molten wax against ice. The sigils etched into the ring's black surface flared red.

— Oh.

Necraia tilted her head. Her voice, for once, sounded almost… breathless.

— Well, that's one way to do it…

Threads of smoke wove from the ring, my pinky finger, and finally around my left forearm. It continued until the bleeding stopped and the ring disappeared like it was never there. 

To my surprise, the wound from my bite was also healed along with the wound from the bullet graze.

— You're really not planning on living long, huh? 

Necraia smiled, but it wasn't her usual grin. It was a brittle smile like she feared that the deal would be over before it even started.

Still, she didn't stop me.

Instead, she lifted her hand and gently pressed her pointing finger to her cheek. Her lips pursed as her gaze wandered upward toward the sky.

— Mmmm~!! Try to sense it. Let its shape settle into you. Let its weight rest against your hands. Listen to how it speaks without words.

She drew a lazy circle in the air with one fingertip, and faint trails of black-blue light spun around her like ribbon in a wind that wasn't there.

Having no idea what I was doing, I followed Necraia's instructions. 

I closed my eyes and breathed in slowly.

At first, I imagined light or perhaps something brilliant that might make me feel seen and chosen like how the stories always said a Gift should feel. 

However, what came to me wasn't light at all.

It was cold.

I felt like I was standing alone in a room that had never been touched by warmth, by sound, by life, and by light. There was a single plain door in sight and I reached towards it. 

I didn't know how.

But just as I did, memories resurfaced in my mind. Memories about everything that hurt, everything I had lost, and everything I wanted to protect and couldn't. 

"...Mr. Graycat, …Mr. Junon…"

The more I reached, the more the silence inside me cracked open and spilled out.

— No. Don't. Don't do that.

Necraia's words echoed from the darkness as my hands finally touched the doorknob. 

— Stop it. Stop it right now. 

But I couldn't stop. 

A hand slipped out from the door and gently wrapped around mine. The sensation was cold but not frightening, as if it had been waiting there just for me. It slowly guided my fingers tighter around the doorknob like telling me that this was the only way forward and all I had to do now was turn it open.

"You're None, aren't you? Isn't that what they call you?"

"Didn't the Tower turn its back on you?"

"Open the door."

"Take what's yours." 

"You were born with nothing, so why not take everything now?"

The whispers came like a lullaby to my ears. They never screamed. They never demanded. They just tempted me to open the door gently and sweetly… and what scared me most was how much I wanted to say yes.

I couldn't resist.

So I tightened my grip even more, letting out all the frustrations I had against the tower and prepared to turn the knob to open the door. 

— RHAEN VAUXHALL!

Necraia shouted.

Opening my eyes, Necraia stood right in front of me with both of her palms cupping my cheeks as if she had just woke me up from that vivid dream. 

Her hands were warm, but…

"...Mr. Junon," I muttered. The darkness reminded me of him and Mr. Graycat. 

I ran.

Rain poured down again and the rusted streets shimmered with reflections of flickering neon and oil-slick puddles. Every step I took splashed as I raced back to Mr. Junon's shop.

But when I reached the shop, Mr. Junon's body was already gone.

Right.

I forgot about it— that when the beings of the tower die, there's a timer until their bodies crumble like pieces of puzzles and evaporate (explains why there's a high crime rate in Ferroa Arx, bodies are not found if not reported).

Nonetheless.

That phenomenon only applies to humans, as Mr. Graycat's body was still solid right beside my jacket.

***

Necraia sat upside down on the rusted hands of the old clocktower, legs swinging lazily as the wind threaded through the silver line running from her neck to her wrist that was faintly visible beneath the hem of her oversized shirt.

From this height, the city looked like a broken mechanism: pipes and steel and soot and trash all crammed into a cage that pretended to be a home.

There wasn't a smile on her face now.

Her scythe floated quietly beside her, and her chin rested in her palm as she watched a small silhouette disappear into the far edge of the city, walking toward the green hush of Verde Arx.

Looking up, dark clouds veiled the sky. But she didn't need light to feel the weight pressing down from the higher floors. 

— Rhaen Vauxhall.

Necraia whispered in a sing-song tone, recalling the calamity that nearly unfolded earlier.

At first, she had assumed he was just another poor soul, discarded by the Tower. However, the moment she saw that energy pouring from him like a storm… she came to a realization.

Rhaen was not giftless, but...

'None' itself was the gift.

A Gift that hadn't been seen in centuries. 

A Gift feared not just by her, but even by the Administrator of the Hundredth Floor.

Guess I can't play the carefree reaper card anymore, Necraia thought as she leaned back and let herself fall, flipping once before landing lightly on the jagged spire jutting from the clocktower.

She looked out again toward Rhaen's direction with one foot balanced against the metal edge.

— You're gonna be fun to watch. Just… don't die too early, 'kay?

Necraia murmured, almost fondly before she disappeared into thin air.

***

The air was different in Verde Arx.

It didn't smell like trash, but soil, grass… and life. 

Walking deeper through ivy and leaves, the trash and rot of Ferroa didn't reach here. The sound of pipes clanking overhead was replaced by birdsong I had only ever heard through static on a broken transmitter.

I wasn't supposed to be here, but I didn't care. I wasn't going to let Mr. Graycat rot in a pile of trash like everything else I ever loved.

So I dug.

With bare hands at first, until the soil wore my fingers raw and then with a dull piece of rebar I found near the edge of the treeline. 

When the hole was deep enough, I unwrapped the jacket and looked at Mr. Graycat one last time.

His fur had dried and his body was cold and weightless now. I placed him gently in the pit and tucked him in with the jacket I used to wrap him.

Just before covering him, I slid a small red flower I had picked along the way beside his head. It wasn't much, but at least it was something not born from trash.

"I hope you find peace, Mr. Graycat."

I covered the grave with quiet, firm handfuls of soil until the hole was unnoticed. 

For a second, I wondered if maybe this place would let me breathe. But the moment I stood up, vines whipped out from the trees and pinned my arms in place before I even had the chance to react.

Staring ahead, a boy with bright green eyes stood above the branches. 

He looked no older than me. His cloak shimmered faintly with living fibers as they were leaves stitched into the hem and roots braided around the sleeves.

"You dare step into Verde Arx?" the boy said. "Trash of Ferroa doesn't belong here!"

Thankfully, he didn't seem to notice that I buried Mr. Graycat beneath my feet thus I didn't answer him. Instead, I raised my chin, looked him straight in the eyes, and raised my middle finger.

"Did I dirty your perfect little paradise by breathing near it?"

"You little—!"

The vines constricted tighter, biting into my arms like shackles, and the boy's face twisted in disgust and anger as he dashed forward.

I welcomed it.

Because I needed someone to throw this rage at before I left it behind.

Before the boy could reach me, I shut my eyes and reached inward, focusing on the faint hum of the Pocket around my pinky finger.

I remembered the phrase of how every climber initiated the ascent with one clear declaration: "'Gift' shall climb."

Though I don't have a gift, that should work given that I have a pocket now.

"None shall climb."