The Tower of Myths had no true nights.
Only quieter hours.
The higher dimensional floors drifted in endless twilight while shattered stars floated slowly beyond massive cathedral windows. Entire realities rotated beneath the tower like glowing reflections trapped inside black crystal.
For once—
nobody was training.
No dimensional monsters.
No collapsing floors.
No battles shaking universes apart.
Just silence.
A small fire crackled softly within one of the tower's suspended courtyards while the group rested around it. The flames burned strange colors here, shifting between gold, blue, and deep violet depending on the surrounding mana currents.
Amelia lazily spun a knife between her fingers while resting against a broken pillar.
Yura sat quietly beside Satre, eyes half closed as countless frost sigils rotated slowly around her body.
And Gramia—
Gramia simply stared into the fire.
Watching it too carefully.
Satre noticed first.
"You're thinking too much again."
Gramia blinked softly before laughing under her breath.
"…Is it that obvious?"
"Yes," Amelia answered immediately. "You have the emotional aura of a depressed librarian."
"That's oddly specific."
"I stand by it."
Even Yura smiled slightly at that.
The warmth around the fire settled naturally after that.
Not forced.
Not awkward.
Just tired people finally allowing themselves to breathe.
Satre rested Gurter across her lap quietly.
Her future sight remained active in the background like a second heartbeat now. Ten futures drifted constantly through her mind while she observed the people around her.
One future showed Amelia starting another argument.
Three showed Yura freezing someone.
One showed the fire exploding for reasons she genuinely couldn't understand.
She chose not to mention that one.
Gramia finally spoke after a long silence.
"…I wasn't always this calm."
That drew everyone's attention.
The dimensional equations floating faintly around her fingers slowed.
"My world used to be loud," she continued softly. "Beautiful too."
Her silver eyes reflected the firelight distantly.
"Dimension Jumpers spent most of our lives exploring. We crossed realities constantly. Studied different worlds. Learned different systems."
Yura tilted her head slightly.
"You miss it."
"Yes."
Simple answer.
Heavy answer.
Gramia folded her arms loosely around her knees.
"We weren't weak either," she admitted. "People misunderstand scholars sometimes. Space manipulation is terrifying when weaponized properly."
Amelia smirked.
"Now that I believe."
A faint smile crossed Gramia's face.
"We specialized in movement mostly. Battlefield control. Spatial compression. Dimensional folding." Her expression dimmed slightly afterward. "But eventually the Successor Games reached our world."
The atmosphere around the fire changed subtly.
Satre's future sight flickered briefly.
"The gods?" she asked quietly.
Gramia nodded once.
"At first we ignored it. Thought if we stayed uninvolved the games would move on naturally."
Amelia scoffed immediately.
"Yeah. Gods never leave people alone."
"No," Gramia agreed softly. "They don't."
For a moment she hesitated.
Like she was carefully choosing how much to reveal.
Then finally—
"One of Brola's Dependents arrived eventually."
Not the Fighter God himself.
Just a Dependent.
And somehow…
that sounded worse.
Gramia's eyes lowered toward the flames.
"He challenged our strongest fighters first." Her voice remained calm, but bitterness lingered beneath it now. "When they refused to participate in the games…"
The fire crackled softly.
"…he destroyed entire cities."
Silence.
Amelia's expression darkened instantly.
Yura's frost aura shifted colder.
Satre quietly tightened her grip around Gurter.
Gramia exhaled slowly.
"We fought back eventually. We had to." A faint smile crossed her face briefly. "Dimension Jumpers are difficult to kill."
That sounded like experience talking.
"But he kept adapting," she continued. "Every battle became worse. Every victory cost more."
Her eyes reflected the flames strangely now.
Like someone remembering screams hidden beneath the firelight.
"In the end…"
She stopped briefly.
Then forced herself to continue anyway.
"…my world died slowly."
No dramatic speech.
No tears.
That made it hurt more.
Satre's future sight activated instinctively again.
And suddenly—
she understood something.
Gramia wasn't just calm.
She was exhausted.
The kind of exhaustion that settled into the soul after surviving too long alone.
Amelia quietly looked away first.
"…Gods really suck."
That earned a quiet laugh from Gramia.
"Yes," she admitted softly. "Some do."
Not all.
Just some.
Important distinction.
Yura studied Gramia carefully.
"You still joined the tower anyway."
"I needed strength."
That answer came instantly.
Too instantly.
Gramia finally leaned back slightly against the broken stone behind her.
"The Tower of Myths attracts people like us eventually. Survivors. Monsters. Obsessives. People chasing something impossible."
Satre looked toward the endless dimensional sky above them.
"…People trying to save someone."
Gramia's eyes softened faintly at that.
"Yes."
Silence settled around the fire once more.
But this silence felt different.
Closer.
The kind formed when pain stopped needing explanations.
Eventually Amelia stretched lazily before standing.
"Well," she muttered, "now I'm emotionally invested."
"That sounds dangerous," Yura replied.
"It usually is."
Amelia looked toward Gramia afterward, expression unusually genuine.
"You're one of us now though."
Gramia blinked slightly.
Amelia shrugged.
"You climbed into cosmic trauma hell with us. That counts."
Even Satre smiled softly at that.
And for the first time in a very long time—
Gramia genuinely laughed.
Not politely.
Not softly.
Actually laughed.
The sound echoed strangely through the endless tower.
Warm enough to momentarily make the dimensional abyss outside feel less empty.
Far away—
beyond countless realities—
Shiro continued suffering beneath Raiku's hands.
But here—
around this small impossible fire suspended between dimensions—
the people trying to save him had finally begun becoming something more than allies.
Not warriors.
Not Dependents.
Not survivors.
Family.