CHAPTER 117: THE STAIRWAY TO DOOM

But soon enough, the human aide couldn’t even muster the strength for a half-hearted clap, let alone real applause. His arms hung limp, and his legs felt like boiled noodles.

Riley was not sure what kind of place this was supposed to be, but in his mind, it needed a new label.

A torture chamber.

Yes. Definitely a torture chamber.

From the outside, the spire had looked deceivingly simple. Plain stone, not much to brag about, certainly nothing that screamed "abandon hope, all ye who enter." But the moment he stepped inside, Riley discovered the truth.

It was a giant, endless death trap disguised as a staircase.

A spiral staircase that wound up and up, as if straight into the heavens.

He looked up once, regretted it instantly, then looked down, regretted that even more.

Just how far would a pebble thrown from the top travel?

Would it even hit the ground, or would it just burn out of existence halfway?

At the rate he was going, Riley felt like he’d collapse before the pebble did.

Apparently, he’d grown far too complacent. Because now he realized something very important: there was a world of difference between having an amulet and not having one at all.

And without one?

The poor, innocent aide was hard-pressed to catch even a whiff of oxygen. His chest heaved, his lungs burned, and his legs wobbled with every pitiful step upward.

"Haahh...!"

Oh, this was bad.

This death spire was apparently the grand home and keeper of the Moonveil Codex. And what, pray tell, was its greatest security measure?

Equalization.

A truly terrifying equalizer.

Or in Riley’s case, a brutal negator.

Because the spire nullified the use of all artifacts, amulets, and magical devices not powered by its own mana source. Which meant...

Goodbye, Guardian’s Heartstone.

Goodbye, borrowed privileges.

Goodbye, unfair advantages.

Hello, sad, regular human body that now had to climb every cursed step the hard way. And not even magic could cheat him out of it, because that too was forbidden here.

"!!!"

Riley groaned into his sleeve. He was going to die. Absolutely, unequivocally, pathetically die.

From the outside, Riley had honestly thought it looked manageable. Just a tower. Just some stairs. Nothing that screamed "welcome to your early grave."

So when Kael, with that irritatingly neutral face, had offered to "bring" him up, Riley had politely declined. After all, everyone’s eyes were on them, curious and expectant.

But now?

Now, Riley thought he wouldn’t mind if he were carried like a sack of flour. Hell, he was seriously contemplating volunteering for it. Because he was sure he was this close to just rolling backward, tumbling all the way down, and seeing the light. Or the darkness. Whichever afterlife was assigned to him, he wasn’t picky.

And all this was happening while they were technically cheating.

Yes. Because apparently, the spire’s cursed enchantments didn’t negate things like the blood sigil. For once, that tattooed disaster was actually useful. Riley, for once in his life, was glad to have it.

But of course, Kael only let him borrow just enough strength to keep him upright. Not comfortable.

Riley would have loved to grumble. To cry injustice. But even he understood why.

Was it realistic for a human to march alongside elves and dragons, keeping pace with their stamina and strength?

Definitely not.

So, unless he wanted everyone to start questioning what kind of freakish abomination he was, Kael couldn’t let him look too cozy.

He could appreciate the thought about his future, but who could blame him for having complaints when it was so difficult to think about future benefits when the present wasn’t even guaranteed?

If he didn’t make it to tomorrow, then what’s the point, right?

So understandably, after hours—several hours—of dragging himself upward, Riley started thinking dangerous thoughts. Like maybe the food they’d been given earlier wasn’t poisoned at all.

Maybe the hosts knew this was the destination and were just being merciful, feeding them one last good meal before sentencing them to this stairway death trap.

At this point, half delirious, Riley decided that even if the food was poisoned, he’d have eaten it anyway. Better to go with a full stomach than suffer like this.

Then his sore, overworked feet shuffled wrong, and suddenly he regretted all his jokes about dying.

Because now it was happening.

The spire’s middle was a yawning void. No rails. No safety nets. No second chances. Miss a step, and you’d plummet into nothingness, your body splattering into ketchup all the way down to the base.

Riley swayed. His vision blurred. His short, measly life played like a flickering lantern reel in his head.

And then—

Strong arms.

Firm hands.

Caught him.

"Huh?"

Blinking furiously, he realized he hadn’t actually hit the abyss. He was suspended, steady, braced between two figures.

On one side, Kael’s golden gaze burned, his arm wrapped tight around Riley’s waist, pulling him flush and solid against the wall of muscle Riley had been trying very hard to avoid acknowledging all morning.

On the other side, the elven prince’s hand had clamped around his arm, steady and precise, holding him back from his graceful swan dive into oblivion.

It was, without question, the most unlikely rescue Riley had ever experienced to date. One held his waist. The other held his arm. And him? He was dangling in disbelief, caught by surprise, and was terribly hoping no one would decide he’d just been saved by accident.

It settled belatedly. Too belatedly. Because his heart was still trying to break free of its cage, hammering against his ribs like it was ready to leap out of him entirely.

"..."

"Umm, t-thank you, Prince Rowan, Lord Dravaryn."

The words slipped out of Riley’s mouth in a rush, but the order in which they came out was... unfortunate.

Kael’s brows rose immediately.

He didn’t like the sound of that name. Not that he minded it before. But today it sounded especially annoying.

He also didn’t like that it came before his own. Like it had soured any word that came after it. But he especially didn’t like that the twig had used his title instead of his given name when that wrinkly ancient’s name was used as if he had been saying it for a long time.

His tongue clicked, sharp and annoyed.

Riley, misinterpreting the issue entirely, winced. Oh, perfect. The golden lizard was upset that he was weak. Again. He opened his mouth to explain, but Rowan, apparently the considerate one, stepped in, suggesting gently that perhaps they should rest or maybe he should carry Riley—

He never finished.

Because Kael, with the quiet force of a storm, pulled Riley out of Rowan’s grasp like someone reclaiming stolen property. Before Riley could register what was happening, he was hoisted into the air, cradled against Kael’s chest.

Like a baby.

A full-grown, dignity-stripped, flailing baby.

"!!!"

Riley’s arms windmilled in useless protest as all the elves in their entourage turned wide eyes toward them. Rowan froze, blinking in faint disbelief. Riley, meanwhile, was two breaths away from screaming into his hands.

It wasn’t that he didn’t need the help. No, he really did. But couldn’t it have been done in a less conspicuous way? Maybe being hoisted upside down, or at least a piggyback ride? Anything but... this.

And why was the dragon lord so angry about it? He was the one who insisted Riley follow, even though Riley had already suggested skipping the whole ordeal because hello, human here! If Kael wanted him here, then why was he acting like carrying him was some kind of punishment?

"Stop squirming."

"I wouldn’t squirm if you didn’t carry me like a—" Riley cut himself off, glancing nervously at the elves. "Like a distinguished... loaf of bread."

Kael gave him a side-eye colder than the enchanted bedding from last night. "Still looking?"

"Mn." Riley hummed distractedly, eyes narrowed, head turning just enough to study the walls behind Rowan. The markings there. The way the pattern repeated, almost like...

Kael’s jaw flexed.

"Mn?" His voice dropped lower. "What exactly are you still looking at?"

"The walls," Riley answered absently.

But Kael was unconvinced. The aide’s gaze had been aligned with the white noodle, and every time Riley leaned just slightly, Kael’s temper tested itself. Unknown to him, unknown even to Riley, the whole thing looked absurdly like a lover’s spat.

Rowan noticed. Of course he did. His eyes flicked between Riley’s determined squint and Kael’s unreadable expression. Then, in the most polite tone imaginable, he said, "Congratulations, Lord Dravaryn."

"Huh?" Riley’s head jerked up.

Even Kael raised a brow at that.

Rowan’s expression remained oddly congratulatory, his lips curving with diplomatic smoothness. "It seems Eryndra is about to welcome a mate."

"Huh? Who?" Riley asked before he could stop himself, blinking furiously.

Rowan’s polite smile didn’t falter. His voice was perfectly calm. "You."

"..."

"..."

"!!!"

Riley froze. His brain short-circuited. Surely, his ears had to be playing tricks on him?

...Excuse me?

He sure as hell didn’t just hear someone curse him like that. Did he?