Chapter 024 - Moonlit Mirage 11

  No. 9 joined us this time as we pressed upward, the air growing colder, heavier.

  As expected, beyond the third floor, there were no leather artifacts to be found. Instead, the space was dominated by ancient shrines, their wooden altars draped in dust, forgotten by time.

  I ran my fingers over the rough surfaces of the statues, feeling the grit of neglect. They were all made of clay or porcelain—lifeless, brittle things. Not a single one bore the grotesque wrapping of skin.

  White ropes hung in eerie loops, swaying gently as if disturbed by an unseen breeze. Wind chimes dangled from them, their glassy whispers barely audible, accompanied by strips of white cloth that fluttered like lost prayers.

  This pattern repeated from the fourth floor up to the eighth.

  And yet, there was something else.

  When we tossed objects from these floors, they didn’t shatter the lake’s surface like a broken mirror. Instead, the water swallowed them whole, as if it were not water at all, but something hungrier.

  Yangjin’s chant echoed in my mind, an omen wrapped in riddles.

  "Illusions as fleeting as moonlight on water…"

  Was it a warning? A clue?

  If the lake was truly a mirror, then what was it reflecting? And more importantly—what were we supposed to do?

  Could someone walk across it?

  The higher we climbed, the smaller the floors became, our search growing quicker, more methodical.

  By the time we reached the ninth floor, we all hesitated at the threshold.

  Five of us, standing still. Not out of exhaustion. Not out of fear. But because we knew—Yangjin had spent a long time up here. And somehow, that fact alone made the space feel… tainted.

  Brushing off the unease, I stepped forward. "I’ll go first."

  The door groaned open, revealing a room smaller than expected—almost unnervingly pristine.

  Tall windows lined the walls, their panes streaked with time. Against one, perched on an old wooden stand, was an ancient brass telescope, its surface oxidized with age, a patina of green eating into the metal.

  I picked it up, rolling its weight in my hands. "So, Yangjin sat here, watching the horizon… waiting for her lost lover to return?"

  No. 137 stiffened. "Bro, don’t just touch her stuff! What if she knows?"

  I smirked. "Relax. With that one-legged snail-hop of hers, it'll take her a while to get up here."

  No. 137’s expression darkened, lips pressed tight.

  Beside me, No. 25 crouched by the window and flicked a brass candleholder into the void.

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  We counted.

  One… two… three…

  The crash came four seconds later, an impact so jarring it sent a tremor through my chest.

  I leaned over, peering down. The lake’s surface, once eerily smooth, was now splintered with cracks—fractured veins spreading like a web of frost.

  "So, it’s the floor level that makes the difference," I mused, raising the telescope to my eye.

  At first, all I saw was the shattered candleholder sprawled on the rocks below.

  Beyond that, the lake stretched out, its surface an uncanny reflection of the moon’s pale light, smooth as glass, cold as death.

  And farther still—

  Darkness.

  An abyss without stars, an emptiness that stretched infinitely outward, as if the sky itself had been hollowed out.

  Finally, I turned my gaze to the moon.

  The crescent hung low, glowing with an ethereal brilliance, impossibly white.

  And then—

  A bolt of cold shot through my spine. My breath hitched. My grip on the telescope tightened, fingers locking so hard my knuckles paled.

  Something was wrong.

  Elliot’s voice cut through the silence. "It really is the floor level… Do you think the first floor is frozen too? If it is, maybe we could actually walk across." He hesitated, sensing the shift in my posture. "Sylas? What’s wrong? Sylas!"

  His hands were on my shoulders, shaking me, snapping me back.

  I let out a shuddering breath and lowered the telescope, steadying myself against the window frame.

  Elliot’s gaze sharpened. "What did you see?"

  I wiped the cold sweat from my temple, swallowing hard. The others waited, their anticipation thick enough to taste.

  I forced the words out.

  "I saw the edge of the moon," I said slowly. "Not a smooth curve… but jagged. Uneven. As if something had been cut from it."

  Silence.

  I kept going.

  "And beneath that glow… I saw veins. Flesh. Tissue." My pulse hammered against my ribs. "I saw the fine, intricate weave of muscle fibers… and a tattoo. A spider tattoo. It had been stitched into place—patched into the missing part of the moon." My voice faltered. "No. That’s not the moon at all. That’s a hollowed-out circle, being rebuilt, piece by piece."

  Elliot’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into my arm.

  No. 25 narrowed her eyes. "That’s insane."

  No. 9 frowned, deep in thought. "Could it be…?"

  Only No. 137 remained clueless, blinking. "Uh… what? What does that mean?"

  I exhaled, my voice dropping to a near whisper.

  "Yangjin’s skin," I said. "It’s up there."

  The others stiffened.

  I turned my gaze back to the sky, to the vast, depthless blackness stretching above. And in that moment, I knew—

  That wasn’t the night sky at all.

  It was a drum.

  A massive, cosmic drum, its surface trembling with a sound so low, so deep, it resonated in my bones.

  And its hide—

  Was the skin Yangjin had lost.