Roselia placed a hand on his shoulder. "She burned it?"
Leon nodded slowly. "The fifth movent. The final section of the Pri Composition."
"Why?"
"…She couldn't finish it."
Milim crossed her arms. "Or she chose not to."
Roman added, "Either way… whatever's waiting at the end of this path—Echoia didn't want anyone to reach it."
They moved on.
The gallery narrowed until they reached a final platform—a circular room surrounded by angled mirrors, each humming with faint light.
In the center, a pedestal.
And on it, a single crystalline shard:
[mory Fragnt: "Sovereign Echoia – Last Composition Attempt"]
[Playback? Y/N]
Leon didn't hesitate.
[Y]
The room faded.
They stood on a floating battlefield—silent, unreal, covered in broken music sheets and shattered rhythms.
Echoia stood in the center, eyes wide with despair.
She held her instrunt—a blade fused with sound, much like Temporfang.
Before her, the Pri Composition.
But it was wrong.
Unstable.
"I thought… I could fix everything," she whispered. "They said the Fifth Movent could close the Wound. But it needs sothing I no longer have."
"A pure rhythm."
She laughed bitterly.
"I destroyed mine trying to make the Tower whole."
Then, she looked up.
"If you are hearing this… find your own rhythm. Don't follow mine. Compose what you are. Not what I failed to be."
She turned.
Walked into the storm.
End Recording.
The mory dissolved.
Leon stood still.
He understood now.
The Tower didn't need him to replicate the old path.
It needed him to forge a new one.
One that only he could create.
Back in the gallery chamber, the mirrors began to pulse.
The Tower acknowledged his decision.
[New Trial: Resonant Identity Conflict – Active.]
[Participants: Full Team.]
[Objective: Overco the illusion of each other.]
Liliana turned sharply. "What does that an?"
The room answered by splitting.
Each of them was dragged—instantly, without pain—into mirrored pods.
Leon heard Milim scream once, "This better not swap my body again!"
Then silence.
Darkness.
And then—
Leon opened his eyes in soone else's skin.
He was inside Naval's body.
But with all his mories intact.
And across from him stood a reflection—wearing his own face, smirking.
"Let's see how well you really understand your team," it said.
And then the trial began.
Leon staggered forward, catching himself on one knee.
The world around him was a dusky reflection of Floor 301's edge—forges and mountain ridges seen through a muted blue haze. But the air, the gravity, even the tempo beneath his skin—it wasn't his.
He looked down.
Naval's hands.
Smaller, more slender than his own—but pulsing with precision. He felt the oceanic aura coiling through his limbs. Waterforce Manipulation laced with Rune Precision Flow. A martial art that required perfect rhythm… and perfect control.
"I see," Leon muttered. "The Tower wants to survive in soone else's rhythm."
A voice echoed behind him.
"Wrong."
Leon turned.
It was Naval.
Or… the illusion of Naval. A reflection conjured by the trial. This Naval was not calm or calculating.
He was furious.
"You've never truly understood . You lead, but you don't listen. You think rhythm alone is enough?"
He drew his twin blades—curved, fluid, and etched in living runes. Water danced across their edge like silver fla.
Leon raised his fists slowly. Naval's magic was precise—defensive and sharp, nothing like Shell Reverb. He had to adapt, not overwrite.
"I'm not here to copy you," Leon said. "I'm here to understand."
The illusion sneered.
"Then survive ."
The fight began in silence.
The reflection struck first—flowing like a river unleashed. Not wild. Not chaotic.
asured. Deadly.
Leon moved instinctively, sidestepping—but Naval's body wasn't built for brute force. His attempt to parry failed, and he took a grazing slice across the chest.
Pain blood.
The water blades burned—not physically, but as if every cut disrupted his internal rhythm.
He fell back, trying to summon tempo—only to feel nothing.
No Shell Pulse. No Temporfang. No Echo techniques.
Just Naval's body. His flow. His rules.
The reflection advanced. "You lead like a storm. But what happens when your storm is silenced?"
Leon closed his eyes.
And listened.
Inside, beneath the panic and confusion, was a pulse.
Not his.
It was Naval's tempo.
He could feel it now.
Not loud, not aggressive—but flowing, patient, and sharp.
He let his breathing match it.
Let the rhythm shape his stance.
And when the next strike ca, he moved—not to block or overpower, but to redirect.
The reflection's blade skidded past him, water flaring in a mist.
Leon pivoted, letting the montum roll through him.
Then struck—open-palm, not to injure, but to shift the flow.
The reflection blinked.
"You—"
Leon didn't answer.
He stepped again, in rhythm now. Each move guided not by instinct, but by understanding. Naval's technique wasn't about offense—it was about reading the tide.
He wasn't fighting the illusion.
He was fighting his misunderstanding of Naval.
They clashed a final ti.
Leon caught both blades on his palms, locked eyes with the illusion, and spoke.
"You've carried more than I realized. Not in silence… but in stillness."
The illusion stilled.
Its expression softened.
"Then learn this."
A flash of blue light. A pulse entered Leon's mind like a drop of pure clarity.
[You have understood the Tempo of Precision: Naval's Inner Flow.]
[New Rhythm Fragnt unlocked: "Tranquil Dissonance – Shiftform: Water Thread Combat"]
[Leon's Insight into Allies 1]
The illusion stepped back.
Bowed.
And faded.
Leon exhaled, soaked in sweat.
The space around him unraveled.
And suddenly, he was back—in his own body, kneeling in a mirrored chamber. Naval stood across from him, blinking rapidly, as if just waking.
Both stared.
Then, slowly, nodded to one another.
They didn't need words.
Across the chamber, other pods began releasing steam.
Roselia's hissed open. Her eyes were red—but calm.
Milim's exploded open, and she shouted, "IF I HAVE TO BE ROMAN AGAIN I'M GONNA LOSE IT."
Liliana's pod cracked slowly. She erged quiet, gaze distant.
"I had to be Roselia," she said simply. "It wasn't easy."
Roselia raised an eyebrow. "…Likewise."
Roman chuckled darkly. "So. Identity combat. ntal warfare through empathy. Tower's not pulling any punches anymore."
Leon stood.
"That's because we're getting close to the next fracture."
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