Dumdum's heart jolted in his chest as a voice sliced through the air. His eyes darted left and right, scanning the musty hall of stairs for the source. It wasn't until he glanced upward that he saw him—a small boy perched at the top of the winding staircase. The child sported horns as majestic as a stag, sprouting from his scalp and arcing towards the heavens. His hair was a blazing shade of red, and his eyes, oh his eyes, were coal-black orbs with flickering orange flames at their cores.

Dumdum's mouth opened and closed, but words were stubborn. "I...I…"

"I…I…I what?" The child's voice had an air of indignance. "This is my Master's tower, and you weren't invited!"

"I know, but the door was—"

"That doesn't give you the right to barge in! How rude!" The child's tail twitched and coiled behind him, mirroring his agitation. "Would you appreciate it if I walked into your home like this?"

Dumdum shook his head. "No, I can't imagine that because—"

"Because it's rude!" The child interrupted again.

"No, because I don't have a house," Dumdum corrected him, his voice tinged with a quiet sadness. The devil-child's tail, previously a wagging indicator of his mood, suddenly deflated, falling limp.

"You don't?"

Dumdum shook his head, "I sleep where I can. Usually where I work."

A softening glance replaced the child's earlier indignation. "Hungry?"

"A bit peckish, actually."

"Follow me, then. My Master taught me how to cook." The boy began to ascend the Tower's winding steps.

As Dumdum followed, he regretted his admission of hunger. With each flight of stairs, his legs grew heavier, his breath more ragged. By the time they reached the fifth floor, Dumdum was doubting the wisdom of accepting food from a horned child in a mysterious tower.

Yet just when he thought the stairs would never end, they did. He stepped onto a floor that shattered his sense of reality. The room was a study in contrasts, its design incongruent with everything he knew. At the centre stood an expansive bed, its stark whiteness a startling focal point. Large enough to fit four people comfortably, it looked like a place where one might either sleep for an eternity or not sleep at all. The cabinets near the bed were another oddity, devoid of any ornamentation, their doors sliding sideways like enchanted panels.

Across from the bed, a large frame hung on the wall. But it held no portrait or artwork—just a darker reflection of Dumdum himself. "A useless mirror," he muttered under his breath.

To the right, what seemed like a bathroom but with no stove or fireplace to heat water. And then to the left, a kitchen. Oh, that kitchen. A place so foreign Dumdum couldn't find the words to describe it.

Intrigued yet bewildered, he moved closer to the boy, who was now placing a bowl inside a rectangular box. With a push of a button, the box hummed to life, emitting light as the bowl began to rotate.

"I have some leftovers from yesterday. I hope you like pasta," the boy said, breaking the silence.

"By the way, my name is Tower. Yours?"

"Dumdum."

There was a pause, and then Tower looked him straight in the eye, scepticism etched on his youthful face. "Really?"

"Huh, yes," Dumdum confirmed, a bit defensively.

"That's not a nickname?"

"No."

"I see you had a happy childhood," Tower said, his voice laced with irony as he turned his attention back to the box, which suddenly chimed. The light within dimmed, signalling that the cooking—or whatever arcane process had just occurred—was complete.

Tower carefully removed the bowl and set it on a sleek table, already adorned with flatware and what looked to be sparkling water. With a wave of his hand, the seats shifted out, inviting them to dine.

They sat, and Tower distributed the pasta into individual plates. Dumdum took a tentative bite. Salty, but his mother had always told him beggars couldn't be choosers.

"So, why were you chasing me?" Tower questioned, sipping his sparkling water.

"There's a horde of undead approaching Ravendrift," Dumdum replied, slurping his pasta without finesse.

"So?" Tower seemed unmoved by this revelation.

"So?" Dumdum echoed, puzzled by the boy's nonchalance.

"What does a tower—or me, for that matter—have to do with undead?" Tower queried, genuinely baffled.

Dumdum leaned back in his chair. "It's fate, Tower. I was headed to Ravendrift, and then I heard talk about a tower, and lo and behold, I found your Tower on my path. Fate wants us together. You need to help me get to Ravendrift."

Tower tried not to chuckle. "Did you just shave the yak? That logic is all over the place. Besides, my Master specifically told me not to go to Ravendrift." He popped another bite of pasta into his mouth, savouring it with the earnestness of a well-disciplined child.

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"Your Master is in Ravendrift?" Dumdum inquired, sensing an opportunity.

"Yes, he'll always be where his wife is. He made it clear when he said, 'Don't come to Ravendrift.' I won't disobey him," Tower declared, swelling with pride.

Dumdum paused, twirling his fork through the tangle of pasta on his plate. "So, you're not at all concerned that your Master and his wife are potentially in the path of a horde of undead?"

The question hovered in the air, a challenge wrapped in innocent curiosity. Tower's tail, previously a live wire of emotional cues, twitched uncertainly. For the first time, doubt crept into his eyes, muddying the clarity of his earlier convictions.

The sound of the fork clattering onto the plate echoed through the kitchen, bouncing off the walls like a lonely ghost. Tower's eyes welled up, a storm of emotions brewing behind those fiery irises.

"You don't know who my Master is!" His voice trembled, half-choked by the lump in his throat. "He's really powerful. I mean, really, really powerful. And his wife? Even more so. She summoned him, and he listened only to her! That is how powerful she is!"

Dumdum sat there, caught off guard by the force of Tower's emotions. The room had turned into a pressure cooker, and he felt ill-equipped to release the steam.

"I—"

"I—I what? You don't believe me? My Master's magic fills all these jars," Tower gestured wildly, indicating shelves upon shelves of enigmatic jars, "and when they're ready, they'll come back. We'll be a family, a happy one! There's no undead horde that can stop them!" His voice had escalated into a shout now, his body quaking with indignation.

Dumdum held his gaze steady. "Maybe your Master told you not to go to Ravendrift to keep you safe. To protect you." The sincerity in Dumdum's voice was as unfeigned as it was spontaneous.

For a moment, Tower simply looked at him as if weighing the merit of his words. Finally, he sank back into his chair, his shoulders dropping, his tail drooping. "You think he would do that?"

"Protect you?" Dumdum scanned the room—the state-of-the-art kitchen, the luxurious bed, the jars filled with what he could only imagine were wonders or dreams. "Look at all this, Tower. You're living a life far removed from the troubles of the world. If this isn't a form of care, what is? This place is like a dream. I guess, for some, it'd be the best dream ever."

Tower's eyes followed Dumdum's gaze, finally settling on one of the jars. It was as though he was seeing it for the first time. His tail began a slow, thoughtful wag, and his lips curled into a faint smile.

"Maybe you're right," he murmured, more to himself than to Dumdum. "Maybe you're right."

"Do you think you can live with the idea that your Master and his wife are in danger?" Dumdum broached cautiously as if stepping onto a frozen pond. "What if the situation is so dire that he told you to stay away because he knows he can't protect you right now?"

Tower's eyes met Dumdum's, the question plunging deep. He pushed his plate away, the uneaten pasta suddenly unappetizing. "You really think that's why? Then why wouldn't he just come here, where it's safe, and be with me?"

"Maybe they're also committed to helping people," Dumdum suggested gently. "Ravendrift isn't some backwater village; it's a significant town. Many lives are at stake."

Tower looked down, absorbing this. The wick of possibility was lit in his eyes, burning away some of the fog of his earlier certainty.

"So, if you were in my shoes," Tower finally asked, "what would you do?"

Dumdum didn't hesitate. "I'd do anything—absolutely anything—to save the people I love."

Tower's eyes lingered on Dumdum's face, searching for a semblance of deceit and finding none. The young devil sighed as if letting go of a burden he didn't realize he'd been carrying, "I can't disobey my master!"

"Well, then explain to me why it would be dangerous for you? You'll be inside a tower; this place is like a fortress! Super strong," Dumdum argued, gesturing around at the robust walls enclosing them.

"Because of the jars. They contain invaluable memories of happiness sealed in glass. If just one jar breaks, that memory is gone. Forever. Lost happiness," Tower elaborated, his voice laced with a weighty sense of responsibility.

Dumdum scratched his head. "I don't quite get it."

Tower sighed, his tail flicking anxiously. "When the Tower moves, everything inside it moves, too. If the jars aren't securely placed, they could fall and shatter. I'd need pillows, ropes, duct tape, and plastic wrap to make sure they all stay safe. And what if the undead have explosives? What if they fire them at the Tower?"

Dumdum looked intrigued yet also concerned. "So, how do you usually move this tower?"

"Slowly and carefully, Dumdum. Very, very carefully." Tower's eyes met Dumdum's, and at that moment, the gravity of the situation hung heavily between them, as tangible as the air they were breathing.

"We don't have time for 'slowly and carefully,' do we?" Dumdum finally said, breaking the silence.

Tower was already busying himself with the table, gathering the plates and cups. A sense of duty and decorum in even the smallest things, Dumdum mused.

Tower placed the dinnerware in the sink and turned on the faucet, letting the water cascade over the porcelain and glass. Each item was rinsed meticulously, and for a moment, Dumdum thought he caught a flicker of something in Tower's expression—a mingling of resolve and regret, perhaps.

Finally, Tower placed his cleaned plate into a cabinet teeming with other dirty dishes and said, "There's nothing I can do. I must obey. My Master knows what's best for the memories," Tower declared with a note of finality in his voice.

"That's it? You're just going to sit here, in your fortress of a tower, and do nothing? What about the undead? What about the people?" Dumdum's voice was tinged with disbelief and disappointment.

Tower turned to face him, his black eyes with their orange flame centres piercing into Dumdum. "It's not up to me to save the world, but it is up to me to preserve happiness. That's my responsibility. The jars, the memories, they're more important than you can imagine."

The room was quiet, save for the distant hum of whatever arcane machinery kept the Tower functioning. Dumdum's brow furrowed as he grappled with Tower's conviction.

"So your jars of happiness are worth more than the lives of hundreds, maybe thousands?" Dumdum questioned, the tension in his voice palpable.

"To me, they are," Tower said softly but firmly, locking eyes with Dumdum.

"They're not just jars, Dumdum. They're fragments, moments of pure joy and love. To lose even one would be a tragedy beyond measure."

Dumdum stared at him for a long moment, struggling to align Tower's words with the urgency he himself felt. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders slumping as he realized he wouldn't sway the young guardian of the Tower.

"Then I guess I'm on my own," Dumdum said, moving toward the stairway that led down from the Tower's improbable heights. "I can't stand by and do nothing."

"I'm sorry... I hope you can help them," Tower replied, his eyes briefly meeting Dumdum's before he turned to wipe down the table.

Just as Dumdum placed a foot on the first step, a thunderous knock resonated through the tower, jolting both of them. Dumdum froze, his eyes darting to Tower, whose own expression had shifted from resigned to alert.

"Who could that be?" Dumdum whispered, more to himself than to Tower.

"I don't know, but I'd better check," Tower said, abandoning his cleaning rag on the table and moving toward the tower's entrance with a quickness Dumdum hadn't seen before.

Dumdum followed, his own curiosity piqued. When they reached the door, Tower looked up at Dumdum as if asking for silent permission or perhaps offering a final chance to leave. But Dumdum simply nodded, and Tower grasped the large iron handle, pulling the door open.