The Tower loomed—silent, unmoving, eternal. Its surface shimmered like frozen smoke, a mirror of obsidian reflecting a sky without a sun.
Kael stood at the edge of the barricade, boots pressed into strange soil that felt too smooth to be natural. Around him, new climbers huddled in clusters, each bearing the same uncertainty, the same electric fear simmering beneath their skin. He caught Allen's gaze.
"You ready?" Kael asked with a half-grin.
Allen didn't look away from the Tower. "As much as anyone could be."
Kael chuckled under his breath, nerves tightening his chest. "Feels weird, doesn't it? Like we're walking into a dream we didn't choose."
"A calculated risk," Allen murmured. "We both knew what we signed up for."
"Adventure," Kael whispered. "Freedom."
A signal rang out from the uniformed officials guarding the massive arch. The next group was called forward. Kael and Allen stepped in unison, crossing the darkened threshold and onto the polished black stone that formed the Tower's base.
The moment Kael passed through the shimmering veil, he felt something… sever.
The world blinked.
---
He opened his eyes.
No arch. No Allen. No sound.
Only endless dark stone beneath his feet.
He stood at the center of a vast, unbroken path — a corridor without walls, stretching infinitely in both directions. The floor was smooth obsidian, etched with faint, shifting inscriptions in a language he didn't recognize. They danced at the edges of perception, glowing softly, like thoughts trying to become words.
Kael turned in place. The path stretched forward and back, equally directionless. The air was still, weightless, as if this place existed outside of gravity, outside of time.
No voice. No guide. No instructions.
No way back.
He exhaled slowly, grounding himself with the pressure of his own breath.
"Well," he muttered, squinting down one direction. "I guess I'll walk."
And he did.
One step. Then another. And another.
The only sound was his own footsteps echoing across the impossible corridor — a soft, rhythmic tap-tap against the stone, like a heartbeat in a world that had none.
He didn't know if it was the right way. There was no such thing as right or wrong here. Only forward.
Somewhere, deep in the stone beneath him, a single line of ancient text briefly flared to life.
He didn't see it.
"Let the path reveal who you are."
Kael walked.
The pathway stretched on — endless, black, and indifferent. Polished stone slabs paved the ground beneath him, each one carved with worn, indecipherable glyphs. The inscriptions shimmered faintly as he stepped over them, then faded as if swallowed by the very path. He'd tried focusing on the symbols at first, wondering if they meant something, but none repeated and none made sense.
There were no landmarks. No sound but his own breathing. No light, yet he could see.
He walked anyway.
Minutes passed. Or hours. Or days.
He couldn't tell.
There was no hunger, no thirst, and no physical fatigue — but something inside him was unraveling. The silence pressed inward, not loud, not sharp… just constant. A presence that hummed in his thoughts, like pressure behind his eyes.
He spoke to himself once. Then twice. Just to hear sound.
Eventually, he stopped doing even that.
His pace slowed. His shoulders sagged. He didn't feel tired, not physically — but tension clung to his bones, a numbness blooming in his chest like a quiet ache.
Was this the trial?
No monsters. No riddles. Just this mindless march forward — until his thoughts frayed at the edges.
"There has to be more than this," Kael whispered.
His voice sounded unfamiliar. Too soft. Too thin.
Was he being watched?
He turned suddenly — no reason, no instinct — but saw only more of the same. An unbroken path behind him, indistinguishable from what lay ahead. There was no curve, no shift, no deviation.
He clenched and unclenched his fists, fighting the urge to scream, or run, or sit down and give up.
The Tower was watching, he was sure of it. Even if it didn't speak, didn't reveal itself — he could feel it. As though some vast presence had dropped him into a maze built not of stone, but of patience.
Maybe this was the test.
Not pain. Not panic.
Just waiting. Wandering. With nothing but your own mind for company.
He kept walking.
And the path did not end.
The silence changed.
Kael didn't notice it at first. It was still quiet, still oppressive — but something had shifted. A subtle undertone lingered at the edge of his perception, like breath against the back of his neck.
He stopped. Listened.
Nothing.
He shook his head, pressed forward. Maybe his mind was just—
"You're wasting time."
The voice was quiet. Almost not a voice at all — more like a stray thought.
He glanced around. Still alone.
He walked faster.
"There's no end to this."
"They've all moved on without you."
Kael rubbed his temples. Keep walking. Just keep walking.
The whispers didn't stop.
They didn't come from behind or ahead, but from within the path, curling up from the black stone beneath his feet. Like the glyphs themselves had found a way to speak — not aloud, but into the marrow of his thoughts.
He tried humming. Louder. Out loud this time.
It helped.
For a few minutes.
Then:
"They only brought you because they pitied you."
"You think this is an adventure?"
"This is where the weak disappear."
Kael's jaw clenched.
He broke into a run — not because he saw anything ahead, but because moving felt like control. It felt like defiance.
The path didn't respond. It didn't ripple or shift. It simply allowed.
And the whispers followed.
"He only stuck by you because he felt sorry."
"You don't belong here."
"You'll never be more than background."
Kael stumbled.
He caught himself on his hands, knees scraping stone that felt colder now. Colder and rougher. He gasped — not from pain, but from the sudden tightness in his chest.
The voice that came next was quieter. More intimate.
His own.
"You're not meant for greatness."
He shut his eyes tight, fists curling against the floor.
But the Tower didn't let up. Not yet.
And Kael realized something terrifying:
The path wasn't empty.
It was echoing.
The path was no longer still.
Kael slowed, chest heaving, heart pounding in his ears. The whispers had grown fainter — but not because they had stopped.
Because something else had taken their place.
Movement. Shadows.
Out of the corners of his eyes, the black stone walls shimmered. For a breathless moment, he thought he saw someone ahead — a silhouette turning the bend of a corridor that didn't exist.
He blinked.
Gone.
I'm not seeing this. I'm tired, that's all.
He kept walking, but something had shifted in the atmosphere. The inscriptions beneath his feet flickered subtly, like embers breathing. The air felt heavier, full of meaning he couldn't grasp.
Then—
A hand on his shoulder.
Kael spun.
No one.
But he felt it. Warm. Real.
And then he saw her.
Down the path. Standing in the middle of it.
"...Mom?"
The figure was blurry, like steam rising from pavement. Familiar and wrong, all at once. She didn't speak. She didn't move. Just stood there — watching him, like she'd been waiting.
Kael's throat tightened. His legs moved on their own.
"Mom—?"
He blinked again, and she was gone. In her place, the black stone pulsed.
And then the voices returned — not whispers this time, but familiar tones.
Allen's voice:
"I should've gone alone. You're slowing me down."
His father's voice, brittle and sharp:
"Dreamers starve, Kael. You'll learn."
And then—
"You're not meant to escape this place."
That voice wasn't familiar. It wasn't human.
It came from everywhere at once, rattling through his skull like thunder in a box. The world twisted with it — the path bent subtly, like it was turning into a spiral. Black shapes flickered on the edges of the walls, crawling, slithering, clawing at logic itself.
Kael stumbled backward.
None of this is real. It's just in my head.
But what if the Tower was in his head?
And worse — what if it liked it there?
His breaths came short now, panic rising to his throat. His legs moved. Not out of courage, but fear. Forward, always forward.
Because to stop was to sink.
And Kael was starting to feel the weight.
The world blinked.
One moment, Kael was walking — heart pounding, skin clammy, eyes darting at every whispering wall.
The next, he was somewhere else.
Warm sunlight filtered through a cracked windowpane. Dust drifted lazily in golden beams. A tiny room — worn, quiet, cramped. The scent of old wood and something boiling in the kitchen lingered in the air.
Kael stood in the corner of the room, but no one noticed him. Because he wasn't there.
Not really.
Seated in the center was a much younger version of himself — maybe seven or eight. The spark in his eyes was unmistakable. Bright. Restless. His hands clutched a crumpled comic book, mouth moving silently, reenacting lines, mimicking poses. A wooden spoon in one hand became a sword. The floor became a ship. The ceiling, stars.
Then came the sound of keys and the slow click of the front door opening.
"Dad's home!" the boy yelled, leaping up.
Kael, the observer, felt something twist inside him.
His younger self ran to the door just as a man stepped in — weathered, exhausted, bags under his eyes like bruises. Their father. His work uniform was stained with grease and sweat. He looked at the boy and gave a tired smile.
The younger Kael began talking immediately.
"Dad! I drew a map today! A real one! It's got mountains, and treasure, and secret paths—and there's this place called the Sky Tower—"
The father's face twitched, almost imperceptibly. Then he raised a hand.
Just a gesture.
But the boy stopped.
There was silence.
"Kael," the man said softly, with no anger — only weariness. "That's not the world we live in."
The child blinked.
"But… maybe one day I can go—"
"No. You can't. We can't afford dreams."
His voice wasn't cruel. That was the worst part. It was simply matter-of-fact. Final.
The boy deflated. Slowly. Like a balloon left to hiss out. His grip loosened on the comic. The spoon fell. The stars faded from his ceiling.
Kael, watching from the corner, felt that weight press into him like iron.
He remembered this.
Not just the words — but the moment his world shrunk.
That had been the first chain. The first time he began to believe that his dreams were burdens. That freedom was a luxury he couldn't afford.
The Tower had found the fracture.
And it was prying it open.
The silence of the memory grew dense. The room dimmed, the golden sunlight dulling as if a cloud had passed across a distant sun. The child — the younger Kael — stood motionless, eyes still fixed on the closed door their father had exited through.
Then, slowly, he turned.
And looked directly at Kael.
Kael froze.
He wasn't supposed to be seen. None of the memories had acknowledged him before. But this… this wasn't just memory.
The boy's eyes, once filled with spark and wonder, now shimmered with something older. Sharper.
"You saw it happen," the boy said. His voice was quiet, but laced with accusation. "And still you walked the other way."
Kael blinked. "…What?"
"You saw the moment we were told to forget who we are. And you listened. You let it happen. You built a life around forgetting."
Kael frowned. "That's not true. I— I did go out there. I left. I chased the unknown."
The boy tilted his head, expression unchanged. "Years too late. Always waiting. Always making sure it was safe. What you chased weren't adventures — they were scraps. Leftovers. A cage with a nicer view."
Kael's hands balled into fists. "You think it was that simple? That I could just drop everything and run off? We were barely holding together back then."
"So you gave up on who we were."
"I waited for the right moment."
"No," the boy said, stepping closer. The walls began to darken. The comic book he once held now seemed faded, like ink washed away by rain. "You waited for permission. You waited for the world to tell you it was okay to dream again."
Kael gritted his teeth. "You don't understand—"
"I understand perfectly."
The boy's voice echoed now — warping, doubling back on itself. The world around them began to flicker. The cracked window bent inward, the sunlight became a cold blue pulse, and the floor seemed to stretch unnaturally beneath their feet.
"You let fear hold the leash. And now you're here… walking an endless path, still pretending it was ever your choice."
Kael took a step back.
The boy's face cracked — not with a smile, but like glass. Fractures spiderwebbed across his cheeks. His eyes, now pools of shifting ink, stared through Kael.
"How much longer will you lie to us?"
The world shattered like a mirror dropped on stone.
Kael gasped — and found himself once more on the black stone path, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat.
The walls were silent. But something deep inside him was still screaming.
Kael didn't know how long he stood there, hunched over and breathing hard on that silent, black-stone path. His palms were pressed to his knees, sweat dripping from his jawline, eyes unfocused.
His younger self's words hadn't just been echoes. They'd embedded themselves — like splinters beneath the skin.
> "You waited for permission."
He winced.
How many times had he said that things weren't ready yet? That he had to wait for the "right moment"? He'd told himself that life was too tangled, that obligations came first. That his moment would come — eventually.
But what if it never had?
What if he was the one who refused to turn the key?
Kael straightened, slowly, but the weight didn't lift. If anything, it got worse.
The Tower was silent… and yet not.
Voices — faint at first — began again. Crawling at the edges of thought. Like whispers through a crack in the wall.
"Coward."
"You had your chance."
"You're not here to find adventure… You're running from disappointment."
He gritted his teeth. "Shut up."
The words bounced off the stone walls and faded, unanswered.
The path stretched endlessly ahead. Behind, just as endless. No markings. No signs. No guide.
Just him. And the voices.
His feet moved again, slow at first.
He could feel something gnawing beneath his skin — not physical, but in the folds of memory and identity. Doubt. The kind that didn't shout, but whispered, wearing away your strength with quiet persistence.
For the first time since entering the Tower… Kael wondered if he deserved to climb it.
Step after step. Breath after breath.
Kael's legs moved on autopilot now, like cogs turning in a worn-out machine. His mind drifted, spiraling in tight, anxious loops. He had no idea how long he'd been walking — hours? Days? Time felt like melted wax in this place.
Then, all at once, the air changed.
Not colder. Not warmer.
Just… stiller. Like the Tower was holding its breath.
And then it spoke.
Not through echoes or whispers like before, but as a single, resonant voice. Deep and final.
> "Your trial has ended. You have failed."
Kael froze.
"What?" he whispered.
The voice said nothing more.
Before he could even take another step, the world blinked — a jagged, snapping sensation like falling between the ticks of a clock.
In the next moment, he was back.
Back in the world. His world.
Gray skies. Cold morning air. The bus stop outside his apartment complex. City traffic grumbled in the distance.
Kael staggered, looking around in confusion. "No… no, that—what just—?"
His hands trembled.
He spun, searching instinctively for Allen — for anyone.
No one.
No swirling black monolith.
No sign of the Tower.
Just a rusted bus sign and the sound of a dog barking somewhere across the street.
And as the day passed… then another… then another—
It didn't come back.
Nor did Allen.
---
Time moved on.
Kael returned to work — a quiet desk job at a shipping logistics center. Paperwork. Labels. Scanning barcodes.
Go home.
Heat dinner.
Sleep.
Repeat.
And every time he glanced at his phone, scrolled through news, or flicked through TV channels — the Tower was still there. Headlines about new climbers. Interviews. Government reports. Even documentaries.
But not for him.
He had failed. Failed without knowing why, or how, or if it was even real.
Each night, he stared at the ceiling, wondering if Allen was still inside. Wondering if it had all been a hallucination — or worse, the truth.
He wasn't good enough.
Not for the Tower. Not for anything greater.
The world outside kept turning.
But Kael… Kael stood still.
The days stacked like bricks. Identical. Suffocating.
Kael sat at his desk, staring through a spreadsheet he'd already filled out, eyes glazing past the flickering monitor. The hum of the fluorescent lights above was as constant as the ache in his chest. His coworkers made small talk in the background, but the words slid off him like water off glass.
Until he heard the name.
"…Allen Solmere…?"
The voice was from a TV mounted in the break room. A news anchor, smiling too brightly, rattled off Tower updates. Kael turned his head slowly.
> "—one of the fastest-growing climbers in recent history. Allen Solmere, part of the third wave of entrants, is already making waves in the Tower's first tier guilds. Reports suggest he helped subdue a Mire-born and led a successful defense of a sector hub…"
The screen showed a blurry image — a figure with dark hair, staff in hand, standing with other climbers. Even through the static, Kael knew that posture. That stance.
Allen.
He was alive.
More than that — he was thriving.
Kael didn't feel pride.
He felt something colder. Something that settled into the pit of his stomach and coiled tight.
Why hadn't Allen reached out? Why had he just… moved on?
Was Kael that forgettable?
He walked home in silence that night, barely noticing the crowds or the rain slicking the streets. He microwaved his food. Ate mechanically. Lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling.
That seed of unease — it was back. Pecking at his thoughts. Whispers he couldn't quite hear, but couldn't shut out either.
He sat up. The room felt wrong.
He hadn't forgotten, had he?
> "The only way out of the Tower… is with a Towershard."
The words struck like a spark to dry leaves.
Kael froze.
That was it. The one rule. The one escape.
No one returns unless they have a Towershard.
He hadn't had one. Neither had Allen. It had barely been an hour since they stepped in. The math never made sense.
And suddenly—
The static of normalcy began to glitch.
His apartment flickered. The desk dissolved into smoke. The lights shattered silently like ripples over a pond.
Then—
Crack.
The hallway returned.
Stone, black and endless, stretched ahead and behind.
Kael stumbled, catching himself on shaking legs. His breaths were ragged. His mind reeled.
He was back.
Sweat clung to his brow.
That… That wasn't real.
It had all been another vision — one tailored to break him.
He looked down the corridor.
Still no end.
But now, he kept walking — slower, but steadier.
And though the voices still echoed, for the first time…
He didn't listen.
Kael walked.
His feet dragged, but his will clung to motion. The corridor, black and unchanging, mocked his every step with sameness. His legs ached. His thoughts swam in thick fog.
Then—
A voice etched through the haze. Clearer than the rest.
Not loud. Not cruel.
Just… curious.
> "What will you do with your freedom… when it brings consequences?"
Kael stopped. The question didn't echo like the others. It stuck. It clung.
The world shivered again.
And just like that, the hallway peeled away.
—
He stood on stone blackened by fire and blood. The sky above churned in violet spirals, and the scent of ash coated every breath. Shattered towers loomed in the distance — once grand, now crumbling ruins.
Kael's face looked back at him — older, scarred, wrapped in tattered armor that had clearly seen war.
He was on a battlefield.
And around him…
Bodies.
Familiar ones.
His guildmates. Fallen.
And just ahead, a body slumped on its side — a staff broken in two beside it.
Allen.
> "No…" Kael whispered.
Future-Kael knelt beside the body, trembling. The weight of loss etched into every angle of his form.
Then the shadows twisted.
Something… came.
No footsteps. No sound. Just presence.
An abomination of form. Kael couldn't make out its shape — it seemed to shift, bleed into itself. A void wrapped in malice. Looking at it burned his mind. It was wrong.
Future-Kael stood.
Eyes rimmed red.
> "I don't care what you are," he said, voice shaking. "I'll kill you. I'll kill you for them."
The thing didn't move.
Not until Kael did.
Then—
In one blink, the future Kael was gone.
Erased.
Erased like he never existed.
And the thing turned.
No eyes. No face.
But Kael knew it was staring at him.
---
He gasped.
Back.
Hallway.
Breathing hard. Shaking harder.
The whisper returned, quiet now, but deeper — no longer just curious.
> "If this… is the path to freedom… what will you do?"
The voice faded, but the question remained.
It didn't demand an answer.
But it was his to face now.
Kael staggered, caught his balance, and looked ahead.
He kept walking.
Slower.
But not from fear.
From thought.
The corridor finally changed.
After what felt like a lifetime of walking—through memories, doubts, visions, and voices—Kael saw them.
Three doors.
Standing tall and silent at the end of the path. Towering and obsidian black, each one smooth yet impossibly distinct in presence.
Kael's breath caught.
There was no instruction. No guardian. No sign. Just the doors, waiting.
Each of them pulled at him in their own way. Not physically, not loudly. But like quiet songs, whispering different truths to his soul.
---
The first door, closest to his right, radiated raw power. It hummed with something deep and resonant—like the heartbeat of an ancient beast. Standing before it, Kael felt small, yet drawn forward, like it dared him to be more. His skin prickled.
Power… dominance… greatness. This was a path for those who wanted to leave a mark that could never be erased.
---
The second door was quiet, but covered in shifting inscriptions, glowing softly in a language he didn't understand. The symbols seemed to rearrange themselves every few seconds—like they were aware of his gaze.
It felt like secrets. Like hidden knowledge, like peeling back the veil of the universe.
A door for those who sought understanding. Truth, even if it hurt.
---
The third door didn't hum or whisper. Instead, it bloomed.
From the cracks and edges, wildflowers of every shape and color spilled out — blues, reds, violets, and golds. They stretched freely, unchecked, untamed.
The scent was warm. Real. Like spring mornings and forgotten laughter.
It called to something young in him. Something real.
This was a door of freedom. Of choosing your own path, no matter how dangerous or beautiful or strange.
---
Kael stood before the three.
He didn't move.
Each door felt like it was made just for him. Each one reflected something true.
> The strength he could wield.
The truth he could uncover.
The freedom he could reclaim.
No one told him to choose.
But he knew he had to.
Not now.
But soon.
The Tower waited.
Kael stood in silence, the three obsidian doors towering before him like sentinels of fate.
Each beckoned.
He stepped toward the first—the one pulsing with power. The hum grew louder, deeper, as if welcoming him. For a moment, Kael imagined himself bathed in strength, fearsome and unstoppable. A climber who could bend the Tower to his will.
But he took a step back.
There was something hollow in that vision.
Then, he walked to the second—the one inscribed with shifting symbols. As he approached, the glyphs glowed brighter, writhing in quiet recognition. A surge of curiosity passed through him, tinged with fear. What secrets lay behind this door? What truths could unravel the world he knew?
He lingered for a while… but turned away.
Not because he wasn't curious. But because this path didn't feel like his.
At last, he approached the third door.
The one overgrown with wildflowers.
Soft petals brushed against his legs as he stepped closer. The air was warm, rich with scents that tugged at something buried deep in his chest—memories of laughter, of freedom, of sunlight on skin and wind in hair.
It didn't hum. It didn't glow. But it felt alive.
And it felt like him.
He reached for the handle.
The flowers curled inward slightly, as if sensing his touch, urging him on.
As his fingers made contact with the door, a pulse traveled down his arm and into his chest—not of pain, but of recognition. Like something had finally clicked into place.
He turned the handle.
The door opened.
And a blinding light swallowed him whole.
---
[End of Chapter 3]
He made his choice. Now the Tower would respond.