No one really knew how the Tower came to be.
Some whispered it was a curse from the gods. Others claimed it was humanity's next step — evolution wrapped in danger. But no one had answers. Just theories.
What they did know was this — when the Tower stabbed into the sky for the first time, ripping holes in reality and breaking the rules of nature, the world changed overnight.
When the Dungeons opened, the Earth bled.
Monsters — real ones — poured out of those rifts. Not stories, not legends. Real beasts. Ones made of fire and bone. Shadows with teeth. Giants so large they swallowed whole cities without blinking. Nobody was ready.
And then, something else happened.
The skies cracked open again — not from lightning or fire.
But wings.
She descended from above, wrapped in black feathers and chains that shimmered like silver. Her face was hidden behind a cracked porcelain mask. A presence that stopped everything just by existing.
They called her the Dark Angel.
Hovering above the Tower, she spoke — her voice cold and final:
"Clear the 100 Floors of the Tower. Or let the Earth be devoured in darkness."
Then, just like that, she disappeared.
That's when the Awakenings started.
Suddenly, ordinary people began developing powers. Fire magic, control over metals, enhanced strength — the legends became reality. Humanity fought back. Barely, but they fought.
And the strong among them? They were called Awakened.
Guilds were formed. Teams sent into Dungeons. Cities rebuilt with magic and steel.
But this story isn't about the first heroes.
It's about a man who lost everything — and then made the worst mistake a man can make.
A man named Kyle Rehn.
Kyle wasn't anyone special at the beginning. Just another overworked guy in a crumpled shirt, working 12-hour shifts, paying rent, blending into the background.
He awakened late — long after others had already risen to fame and fortune.
His ability? Nothing flashy. A boost in speed. Quick reflexes with a sword. Useful… but not glamorous.
Still, he didn't give up.
He trained. Busted his back. Took the license exam.
Got into a bottom-rung guild. Took low-paying missions. Just enough to scrape by.
That's when he met Meera.
A healer — C-rank, quiet, graceful. Magic came to her like a whisper — steady, soft. Eyes like the sky after rain.
They teamed up for a few runs. Maybe ten. Then a dinner. Then another.
One night, sharing an umbrella in the pouring rain, he told her:
"I think I'm falling for you."
They fell in love the hard way — slowly, carefully. Like two tired people learning how to breathe again after drowning.
From that love came a daughter.
Alia.
His little moonlight.
She'd hold a toy sword twice her size, chase him around the couch, calling herself the next Tower Climber. Her laughter made things feel... simple. Pure. Her hugs could silence any storm.
And so Kyle worked harder. Took more missions. Climbed up the ranks — B, then A. His name made the news. Invitations came from better guilds. Fame. Money.
He told himself it was for them.
For Meera. For Alia. For their safety and future.
But somewhere along the way… the purpose got lost.
He stopped calling. Came home late. Then less. Then, not at all.
Until one day — he just never came back.
Years passed.
The man who once filed reports and counted grocery bills became one of the strongest Awakened on the planet. Floor after Floor, he climbed the Tower. Blade in hand. Focused. Cold.
They called him "The Sword of Hope."
But titles meant nothing to him. His heart had been gone for a long time.
What he couldn't say, what he tried not to think about was this:
He had already lost what truly mattered. Long before he ever reached the top.
And yet, eventually… he did reach it.
Floor 100.
The end.
The sky was pitch black. No wind. No sound. Just the pressure — unbearable, suffocating.
And then, the Final Guardian stepped forward.
Wreathed in shadows, her sword gleaming like moonlit steel. Her eyes coals of memory — yet empty of emotion.
She attacked first. And he fought back.
Blade met blade. Strike for strike.
But something about her felt… known.
Her footwork. Her posture. A flick of the wrist only one person ever used…
Then he saw it.
The pendant.
A small, silver charm.
The same one he gave to his daughter when she turned six.
His world fell apart.
"A-Alia…?" he whispered.
But she didn't stop. Her expression didn't change. No tears. No hesitation.
Just sword and silence.
She wasn't his little girl anymore.
She was the Tower's Final Boss.
His hands trembled.
For just one second... he couldn't do it.
And that one second was all she needed.
Her blade found his heart.
Pain, like nothing he'd ever felt, tore through his chest. Blood spilled. His body dropped to its knees.
He collapsed, choking, shaking — not from the wound, but from the realization.
"If I'd only stayed. If I'd just loved her more…"
His world went dark.
His last word wasn't a spell or a name of glory.
It was the name of the girl he should've never left behind.
"Alia…"
And then, the world shattered.
Not the Tower. Not the Earth.
Time itself.
Kyle gasped, lungs screaming, drenched in sweat.
He opened his eyes.
No battlefield. No Tower. No sword stuck in his chest.
Just… home.
An old ceiling fan creaked above him. The wallpaper still peeling. The photo on the wall — him, Meera, and Alia. Smiling. Together.
He sat up on the squeaky mattress.
His hands were shaking.
Resting in his palms were two pendants.
His.
And hers.
Alia's.
To be continued....