The night had fully claimed the desert.
Gone was the blazing heat of the day, replaced by a cold so sharp it bit at the skin like tiny shards of glass. The dunes stretched endlessly beneath a ceiling of stars, their brilliance cold and distant. The wind, thin and dry, whispered across the sands with the softness of a blade dragged across silk.
Evren Calden trudged forward, boots sinking into the fine grains with every weary step. The Abyssal Flame along his sword burned low, casting a soft, wavering glow that barely kept the darkness at bay. His breath fogged the air in slow, rhythmic bursts, the only proof that he was still moving forward.
Behind him, the wind erased their footprints as quickly as they were made, as if the desert itself was swallowing every trace of their existence.
"This floor…" Lira Solen's voice finally broke the silence. It was quiet, as if she feared the night would swallow her words. "The Mirage of Eternity. It's not like the others. The Tower doesn't just throw enemies at you here. It turns your mind against itself."
Evren tilted his head slightly, without slowing his pace. "Mirage of Eternity?"
She nodded, her daggers gleaming faintly beneath the stars. "It bends distance. Warps time. One step can stretch for hours. A dune can become a mountain. And before you realize it… you've been walking for days without moving an inch."
A chill—not from the night—ran down Evren's spine. The thought of wandering forever through an illusion, trapped in an endless loop while his promise to his mother withered into dust, was a cruelty only the Tower could imagine.
> I must not stop. Not here. Not now. She's waiting for me.
The sands around them began to ripple. Dunes shifted with unnatural grace, rising and falling like the surface of a restless ocean. The horizon distorted, stretching, folding, breaking apart into impossible shapes. What had been a few steps away now seemed miles distant. What had been far now loomed uncomfortably close.
Shadows gathered along the edges of the shifting dunes—tall, human-shaped, but hollow. They didn't attack. They only watched, as if waiting for the desert itself to do their work.
"Focus on your heartbeat," Lira said softly. "Not what your eyes see. The Mirage feeds on doubt. If you follow its illusions, you'll walk in circles until your body gives up."
Evren shut his eyes for a moment, shutting out the twisting shapes. He forced himself to listen—to the steady beat of his heart, to the soft crunch of his boots in the sand, to Lira's measured breathing beside him. It became his anchor.
Time blurred. Or perhaps the Mirage was simply making him believe it did. Hours, or maybe days, passed without a single landmark to prove progress. The cold gnawed at his bones. His legs felt heavier with each step, his breath rougher, his vision less certain. Yet still, he pushed on.
Illusions began to creep closer.
At first, they were small: faint lights flickering on the horizon like torches in the night. Then shapes emerged within those lights—silhouettes of a town he once knew, a warm hearth, the faint smell of bread from a bakery that no longer existed. He saw his mother's smile among those shadows, soft and radiant. Her hands reached for him.
Evren froze. His heart clenched painfully.
"She's not real," Lira hissed, snapping him back. Her hand gripped his arm tightly, grounding him in reality.
The illusions didn't vanish. Instead, they grew sharper, more vivid. He heard her voice now. "Evren… come home. You've done enough."
His steps faltered. The flame of his sword dimmed. Doubt slid into his chest like a silent blade.
> Why am I doing this? What if I never reach the top? What if she's already gone?
He squeezed the hilt of the Abyssal Flame so tightly his knuckles turned white.
> No. No, I made a promise.
He forced his legs forward, shattering the vision like glass. The Mirage hissed around him, as if displeased by his defiance.
The desert twisted again. The ground rose sharply ahead, forming an impossible dune—a wall of sand that stretched upward like a colossal wave frozen in time. It climbed higher and higher, until its crest vanished into the starry void.
Lira let out a low whistle. "This is it. The Mirage's mountain."
Evren set his jaw. "Then we climb."
The ascent was torture. The sand shifted beneath their boots, dragging them down with each step. Phantom hands sprouted from the dune's face, clutching their ankles, wrists, even their throats. Every step felt heavier than the last. The air thinned, biting into their lungs.
Evren's vision swam. Shadows whispered in his ear: "She's dying. You're wasting your time. You'll never make it."
His muscles trembled, his back burned, his throat felt raw. But every time he wanted to collapse, he saw her face—fragile, sick, waiting. That was enough to force him one step higher. Then another. Then another.
Lira climbed beside him, blades slashing away spectral hands, never once letting her rhythm falter. Her presence was a silent reminder: he wasn't alone in this climb.
Halfway up the dune, the Mirage revealed its final cruelty.
Before them rose a staircase made of black stone, spiraling infinitely upward into the stars. The air turned unnaturally still. Each step seemed to stretch farther away the moment they set foot on it.
Evren touched the first step. It felt solid—but when he lifted his foot for the second, the world seemed to stretch. The next step was no longer one meter away, but ten. Then a hundred. Then a thousand.
"This is how the Mirage breaks you," Lira said, her voice strained. "It makes time an ocean. It makes distance endless."
Evren gritted his teeth and began the climb.
Step after step, he forced his legs to obey. He stopped counting after the thousandth. His body screamed. His mind threatened to tear itself apart. Somewhere along that endless staircase, the illusion changed. He saw moments from his life—tiny fragments—flickering along the edges of the stairs like cruel constellations.
The day he first picked up a sword.
The moment his mother coughed blood for the first time.
The night he swore to climb the Tower and bring back a miracle.
> You'll die here, a voice whispered. The Tower will bury your name like it buried all the others.
> Then I'll carve it into the stone, Evren thought. I'll make it remember me.
With a roar that tore through the cold, he ignited the Abyssal Flame. The black staircase flared in its light, the Mirage trembling as if in pain. He forced himself forward, every step a war against the Tower's will.
And then—without warning—it ended.
The staircase vanished beneath his boots like smoke carried by the wind. He fell forward onto solid sand, the night wind brushing across his sweat-drenched face. He lay there for a moment, gasping, staring at the stars.
Lira dropped beside him, breath ragged. "We made it," she whispered, disbelief and awe tangled in her voice.
The wind shifted. And through it came the Tower's whisper, soft and resonant, like a god speaking through the bones of the earth:
> "The Mirage of Eternity is conquered, Evren Calden.
You have walked through time without faltering.
You have resisted the endless pull of despair.
Your will is tempered beyond mortal measure.
Proceed. The Desert of Souls awaits its final trial."
Evren slowly pushed himself to his feet. His legs felt like iron. His chest ached. But beneath all that pain burned a steady, unbreakable flame.
Lira placed a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. "No one climbs that far and comes out the same," she murmured.
He looked out across the horizon. The dunes stretched endlessly still, but they no longer felt infinite. They were simply obstacles—massive, cruel, but conquerable.
Each trial was forging him, sharpening his resolve like a blade on a whetstone. He wasn't the same man who had stepped into the Desert of Souls.