The morning sun struck with a force that seemed almost sentient, burning gold across the endless dunes of the Desert of Souls. Each grain of sand shimmered in the fierce light, and the air itself carried a weight that pressed upon Evren Calden's chest. He squinted through the heat, boots sinking slightly into the warm sand with each step. Today was no ordinary day. Today, he stepped into the Tower for the first time.
Evren had spent countless hours studying the legends, pouring over tales of climbers who had perished before reaching the hundredth floor. But theory and reality were two entirely different worlds. Here, in this barren, sun-blasted landscape, he felt the first true taste of mortality—the scorching sun that could sap strength, the dry wind that cracked lips and nostrils, the ever-shifting dunes that seemed intent on swallowing him whole.
Beside him, Lira Solen moved like a shadow gliding across the sand. Her every step was deliberate, careful, yet effortlessly fluid. Her wings-shaped Soul Mark shimmered faintly on her forearm, and Evren couldn't help but stare. That mark… it was a statement. A history. A secret. But there was no time for questions. Not now.
"Evren," Lira said, her voice low and careful against the whisper of the wind. "Do you feel it? The Tower isn't just a structure. It's alive. Every moment you hesitate, every doubt you feel… it notices. And it learns."
Evren nodded, tightening his grip on the simple sword strapped across his back. He could feel the faint heat radiating from his Soul Mark, dormant until this moment, but now pulsing in tune with his heartbeat. I cannot fail. I will not falter. Not now. Not ever.
Caro Den, the mercenary assigned to accompany them, grunted behind them, his axe resting lazily across his shoulders. "Stop wasting time gawking. The desert doesn't forgive hesitation. Every second you spend thinking about your fears is a second the Tower uses to chew on your soul."
Before Evren could respond, the sand itself shifted unnaturally. The grains moved with intent, forming shapes that flickered and shimmered. Shadows gathered and stretched, converging into figures that were unmistakably alive. Wolves—or something like them—emerged from the dunes. Eyes glowed molten gold, teeth snapping, claws tearing through the air.
The first test had begun.
Evren's chest tightened, but the Abyssal Flame responded instinctively, licking the edge of his sword in a faint glow. This was no ordinary fight. The Tower's creations were as real as they were phantasmal; each strike, each dodge, each breath had weight.
"Form up!" Caro barked, stepping forward. "Don't let them separate you!"
Lira moved first, striking with precision and speed, her dagger carving through the nearest phantom. Evren followed, swinging his sword with a careful rhythm, flames licking each strike, burning essence as much as form. They moved as one unit, a small pocket of defiance against the desert's malice.
The wolves were relentless. They came in waves, their movements synchronized as if driven by a single mind. Evren's muscles burned, sweat mixed with the fine grains of sand clinging to his skin, but he held his ground. Every strike of his sword sent a ripple of the Abyssal Flame through the air, a reflection of his growing will, of the promise he had whispered to himself: to save his mother, no matter the cost.
Hours seemed to stretch into an eternity. Each phantom that dissolved left a whisper in the wind, an echo of the Tower's approval—or its mockery. Then, a shadow separated itself from the pack. The largest wolf, eyes molten with a hatred that felt almost sentient, stepped forward, its growl a vibration that rattled bones.
Evren tightened his grip. This is it. Focus.
With a primal shout, he swung, channeling every ounce of fear, grief, and determination through his sword. The Abyssal Flame roared, consuming the phantom in a blaze that reflected his resolve. The wolf screamed in a sound that tore at the mind, and then dissolved into motes of light and sand.
Silence fell.
Caro exhaled sharply, wiping sweat and blood from his brow. "Not bad, kid. Not bad at all." But the pause was brief. From behind, another phantom lunged, and in the split second of distraction, Caro was struck. He fell to the sand, eyes wide with shock and pain.
"No!" Evren yelled, rushing to his side. Lira knelt, hands trembling as she tried to staunch the bleeding. Caro's lips moved, whispering words that barely formed. "You… must… climb… don't stop… for her…" His voice faded, eyes closing as life slipped away.
Evren's hands shook as he lifted the body, carrying it to a small dune. He dug a shallow grave, placing a single stone as a marker. I will not fail you. I promise… I will climb.
Lira placed a hand on his shoulder, her eyes fierce yet wet with unshed tears. "We climb together. His sacrifice will not be wasted."
As night fell, stars scattered like shards of glass across the sky. The desert breathed around them, alive, patient, whispering faintly through the wind:
> "Welcome, Evren Calden. Dream well… before you wake."
Evren stared at the horizon, feeling the weight of his promise, the burden of his grief, and the spark of determination igniting his soul. The first step had been taken. The Tower had claimed its test, and he had survived.
The climb had begun.