The morning sun struck with a cruel brilliance, burning gold across the endless dunes of the Desert of Souls. The light wasn't gentle—it was a living thing, fierce and heavy, pressing down on skin and thought alike. The air rippled with heat, and the horizon wavered like a mirage that refused to settle into something real.
Evren Calden raised an arm to shield his eyes. Each grain of sand shimmered like powdered fire, and every breath scraped his throat. He had imagined many first steps into the Tower—but not this. Not a desert that felt so alive it seemed to breathe against his skin.
He had read about the Desert of Souls before.
The first floor—a place of endurance. No monsters, the legends said, only the Tower itself watching you. But legends lied. Legends were written by those who survived, and survivors rarely told the whole truth.
Evren's boots sank into the sand, each step dragging him half a pace back. Sweat trickled down his neck. The inside of his mouth felt like dust.
And yet, even beneath the burning weight of the sun, he couldn't help feeling awe.
He was inside the Tower.
The structure that had existed since time immemorial, that defied every law of logic and space.
Some said it was infinite. Others said it was a god.
Standing here, Evren could almost believe both.
A few steps ahead, Lira Solen moved like a wisp of shadow painted against the gold dunes. Her movements were precise, deliberate, but fluid—as if she belonged here. The heat didn't seem to bother her much. On her forearm, her Soul Mark shimmered faintly under the light: a pair of outstretched wings, etched into her skin with soft silver luminescence. It pulsed once, slow and alive, like a heartbeat.
Evren caught himself staring.
That mark wasn't just a symbol—it was history, and burden. Every climber's mark was different, shaped by their inner essence. His own—the Abyssal Flame—rested dormant for now, an ember waiting for the Tower to test him.
Lira's voice cut through the silence, calm and low.
"Do you feel it?" she asked.
Evren blinked, the air stinging his eyes. "Feel what?"
"The Tower," she said. "It's not just watching us. It's learning us. Every hesitation, every doubt—it drinks it in."
Her tone was soft but steady, like someone who'd already seen too much.
Evren said nothing, but his heart pounded harder. The Tower learns? That idea settled uneasily in his mind. He glanced around—the dunes stretched infinitely, yet the world felt tight, as though invisible eyes pressed close from every direction.
Behind them, Caro Den grunted, dragging his axe over one shoulder. He was twice Evren's size and carried himself like a man who'd seen more deaths than sunsets. A jagged scar cut across his temple, nearly reaching his eye. "If you two are done whispering philosophy," he growled, "try focusing on not dying. The desert doesn't forgive dreamers."
Evren gave a faint smile. "You sound like you've been here before."
"I have," Caro said. "Didn't end well for the rest of my team."
A beat of silence followed. The wind moaned, carrying sand like whispers around their feet.
Evren tightened the strap of his sword. I cannot fail. I won't.
The promise to his mother still burned behind his ribs like a heartbeat made of fire.
Then, without warning, the sand shifted.
At first, it was subtle—a shiver beneath their boots. Then the dunes rippled like a tide of molten glass.
"Stay alert," Lira whispered, drawing her dagger.
The ground convulsed. The sand gathered, swirling upward, shaping itself into forms—humanoid at first, then bestial. Within seconds, a pack of spectral wolves burst from the dunes, eyes glowing molten gold, teeth made of light and dust.
Evren's chest tightened. The Tower's test had begun.
The wolves didn't bark—they howled, soundless and deep, resonating directly inside the skull. Evren stumbled back as the first one lunged, claws slashing through the air with terrifying grace. Instinct took over. He swung his sword upward. The blade sang—a whisper of metal—and his Abyssal Flame flickered to life, tracing the edge in faint blue fire.
The wolf met the strike head-on. Its body split like mist, then reformed again, snarling.
"They reform," Lira shouted. "Hit the core! Aim for the glow between the eyes!"
Evren adjusted, swinging again—slower this time, controlled. The flame responded to his intent, focusing into a narrow arc that cut true. The wolf's head dissolved into dust and vanished in a burst of light. One down.
Caro was already in motion, roaring as his axe crashed through two at once. "Don't get sloppy!" he barked. "If you tire, you die."
The desert became chaos. Wolves leapt from every direction, their golden eyes multiplying in the haze. Evren lost count—five, ten, maybe more. The air shimmered with heat and light, every swing of his sword throwing sparks that vanished before touching the ground. Lira danced among them, her daggers cutting precise arcs, each motion followed by a whisper of silver light.
Evren felt his strength draining fast. Every breath was fire. Every movement heavier than the last. The heat, the fear, the pain—it all blended into something that almost felt… rhythmic. He stopped thinking, and the Tower felt it. His flame surged, burning brighter, louder, alive.
He screamed—not in fear, but release—and cut through the next wave.
Each phantom dissolved into sand, leaving whispers in the wind.
He could almost hear the Tower's voice in them. Approval. Curiosity. Hunger.
Hours blurred. The dunes were littered with traces of what once lived, glowing faintly in the twilight of dying suns. Then, from the far edge of the battlefield, a larger shadow rose—a wolf unlike the others. Twice the size, eyes burning like molten metal. Its presence alone made the air tremble.
Evren steadied himself. His arm trembled. "This is it."
The beast charged.
He met it head-on, his sword igniting in a burst of blue flame. When they collided, the impact threw sand like a storm. The sound was pure violence. Caro shouted something, but the words vanished in the roar.
Evren drove the blade deep between the creature's eyes. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the wolf erupted in a blaze of light so bright it carved afterimages across his vision. When the radiance faded, only sand remained—hot, lifeless, still.
He stood panting, sword buried halfway in the ground.
Silence.
The fight was over.
Caro lowered his axe, spitting into the sand. "Not bad, kid," he muttered. "You might actually—"
The sound cut off with a thud.
Evren turned—and froze.
A phantom, one he thought destroyed, had lunged from behind.
Its claws tore through Caro's side. The mercenary staggered, eyes wide, blood dark against the golden light.
Lira screamed his name, cutting the creature down in a flash, but it was too late.
Evren fell to his knees beside him. "Caro! Hold on—just hold on!"
Caro tried to laugh but it came out as a broken cough. "Don't… waste your breath. The Tower… takes what it wants." His hand found Evren's wrist, gripping with surprising strength. "Climb… for her. Don't stop… for her…"
Then the hand went limp.
Evren froze, staring. His body felt hollow, distant, like his soul had stepped a few feet away. Lira knelt beside him, tears gathering but never falling.
"Evren…" she whispered. "We have to move."
He didn't move at first. He just sat there in the endless sand, cradling what remained of a man who'd helped him survive the first hour of his climb. Finally, wordlessly, he dug. The sand was hot and coarse, biting at his palms. He buried Caro beneath a small mound and placed a single stone at its head. The desert wind was the only witness.
Evren bowed his head.
"I will not fail you," he murmured. "I will climb."
Lira placed her hand on his shoulder. Her voice trembled, but her eyes were fierce. "We climb together. His death will not be wasted."
The sun had died by the time they stood again. Night spilled across the dunes like ink, revealing a sky so vast it made Evren dizzy. The stars burned sharp and endless, reflected faintly in the dunes' shifting curves. The air cooled, carrying whispers through the emptiness—soft, distant, almost words.
> "Welcome, Evren Calden. Dream well… before you wake."
Evren stared toward the horizon. The line between sand and sky blurred until there was nothing but movement, breath, and promise.
He felt the Tower watching. Testing. Waiting.
He felt his mother's voice echo faintly in the back of his mind—warm, steady, alive.
He took a slow breath, tightening the strap of his sword once more.
The first step had been taken.
The Tower had claimed its test.
And Evren Calden had survived.
But somewhere, deep inside, he knew the Tower wasn't done.
It had only just opened its eyes.