Part 1: Concrete and Moss
The jungle on the back of the Dragon Turtle was dense, humid, and teeming with mana-infused flora. But the clearing Isara had found was dead silent.
Elian pushed through a curtain of vines and stopped.
Isara was right.
Standing amidst the roots of giant ferns was a structure that didn't belong in a fantasy RPG. It wasn't a temple of marble or a hut of wood.
It was a slab of reinforced concrete, cracked and weathered by centuries of moss, but unmistakably industrial. Rebar rusted out of the sides like exposed ribs.
"This texture..." Kael murmured, running his dwarven hand over the wall. "It's not stone. It's... poured liquid rock. Harder than granite. I've never seen a crafting recipe for this."
Elian walked to the archway Isara had cleared.
PROJECT EDEN - FACILITY 4.
STATUS: OFFLINE.
The letters were faded, etched into a metal plate that had turned green with oxidation.
"What language is that?" Valen asked, tilting his head. "It looks like the Ancient Tongue, but blockier."
"It's English," Elian thought, a chill running down his spine.
"It's the language of the Architects," Elian said aloud, keeping his lie consistent. "The ones who built the Tower."
He stepped inside.
The interior was dark, lit only by the bioluminescent fungi growing in the corners. The floor was tiled with linoleum that crunched under their boots. Dead screens—black mirrors—lined the walls.
It was a server room. Or it had been, a thousand years ago. Now, the servers were gutted, their wires hanging like entrails.
Part 2: The Interface
"Caelum," Elian whispered. "What do you see?"
The blind elf stood in the center of the room, trembling.
"Noise," Caelum gasped, covering his ears. "So much noise. Not Mana. Data."
He pointed to a central console—a large, flat desk with a dusty glass surface.
"There is a ghost in there. It is screaming."
Elian wiped the dust off the console. There were no buttons. It was a touch interface, long dead.
"Can you power it?" Elian asked.
Caelum hesitated, then placed his hand on the glass.
He pushed a pulse of pure mana into the machine.
HUMMMMMM.
The room didn't light up with magic circles. It lit up with harsh, artificial white LEDs. The flickering light cast long, eerie shadows.
[System Boot...]
[Power Source: External Magic Detected.]
[Translation Matrix: Active.]
A hologram flickered to life above the desk. It was static-filled and glitching.
It showed a human man in a white lab coat. He looked exhausted. He was holding a clipboard.
"Log 492. The Migration is failing. The biological bodies cannot withstand the mana pressure of the upper floors. We are losing subjects."
The man in the hologram rubbed his eyes.
"The Administrator suggests a 'Gamification Layer.' He wants to turn the survival protocols into... quests. He thinks the human mind will adapt better if it thinks it is playing a game. I think he is insane. He is enjoying this too much."
The hologram distorted.
"If you are seeing this... Project Eden has fallen. The Tower is no longer an Ark. It is a cage."
ZAP.
The hologram died. The white lights faded, returning the room to the green glow of the moss.
Silence filled the room.
"Ark?" Seraphina whispered, clutching her staff. "Gamification? What was that?"
"A recording," Elian said quickly, his mind racing. "Lore. Just backstory for the dungeon."
He looked at his friends. They looked confused, terrified. The "immersion" of their fantasy world had just been cracked by a guy in a lab coat.
I can't tell them yet, Elian resolved. If they know their entire existence is a desperate simulation to save a dying species, they'll break.
Part 3: The Impossible Schematic
"Look," Roger pointed at the console. "It printed something."
A slot in the desk hissed open. A thin, metallic sheet slid out.
It wasn't paper. It was a flexible, glowing blueprint.
[Item Acquired: Schematic - Soul-Anchor Prism]
[Rank: Forbidden Technology]
[Description: A device designed to capture the bio-digital signature of a consciousness before system deletion. Originally designed for the 'Architects' to safely log out. Modified for player use.]
Elian picked it up. His hands shook slightly.
This was it. The item he needed to save them from the Mortality Protocol.
It wasn't magic. It was a black box recorder for the human soul.
"Kael, Luna," Elian called them over. He handed them the blueprint.
"Can you make this?"
Kael squinted at the complex geometry. "This... this isn't smithing. This is engineering. I need Spirit Glass to hold the energy."
Luna looked at the chemical equations. "And I need a Fluid of Life to act as a conductive medium. Something that mimics blood but conducts mana."
Caelum touched the blueprint. "And I... I must weave the net that catches the soul. It will cost... much."
"We have the Spirit Glass from Floor 15," Elian calculated. "The Fluid of Life... that's on Floor 29. The Roots of Yggdrasil."
"We need to go deeper," Elian said, pocketing the schematic. "This facility confirms that the Tower has secrets the Administrator wants to keep buried. This Anchor is our key to surviving them."
Part 4: The Diver's Fear
They exited the ruins, the sunlight of the Azure Sea feeling blinding after the artificial darkness.
Orion's spectral avatar was waiting for them on the deck of the Leviathan.
"Captain," Orion rasped. "The Turtle is awake. It is hungry. It wants to move."
"Let it move," Elian said. "Set a course for the Abyssal Trenches of Floor 25."
Orion hesitated. The blue flames in his eyes dimmed.
"The Wet Grave," Orion shuddered. "The pressure there crushes ships like eggshells. The Leviathan can survive, but..."
He looked at the crew.
"You are flesh. You will need protection."
"Kael," Elian turned to the smith. "We have 24 hours before we reach the drop point. I need diving suits. Reinforced. Pressure-sealed."
"I'll need leather from the Shark-Men," Kael grumbled, already pulling out his hammer. "And glass from the golems. It'll be ugly, but it'll hold."
Part 5: The Suspicion
As the guild dispersed to prepare for the dive, Isara lingered behind.
She leaned against a tree, watching Elian.
"You read it," Isara stated. It wasn't a question.
Elian didn't look at her. "Read what?"
"The metal plate," Isara said, her violet eyes narrowing. "Before the translation matrix turned on. You read 'Project Eden'. You knew what it meant."
Elian stopped.
Isara was sharp. Too sharp.
"I have a skill," Elian lied smoothly. "Polyglot. I can read dead languages."
Isara pushed off the tree and walked up to him. She stopped inches from his face.
"You have a lot of skills, Elian. You know where hidden islands are. You know how to pilot cursed ships. You know languages that shouldn't exist."
She reached out and adjusted the collar of his cloak.
"I don't care what you are, Elian. A demon, a god, or a glitch."
She lowered her voice to a whisper.
"Just don't get us killed."
She turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the ship.
Elian exhaled.
He looked back at the concrete ruins peeking out of the jungle.
The mystery of Floor 24 wasn't the island. It was the fact that for a brief moment, the fantasy mask had slipped, and the terrifying reality of Earth had looked back at them.
"Floor 25," Elian muttered. "Time to sink or swim."