《Congratulations! You’re Screwed.》 Chapter 1. Darkness. It stretched in every direction. Vast. Absolute. She inhaled. No sound. No weight. No sensation beyond her own consciousness drifting in the void. She had finally entered the tower. This wasn¡¯t unexpected. But it still felt wrong. Even knowing what awaited her, some part of her had clung to the illusion that the Tower would have been different from what she heard about¡ªthat stepping through its threshold wouldn¡¯t feel like being swallowed by nothingness. But here she was. Suspended in the void. Then¡ªa flicker. A soft blue glow pulsed in front of her, piercing the abyss like a distant star. The light stretched, expanded, forming something solid. A translucent window. The letters shimmered. [Welcome, Entrant Y121-890310.] Her breath came slow, steady. Her number. Not a name. Just a label. The window flickered again. [Guideline] [Missions and objectives can be accessed through the ¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€.] [Censored messages can be accessed once you have accumulated enough ¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€.] [Home is protected.] Her eyes narrowed. Censored. Why? She had expected cryptic instructions. The Tower was notorious for withholding information. But seeing the black bars over the text made her fingers twitch. She reached out. Her hand passed through the screen. Like mist. Like nothing at all. A dull ache curled in her stomach. The Tower had stripped her of everything tangible. Even touch felt distant here. The window pulsed again, the letters shifting. [Welcome to the ¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€ Tower.] [Through trials, grow. Survive. Ascend.] [We endeavor in your survival and future accomplishments.] "Survive." It wasn¡¯t a threat. It was a law. Something shifted. A deep, vibrating hum rumbled through the void, pressing against her chest like a silent pulse. The darkness fractured. The air around her shook and light tore through the abyss. The void collapsed. And she fell. Very quickly, the fall ended in silence. She didn¡¯t hit the ground. Not in the way she should have. Instead, she landed as if the world itself had caught her. Her legs folded beneath her, but there was no impact, no sharp pain jolting through her body. Just a slow, unnatural descent, as though she had drifted down like a feather¡ªtoo controlled to be real. Her hands pressed against the surface beneath her. Smooth. Cold. Perfect. The sensation was distant, like touching something through a layer of fabric. Even her own skin felt dull, numbed by the air itself. Slowly, she exhaled. Then¡ªshe opened her eyes. The void was gone. In its place was white. Endless, blinding white stretched beyond sight, pressing against her from all sides. The walls¡ªif they could even be called that¡ªwere smooth and unbroken. No doors. No ceiling. No distinction between space and distance. The silence was absolute. She moved to stand, her limbs sluggish, her body adjusting to the unnatural stillness. It was like standing in the absence of existence itself. There was no scent. No warmth. No cold. No echo when she inhaled. Her pulse should have sounded in her ears. It didn¡¯t. The Tower had taken everything. A slow, creeping sensation coiled at the base of her skull¡ªdisplacement. Not fear. Not yet. But something deeply unnatural was at play here. Her gaze swept across the space again, but it remained the same. Empty. Unforgiving. For how long? Her fingers twitched at her sides. Time felt... unstable. There was no way to track it, no shadows to shift, no changes in light. Had it been seconds? Minutes? It felt like longer. Then¡ªa chime. The sound didn¡¯t echo. It simply existed, vibrating through the space without direction. The blue window flickered into existence. [Next Phase Initiating.] [First Trial Parameters Adjusted.] Her breath stilled. Adjusted. She had expected trials, expected the unknown. But this¡ªthis was different. The Tower was watching her. Not just running a test. It was reacting to her. Her gaze returned to the panel, waiting. Nothing changed. No new message. No further instructions. Just those words. [First Trial Parameters Adjusted.] She exhaled slowly. Then¡ªthe world lurched. Not a sound. Not a tremor. But a sudden, wrenching shift deep in her core. It was like being yanked sideways without moving, her stomach twisting in protest. The air itself folded inward, collapsing around her, like something unseen had just plucked her from existence. For half a breath, everything stretched¡ª Then¡ª She was elsewhere. No warning. No fall. Just instantaneous displacement. One moment, she was in the white void. The next, she was standing on solid ground. Her body staggered forward from the force of the transition, her legs struggling to catch up with the reality shift. She pressed a hand to her ribs, steadying herself. The air here was thick¡ªreal. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. She inhaled, sharp and slow. The scent of soil. Stone. Something stale, untouched by time. Her surroundings had changed. The blinding white was gone, replaced by something narrow, enclosed. A corridor. The walls were rough-hewn stone, damp with condensation. Wooden torches lined the passage, their flames weak, flickering against the cold. The silence was different here. Not empty. She swallowed, adjusting to the sudden shift in gravity. And she wasn¡¯t alone. The system window reappeared. [First Trial: Commencing.] A sound. A growl rumbled through the corridor, rolling over the stone walls like distant thunder. Her breath hitched. The torches flickered, their light struggling against the shadows pressing in from all sides. Then¡ªshff. A faint scrape of claws against the ground. She turned toward the sound, every muscle coiled tight. At first, she saw nothing. Only the shifting blackness beyond the torches, the flickering firelight casting erratic shapes along the rough stone. Then¡ªmovement. A shape slinked forward, its outline stretching, shifting as it stepped into the dim glow. A wolf. But not like the ones she had seen before. Its fur was ragged, clumped with dirt and dried blood. Patches were missing, revealing stretched, sickly skin. It was too thin. Bones jutted out beneath its pelt, ribs sharp as blades. It looked starving. But its eyes remained cold. Unblinking. It was studying her. Skkk¡­ Its claws dragged against the stone as it inched forward. Deliberate. Controlled. This wasn¡¯t an immediate attack. Her pulse thundered against her chest. The Tower had given her no weapon. No instructions. Nothing. She inhaled slowly. The wolf¡¯s ears flicked. It had noticed. She took a step back¡ªcareful, measured. Crunch. Her boot pressed against loose dirt, the faint sound snapping through the silence. The wolf reacted. Its lips curled, revealing yellowed, uneven fangs. Its growl deepened, rumbling through its chest. The message was clear. It wasn¡¯t letting her leave. Her gaze flicked toward the torches lining the walls. Her only option. Another step. The wolf tensed. Ready. She moved. Fwsh! Her hand snapped toward the nearest torch, fingers wrapping around the rough wood. The flame flared, spitting embers into the air. The wolf¡¯s pupils contracted. Its ears flattened. But it didn¡¯t step back. She lifted the torch higher, letting the fire dance between them. The wolf held its ground. A slow breath stretched long. Then¡ªa step forward. Crack. The flame wavered as the beast entered the torch¡¯s glow, its whiskers nearly brushing the heat. It wasn¡¯t afraid. Starvation had burned away instinct. The air felt heavier. Then¡ª The wolf lunged. The wolf¡¯s body blurred as it sprang forward, its muscles coiling like a steel trap. She barely had time to react. ¡®Move!¡¯ Her body obeyed before thought could catch up¡ªthe torch swinging up in a desperate arc. Fwssh! The flames lashed through the air, illuminating a glimpse of bared fangs and sunken eyes. The beast twisted mid-lunge, avoiding the direct hit. Sssk¡ª! However, the torch¡¯s heat grazed its muzzle. The wolf snarled, its momentum breaking as it recoiled, landing in a low crouch. Clawed paws scraped against stone, claws digging in for traction. She exhaled sharply, chest rising and falling. It had backed off, but only for a moment. Not fear. It was calculating. She adjusted her grip on the torch, sweat slicking her palm. The flame wavered but held strong, a fragile line of defense between her and the starving predator. The beast¡¯s eyes flicked to the fire, assessing. Then¡ªit moved again. Fast. Low. Not lunging, but circling around her. Her pulse hammered against her ribs, but she forced herself to stay steady. Don¡¯t retreat. If she backed herself into a corner, it was over. The wolf crept forward, inch by inch, its skeletal frame gliding just beyond the reach of the fire. It was waiting. For her to falter. For her to make a mistake. She shifted her stance, inching toward the torches lining the walls. If she could grab another one¡ª Crunch. Her foot brushed against something loose. A stone. She didn¡¯t hesitate. With a sharp inhale, she lifted her boot and kicked it forward. Thmp! The rock skittered across the ground, rolling directly into the wolf¡¯s path. The reaction was instant. The beast flinched, its head snapping toward the sudden movement. An opening. She took it. Fwssh! The torch whipped through the air, the flames flaring as she thrust it forward, aiming straight for the wolf¡¯s face. The beast jerked back, snarling. But it didn¡¯t run. It continued watching her. Still waiting. Her breath came fast and uneven. She had seconds before it tried again. Seconds. That was all she had. The wolf¡¯s muscles coiled, its hunger outweighing hesitation. Her heartbeat slammed against her chest, but she forced herself to focus. The beast wouldn¡¯t back down. It wasn¡¯t just desperate. It was learning. The torch¡¯s flames flickered between them, a fragile, wavering barrier. The wolf¡¯s eyes flicked to the fire. Then to her. It lunged. SNAP! She barely twisted in time. The beast¡¯s fangs clamped down on empty air, inches from her arm. Fwssh! She swung the torch in a tight arc, flames licking at fur and skin. The wolf let out a sharp yelp, skidding back¡ªbut not far. Not enough. It was circling again, its breath ragged, teeth bared. The scent of burnt fur clung to the damp air. Her grip tightened. It was trying a different angle. Another lunge, lower this time¡ªgoing for her legs. She jumped back, barely avoiding its claws. Her boots scraped against the dirt, her balance wavering for half a second. Half a second too long. Thud! The wolf slammed into her side. Her breath ripped from her lungs as she hit the ground¡ªhard. The torch flew from her grasp. It clattered against the stone, rolling just out of reach. The flame flickered weakly, but didn¡¯t die. The wolf was on her before she could move. And then¡ª Fangs sank into her forearm. Pain erupted through her body, white-hot and sharp. A scream caught in her throat. ¡ªAhh! Adrenaline surged. Her free hand shot toward the ground, fingers closing around the first thing she could grab. A fistful of dirt and loose gravel. She didn¡¯t think. She slammed on the wolf¡¯s face. The dust and grit exploded into the wolf¡¯s eyes, nose, open mouth. The beast recoiled with a pained snarl, its grip loosening¡ªjust barely. But it was enough. She wrenched her arm free, rolling onto her side. Blood pulsed from the wound, warm against her skin. No time to check it. No time to think. The torch. She lunged. Her fingers closed around the wooden shaft¡ªand she turned. Fwssh! She drove the flame into the wolf¡¯s face. Sizzle! The wolf shrieked. A sound between a howl and a scream, raw and unnatural. The wolf thrashed violently, its body twisting away from the searing heat. Smoke curled from its scorched muzzle, and the stench of burning fur filling the corridor. But it wasn¡¯t dead. Not yet. Its limbs trembled as it staggered back, yellow eyes wide with wild, agonized fury. She didn¡¯t wait. Didn¡¯t hesitate. Didn¡¯t breathe. With a desperate cry, she thrust the torch further forward, the flames flaring as they found their mark. Fwssh! The fire buried itself into the wolf¡¯s open maw. Szzzzhhhk¡ª! The beast convulsed, a soundless scream caught in its throat. Its body seized, legs buckling as the heat devoured the inside of its mouth, throat, lungs. Then¡ªa violent jolt. It collapsed. Its chest rose once. Then stilled. The smoke flickered against its unmoving form, the wolf¡¯s blackened flesh still smoldering. Silence. No growls. No snapping jaws. Nothing but her own ragged, uneven breaths. She stayed still. Her grip on the torch tightened, the lingering heat pressing into her palm. The wolf wasn¡¯t moving. But she knew better than to assume it was over. Slowly, carefully, she stepped back, watching for any sign¡ªany twitch of movement. None came. She exhaled, the weight of the battle crashing over her all at once. The firelight flickered, dancing across the blood smeared along her arm. Pain crept in, slow but sharp, the bite wound was still fresh and open. She clenched her jaw. She had survived. For now. Then¡ª The system window flickered back into existence. [Congratulations, Entrant Y121-890310.] [First Trial (Tutorial) Completed.] Her shoulders sagged. It was over. The torch, still burning, lowered in her grasp. Her vision blurred, exhaustion finally catching up to her. Then¡ªanother message. [Privilege Granted: While inside your room, death is not tolerated. Existing wounds will not deteriorate.] Her gaze flicked down to her torn sleeve, to the red soaking through the fabric. The pain remained. She exhaled, leaning against the stone wall. While her body ached and her breath still shaky, the Tower had acknowledged her. She had won. Chapter 2 Her memories pulled her back to a time long before she entered the tower. She had been a simple woman. A commoner in one of the many branch kingdoms under the continent''s largest empire. The branch kingdom, though not as wealthy as the capital, had its share of opportunities. Merchants filled the bustling markets, their wares plentiful under the midday sun. Children laughed as they chased one another through cobblestone streets. Her own life, however, had been far from extraordinary. Unlike many commoners, she¡¯d been fortunate enough to learn how to read and write. A rare gift for a commoner, and one she had used to carve out a modest life as a neighborhood teacher. Every morning, she would gather the children in a small, one-room building and teach them letters, numbers, and even the occasional tale of far-off heroes. One day, as she finished reading an old fable, a boy raised his hand, eyes wide with curiosity. ¡°Teacher! What about the tower? Where did it come from?¡± One of the children asked. The room fell silent. She followed his gaze to the window, where, far in the distance, a shadow loomed against the sky. A tower so tall its peak was lost to the heavens. Even from here, from the outskirts, its presence was undeniable. ¡°My father says it''s a gift from God,¡± the boy continued. ¡°He says it¡¯s where the strongest warriors are born.¡± A few of the other children nodded eagerly. Their parents must have told them the same thing. She exhaled softly. ¡°No one truly knows where the tower came from.¡± The children blinked with confusion. ¡°It just appeared one day,¡± she said, her voice quieter now. ¡°Centuries ago, long before any of us were born. People entered it¡­ but they never came out.¡± A shiver ran through the room. ¡°Then how did Emperor Aure the First survive?¡± one of the children asked. A small smile tugged at her lips. That was a name woven into every story across the continent. ¡°Because he was different,¡± she said. The founder of the kingdom¡ªAure The First. The man who had once been a commoner like them. Back then, he had been nothing. Just another soul who entered the tower. But when he emerged, he was no longer a man. He was something greater. He returned with powers that defied human limits¡ªmagic that rivaled the gods themselves. With a single wave of his hand, he could move mountains. With a whisper, he could summon storms. No army could stand against him. No ruler could deny him. And so, with those unfathomable gifts, he built an empire. But deep down, she knew the truth that wasn¡¯t to be revealed. The tower did not give power freely. It demanded something in return. ¡°Now, kids! It¡¯s nearing nightfall. Off to your parents!¡± At first, she had been proud of her role. The steady income provided enough to keep a roof over her head and food on her plate. But over time, monotony set in. Her days blurred together, each one as predictable as the last. Evenings were even worse. The quiet would stretch endlessly, and eventually, to fill the void, she¡¯d taken up gambling. At first, it was harmless. A few coins here and there on a lottery ticket. A casual dice game with fellow commoners at the tavern. A hand of cards when the nights felt unbearably long. But soon, the thrill consumed her. She started chasing bigger bets. The gladiator¡¯s stadium became her second home¡ªwhere blood and steel clashed, and fortunes changed hands in an instant. The roars of the crowd, the tension before a fatal strike, the possibility of walking away richer than before¡ªit was intoxicating. She convinced herself she had a system. A way to win. But luck was a fickle god. Losses piled up faster than she could recover. Her savings vanished. Then, her salary. Then, her possessions. Desperation sank its claws into her and she resorted to loansharks. Debts came knocking. And in this kingdom, when you couldn¡¯t pay¡­ there was only one alternative. She had one last chance. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. A single gamble to change it all. They say gamblers quit right before they¡¯re about to make it big. She should have quit. Instead, she bet everything. Her house, her dignity¡ªeverything she had left. And she lost. Just like that, her life crumbled. She stood in the empty space that was once her home, staring at the cold reality of her choices. She had nothing. No place to return to. When the debtors came to collect what she no longer had, there was only one thing left to take¡ªher. She had seen it happen before. Others, who owed too much, disappeared overnight. The whispers that followed, murmurs of ships bound for distant continents where people became property, stripped of name and choice. She refused to share their fate. So she fled. Under the cover of darkness, she abandoned everything. Her shoes tore apart after days of running, the soles peeling, leaving her feet raw and blistered. She could never stay in one place for long. The debt collectors had eyes everywhere, and the longer she remained in the branch kingdom, the closer they came. No matter where she went, they would find her. They always did. She had only one alternative. The tower. To enter was to gamble your life. The survival rate was abysmal. For every thousand who entered, if they were lucky, one came back out. But that one changed everything. That one returned as something greater, something powerful. And for the kingdom, that was all that mattered. To them, the losses were acceptable. And to her, it was no different from betting everything on a final, desperate throw of a thousand-faced dice. Since she had no money and no provisions, she traveled by foot. Hunger became her constant companion. At first, she scavenged what little she could. Fallen fruit, discarded scraps left in the streets. But soon, even that wasn¡¯t enough. Desperation drove her even lower. She dug through the dirt, searching for roots. She chewed on grass, choking down the bitter taste. She caught insects with trembling hands, forcing herself to swallow them whole. She was once a woman who had taught others to read, to write, and to teach them what they were capable of. Now, she was crawling through the dirt, a little more than an animal. Still, she pressed forward. The cold nights gnawed at her just as harshly as starvation. At some point, her reflection in puddles stopped looking human. Hollow cheeks, cracked lips, eyes sunken and dull. By the time she reached the capital, she was little more than a husk of herself. Her lips had split open from days without water, and the only thing that kept her moving was the sight of the tower over the horizon. Closer. She just had to get closer. And then¡ªsalvation. The food center. It was massive, positioned outside the kingdom. This establishment welcomed the weary and desperate. The scent of broth and fresh bread filled the air, nearly driving her to madness. She wasn¡¯t the only one. Dozens, no, hundreds of people filled the hall. Some, like her, were draped in rags, hollow-eyed and desperate. But there others who were younger, stronger, and simply eager to test their fate. A line stretched across the hall, each person waiting their turn. Food. It was so simple. A bowl of soup, thick with vegetables. A slice of bread, still warm. A cup of clean water. It was the first real meal she had in weeks. But there was a catch. No one ate for free. This food¡ªthis kindness¡ªwas not given out of charity. It was an investment. The kingdom did not care for the poor or the lost. It cared only for the tower. Here, in this hall, men and women were not just fed. They were trained. For those who wished to enter the tower, the kingdom prepared them. It was Emperor Aure¡¯s decree. More people meant more chances. More sacrifices meant a higher likelihood of producing a champion. If a thousand entered, and even one came out¡ªthen it was worth it. And those who died? They were nothing but numbers. She devoured the warm bread dipped into the soup, the rich taste of the broth coated her tongue. As soon as the day ended and the last bowls were emptied, a group of guards entered the hall. Their uniforms bore the crest of the royal army. "Stand up," one of the guards ordered. No one dared to disobey. She followed the others as they were led out of the food center and into the kingdom, moving in a sluggish line through the cold streets. Eventually, they stopped before a massive stone building. Unlike the food center, which had a welcoming, almost inviting air, this place was suffocating. The doors creaked open. Inside, rows of wooden tables stretched across the room, each with stacks of parchment laid neatly upon them. She didn¡¯t need to ask what they were. A contract. The moment they sat down, an official stepped forward, reciting the terms. ¡°By accepting nourishment from the crown, you acknowledge your obligation to enter the tower.¡± Her stomach twisted. ¡°You will undergo basic training, including but not limited to survival techniques, combat training, and general knowledge required for the trials ahead.¡± The weight of reality settled on her shoulders. ¡°Upon completion of your training, you will be granted entrance to the tower.¡± There was no option to refuse. Not anymore. The official continued, his tone growing sharper. ¡°Any attempt to delay your entrance or intentionally sabotage your training will be seen as an act of defiance against the crown.¡± ¡°In such cases, you will be forcibly conscripted into the northern war effort against the barbarian clans.¡± A shiver ran down her spine. Everyone knew what that meant. The war in the north had been raging for decades. The kingdom¡¯s soldiers held the advantage in weapons, tactics, magic, and champions, but the barbarians themselves had their own too. Conscription wasn¡¯t a mere punishment. It was a death sentence. What would happen to a normal person when fighting against those beasts? It needn¡¯t be asked. A different kind of slaughter than the tower¡ªbut a slaughter nonetheless. Her fingers trembled as she picked up the quill. This was it. There was no turning back. With a slow, heavy breath, she signed her name. Chapter 3. A sharp inhale. The first thing she noticed was the silence¡ªvast, empty, all-consuming. No growling, no flickering torchlight, no damp soil pressing against her. Without noticing, she had returned to the white space. Just silence. Then came the pain. It wasn¡¯t sharp, not like the wolf¡¯s fangs had been, but a deep, gnawing ache that curled around her bones. Phantom pressure lingered on her forearm, where the beast had bitten down, and for a horrifying moment, she thought she could still feel the sensation¡ªteeth buried in flesh, skin splitting, the hot rush of blood spilling down her wrist. Her breath hitched. She clenched her fingers, expecting agony, but there was none. Blinking against the artificial white glow of the room, she forced herself to sit up. The motion sent a dull ache rippling through her muscles, a reminder of the battle that had nearly killed her. No¡ªhad killed her, or at least should have. She raised her arm, peeling back what remained of her sleeve. The fabric was still torn and bloodstained, yet the wound beneath it had closed. Pink, raw, but not bleeding. The pain was there, a steady throb beneath the skin, but it lacked the urgent sting of an open injury. Healing? No¡­ not quite. The familiar, floating blue panel shimmered into view before her, its letters flickering like candlelight. [Congratulations, Entrant Y121-890310.] [First Trial (Tutorial) Completed.] Her throat felt dry. Completed. The words should have brought her relief, but instead, they felt hollow, as if spoken in a language she barely understood. Surviving that trial hadn¡¯t felt like a victory¡ªit had been desperation, pure and primal. The wolf had been starving, she had been bleeding, and the fight had been nothing short of brutal. Her mind flickered back to those final moments¡ªthe wolf¡¯s cry, the smell of burning fur, the way its body had convulsed before it stilled forever. She shivered. Even though the air in the room was neither hot nor cold, she felt a deep chill settle in her bones. The weight of what she had done¡ªwhat she had been forced to do¡ªpressed down on her chest like a heavy stone. Could she do this again? Would she have to? A bitter laugh slipped past her lips. Of course she would. That was the whole point, wasn¡¯t it? She wasn¡¯t here to survive. She was here to escape. Ascend. The words from the panel replayed in her mind, the ones she had read in the void before her trial began. [Through trials, grow. Survive. Ascend.] A sick feeling twisted in her gut. She had survived, but she had also killed. That was the cost of survival in this place. Her fists clenched. If this was only the tutorial, then what came next? The panel flickered again, displaying a new message. [Next Stage Selection Available.] [Select Your Path.] Her lips parted slightly as she stared at the message, trying to make sense of it. A choice? A faint chime rang out, and the panel expanded. New words appeared beneath the glowing text, sharp and deliberate. [Path of Strength] ~ For those who wish to wield power. ~ Face brutal challenges that forge your body and mind through combat. [Path of Strategy] ~ For those who seek to outthink the Tower. ~ Puzzles, deception, and unseen dangers await those who tread this path. [Path of Survival] ~ For those who endure. ~ With limited resources, every decision determines your fate. Her gaze flickered between the three choices. Strength. Strategy. Survival. Her fingers twitched slightly at her sides. The Path of Strength seemed like the most straightforward¡ªbrute force, physical trials, battles like the one she had just faced. But could she keep doing that? If every stage meant another fight to the death, how long before her luck ran out? The Path of Strategy was tempting. Deception, puzzles¡ªit suggested something beyond raw physicality. But what did ¡°unseen dangers¡± mean? Was it worse to fight something with claws and teeth¡­ or something she couldn¡¯t even see coming? Then there was Survival. She exhaled slowly, considering the words again. Limited resources. That meant she wouldn¡¯t just be facing threats¡ªit meant hunger, exhaustion, making do with what little she had. The corners of her mouth twisted into a humorless smile. She had already survived once before. Could she do it again? Her fingers hovered in the air as if she could touch the glowing panel, as if the choice wasn¡¯t just words but something tangible. But was this even a choice? A bitter laugh slipped past her lips. No. It never had been. The Tower had already decided. She had been fighting to survive long before she stepped through its doors. Her decision was made. She reached forward¡ª [Selection Confirmed: Path of Survival.] A shudder passed through the room, and the panel flickered violently, as though the Tower itself had reacted to her choice. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Then, without warning¡ª Everything went dark. Not the suffocating void of the Tower¡ªa different kind of shadow. One cast by flickering lanterns, swaying above a sea of eager faces. She was small then, no older than ten, standing on the tips of her toes behind a merchant¡¯s stall, craning her neck to see over the gathered crowd. It was the Festival of the Returned. She had heard the stories. The ones told by traveling merchants and whispered in the marketplaces¡ªof men and women who entered the Tower and returned as something greater. Heroes, touched by the divine. And tonight, she would see one for herself. A hush fell over the square as the procession arrived. A single man walked onto the stage. She frowned. The stories always spoke of champions¡ªfigures wreathed in light, stepping forward with their heads held high. But this man¡­ He looked wrong. His robes hung loose over a frame that had withered beneath them. His shoulders hunched forward, as if the very air around him was pressing down on him. His hair, dark at the roots, was streaked with silver despite his youth. She had imagined something grander than this. Someone who glowed. But instead, he looked hollow. The murmurs around her started almost immediately. ¡ªIs that him? The people wanted to believe¡ªno, they needed to believe. They had prepared songs, lit lanterns, and adorned the streets with banners. The kingdom needed heroes. They would not let the sight of this man ruin that. An official stepped forward, clearing his throat. ¡ªWe honor those who climb the Tower! We honor those who return! The cheers were hesitant at first, then louder. The official turned expectantly to the survivor, waiting for him to speak. He didn¡¯t. His hands hung limp at his sides, his gaze unfocused. He stood among them, but he was not there. A strange feeling twisted in her chest. "Why won¡¯t he talk?" she whispered to the old woman beside her. The woman, a shopkeeper she sometimes helped in exchange for bread, didn¡¯t meet her eyes. Instead, she stared straight ahead, lips pressed into a thin line. "Sometimes, child," she said softly, "it is better not to ask." The official stepped closer to the survivor, whispering something the crowd could not hear. The man finally moved¡ªhis shoulders shook, and for a moment, she thought he might cry. But then he laughed. Low, bitter. Like he understood something that no one else did. The laughter sent a ripple through the crowd. People shifted uncomfortably, but the official did not falter. He turned back to the people, voice rising above the unease. "The Tower has granted us another champion!" he declared. "Rejoice!" The crowd did. Or at least, they pretended to. The music started, the dancers stepped forward, and the celebration continued. The survivor was led away, disappearing into the shadows. She remained where she stood, staring at the empty stage. But she knew, even then that something was wrong. But it wasn¡¯t just the survivor on that stage. It wasn¡¯t just the Tower. It was everything. The way the crowd cheered despite the unease in their eyes. The way the festival continued as if the man¡¯s hollow laughter had never happened. The way people chose to believe in the lie rather than face what was standing right in front of them. Even now, years later, she could still hear it¡ªthe distant drumbeats, the forced celebration, the survivor¡¯s laughter echoing in her ears. But the festival was long gone. The drums weren¡¯t playing anymore. The sound was coming from somewhere else. A low, rhythmic thudding. Deep, steady. Like a heartbeat. Her own. She gasped sharply, the memory ripping away as she came back to herself. The world lurched, and suddenly¡ªshe was falling. The ground, the white walls, the very air around her vanished in an instant. Cold wind tore past her skin. No time to think. No time to scream. Just the drop. The sensation sent her stomach twisting into knots, her limbs flailing in the empty void. Her pulse pounded in her ears, mixing with the deafening rush of air¡ªand then it stopped. Not the fall¡ªthe sound. Everything went silent. Then¡ªimpact. She hit the ground with force, hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs. Pain shot through her ribs and wound as she rolled onto her side, coughing, gasping. Dirt. Her fingers dug into the cold, damp soil beneath her. Not polished stone. Not the smooth surface of the white room. The air was thick¡ªtoo thick. Damp. Heavy. It carried a scent that set her teeth on edge. Rot. Slowly, she pushed herself up, blinking against the dimness. Shadows stretched long around her, shifting with the faint flicker of¡ª Firelight. She turned her head. In the distance, something was burning. Not a massive blaze, but small, controlled flames, casting long, twisting shadows against what looked like¡­ wooden structures? Buildings? A village. But there were no voices. No sounds of people moving. No signs of life. A sharp ding rang out, and the familiar blue panel appeared before her. [Second Trial: Commencing.] Somewhere behind her, a door creaked open. She wasn¡¯t alone. A slow, heavy sound¡ªwood groaning as if it had not been moved in years. The noise sent a shiver crawling up her spine. She didn¡¯t turn immediately. Her breath came in quiet, measured exhales as she crouched lower, pressing a hand into the damp soil. The scent of rot was thick, clinging to her skin, seeping into her lungs. She scanned her surroundings. The village stretched before her, if it could even be called that. Wooden houses, or what remained of them, stood in broken clusters, their walls caved in, roofs half-collapsed. The wood was dark, warped with moisture and decay. Some structures had doors barely hanging from rusted hinges; others had been left open entirely, gaping like hollow mouths. The fires she had seen earlier burned low in crude braziers, scattered along the dirt path. The flames crackled weakly. But no people. No movement. Nothing but the wind slithering through the empty streets. [Objective: Survive Until Dawn.] She stiffened. The panel had returned, glowing faintly in the dim light. The words were simple, but they carried weight. Not escape. Not fight. Just¡­ survive. Her grip tightened against the dirt. The Tower never gave anything without cost. If it only required her to last until morning, then it meant¡ª She wasn¡¯t alone. The door behind her moved again. A whisper of motion, barely audible over the wind. She turned, slowly. A building stood behind her, larger than the others. An inn, maybe? The wooden beams sagged, and its second floor looked like it had been left to rot. The door, thick and weathered, was now ajar¡ªjust enough to see inside. Darkness pooled beyond the threshold. A single, weak lantern flickered within. The space between her shoulders tightened. She wasn¡¯t foolish enough to step inside. Instead, she listened. Silence. Then¡ªa shift. Not a sound, not a clear movement, but a¡­ presence. The kind that made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Something was in there. Watching. Waiting. Her pulse quickened. ¡ª[The First Night Begins.] The air changed. The wind died. The weak flames in the braziers flickered once, twice¡ªthen dimmed, as if something had sucked the warmth from them. And then¡ª A sound. Not from the inn. From the street ahead. Slow. Shuffling. Uneven footsteps. She didn¡¯t move. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, her breath shallow as she waited, listened. The footsteps stopped. Silence. And then¡ª A voice. A low, rasping whisper, curling through the darkness. ¡°...Are you lost?¡± She clenched her fists. She had survived the first trial. She would survive this one. Chapter 4 ¡°¡­Are you lost?¡± She didn¡¯t move. Didn¡¯t breathe. The whisper had come from right behind her. Her instinct screamed at her to turn around. To see who had spoken. To confirm that there was another person here. But some part of her¡ªa primal, instinctual part¡ªknew better. Don¡¯t turn. Don¡¯t look. Her fingers tightened against the wound on her arm. She barely felt it¡ªat least, not in the normal way. Pain was still there, still searing, but it felt far away now, drowned beneath the rapid drum of her pulse. Someone was behind her. No¡ªsomething. Because who would whisper a question like that and then just¡­ stand there? ¡®Say something.¡¯ That was what her brain was telling her. If it was a real person, answering would show that she needed help. But she didn¡¯t. She held her breath, fighting the overwhelming need to react. Don¡¯t turn. Don¡¯t look. Don¡¯t answer. The silence stretched. Then¡ª A second voice. ¡°¡­Are you lost?¡± This one came from her left. A third. ¡°¡­Do you need help?¡± Her throat clenched. Another. ¡°¡­Are you lost?¡± A chill rolled up her spine. One voice was terrifying. Two was worse. Now there were four. Her hands were shaking now, her body betraying her even as she tried to keep still. Don¡¯t react. Don¡¯t acknowledge them. The voices were coming from different places, some close, some farther away. They weren¡¯t overlapping¡ªjust weaving in and out of the silence, filling the air with questions that didn¡¯t sound real. The worst part? They sounded identical. Not just the words. The tone. The rhythm. Every whisper was the same voice. They weren¡¯t speaking to her. They were testing her. Her pulse hammered against her ribs. And still, she didn¡¯t look. It wasn¡¯t just the repetition that made her stomach twist. It was the timing. The way the whispers filled every gap, leaving no moment untouched. There was no randomness. No hesitation. No mistake. A pattern. A deliberate, measured rhythm. Like a song being played on an instrument that had never been tuned. Her pulse slammed against her ribs. They were testing her. The urge to turn her head was unbearable. But she didn¡¯t. ¡®Don¡¯t look. Don¡¯t look. Don¡¯t look.¡¯ ¡°¡­Are you lost?¡± ¡°¡­Do you need help?¡± ¡°¡­Where are you going?¡± Again. Again. Again. Their voices never overlapped, only filled the spaces between the last. Like chanting. Like they were waiting for something. She squeezed her wounded arm so hard that fresh pain flared through her body. ¡®Anchor yourself. Stay awake.¡¯ Anything to keep her grounded. Anything to keep her from reacting. And then¡ª The questions changed. A whisper, too close to her right. ¡°¡­Do you have a name?¡± Her heart stumbled. Another, behind her. ¡°¡­Who are you?¡± Another, from ahead. ¡°¡­Do you remember?¡± A cold pressure wrapped around her chest. They weren¡¯t asking the same things anymore. The world swayed, her legs trembling. She felt too weak. She couldn¡¯t keep doing this. And then¡ª A whisper far too close to her throat. ¡°¡­You¡¯re bleeding.¡± Her stomach dropped. A second voice joined it. ¡°¡­You¡¯re bleeding.¡± Then another. ¡°¡­You¡¯re bleeding.¡± Her entire body went rigid. The whispers weren¡¯t asking anymore. They weren¡¯t even speaking to her. A cold, writhing panic coiled around her spine. It felt like they were announcing it to something else. The voices multiplied. Faster now, sharper, pressing in from all sides. ¡°¡­You¡¯re bleeding.¡± ¡°¡­You¡¯re bleeding.¡± ¡°¡­You¡¯re bleeding.¡± ¡°¡­You¡¯re bleeding.¡± It didn¡¯t stop. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. It wouldn¡¯t stop. They had been testing her before. Now they had decided something. The air shifted. And all of a sudden, a slow inhale¡ªbut not her own. Behind her. Her stomach twisted. The whispers immediately stopped. Not faded. Not slowed. But stopped. Silence. And then¡ª Footsteps. But it was not like the others. It didn¡¯t shuffle. It didn¡¯t whisper. It walked. The whispering figures had been testing her. This one was approaching. Her pulse roared in her ears, her fingers trembling as she tightened the cloth around her wound. It wasn¡¯t enough. Her blood was still seeping through, staining her fingers, leaving a trail of warmth down her forearm. She was too weak. Too slow. She needed to move. But if she moved, would it follow? But then she felt it. It was right behind her. Her lungs seized. It was standing there. Watching. Waiting. A presence that felt real in a way the whispers never had. And then¡ª It reached out. A cold, alien touch pressed against her forearm. She nearly flinched, every muscle in her body screaming to jerk away¡ªbut she didn¡¯t. The fingers pressed down, smooth and firm. Not rough, nor was it decayed. It felt human. But at the same time, wrong. A pulse of heat seeped into her skin. Her breath hitched. The pain¡ª Was fading. The throbbing fire in her wound dulled, the deep ache dissolving into a strange, numbing warmth. The bleeding stopped. Her fingers twitched. A moment ago, her body had been on the edge of collapse. Now, it felt¡­ lighter. Her heartbeat slowed, steadying. The figure behind her leaned in. Its breath¡ªtoo steady, too controlled¡ªbrushed against her skin. Then, in a voice unlike the whispers before¡ªclear, but empty, It spoke. "You shouldn¡¯t be here." And then¡ª The hand lifted. The warmth vanished. The presence behind her began to step away. Not hurried. Not hesitant. As if it was simply¡­ done. As though it had done what it came to do. Her fingers twitched, hovering just above her forearm, where the cold of its touch had faded. No pain. No open wound. The blood¡ªgone. Her breath shook in her throat, but she swallowed it down. It had healed her. It had closed her wound. But why? Her heart slammed against her ribs. Why? A pulse of a cold feeling sat just beneath her skin, dull and lingering. A weight she couldn¡¯t describe. Had it left something behind? Her fingers hovered over the spot¡ª And stopped. No. She wouldn¡¯t touch it. Wouldn¡¯t acknowledge it yet. Whatever it had done¡ªit was already done. And then, in a voice that was clear, steady, and cold¡ª "You shouldn¡¯t be here." Another repeated the last words it spoke to her. Then¡ª She could hear it taking a step back. And another. "You shouldn¡¯t be here." More of them repeated each other. "You shouldn¡¯t be here." "You shouldn¡¯t be here." "You shouldn¡¯t be here." "You shouldn¡¯t be here." They were leaving. Not rushing. Not retreating. Just¡­ leaving. Her body remained locked in place, unable to move, unable to decide if this was relief or something far worse. She wanted to breathe. To finally let herself exhale. But she was afraid. Afraid that the moment she did, they would hear her. Afraid that if she moved even an inch, they would stop walking away. So she held it. Her vision blurred at the edges as she counted the seconds. One. Two. Three. A fourth. A fifth. Distance stretched between them. The weight of their presence thinned. She could move. She could finally¡ª A breath slipped past her lips, shallow and shaking. The footsteps stopped. Her entire body locked up again. No. No, no, no¡ª They had heard. Even the quietest sound. Even the faintest breath. They had heard her. The night was silent again. A cold panic coiled around her chest, tightening with every second. They weren¡¯t leaving anymore. Would they turn back? Would they continue tormenting her? Would they¡ª A single, slow exhale. Not hers. And then¡ª She could hear their shuffling footsteps coming towards her. Not slow. Not measured. Not the way they had walked before. This time, they moved fast. A sudden, violent shift in the air¡ªlike a rope snapping after being stretched too far. They had heard her. And now¡ª They were chasing her. She didn¡¯t have time to think. Didn¡¯t have time to question why¡ª Her body moved before her mind caught up. She ran. She wasn¡¯t thinking anymore. There was no plan. No strategy. Her legs screamed. Her lungs burned from the sharp inhale she wasn¡¯t supposed to take. But she didn¡¯t care. The presence behind her was now barreling towards her. And she didn¡¯t want to know what would happen if they caught her. She tore through the ruined village. And it seemed like the buildings were leaning unnaturally, in spite of being warped by time and neglect. Doors hung open like waiting mouths. Windows shattered, jagged edges lining the empty frames. There was nowhere to hide. Before she knew it, the footsteps behind her multiplied. A dozen. Then more. The ground shook beneath them. Faster than they should be. They weren¡¯t running like people. They weren¡¯t people. She didn¡¯t need to turn back to see that much was true. She could hear it. The inhuman rhythm. The sound of feet slamming into the ground too perfectly. Like a rule had been broken, and she was the consequence. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she pushed forward, ducking through a narrow alley between two buildings. Her shoulder scraped against splintered wood. She barely felt it. The pain in her arm had been replaced with something else, a feeling inhuman. Something deeper. Something worse. She didn¡¯t have time to be careful. She ran blindly, legs threatening to buckle. She had been standing still too long. Her body was at its limit. But the chase did not stop. And then, her eye caught something moving. Her breath hitched. A flicker of movement¡ªnot on the ground, but higher. No. Not ahead of her. Above. A shadow slid across a broken rooftop, moving without weight, without effort¡ªnot leaping, not jumping. Just gliding. She veered sharply, almost stumbling as she realized¡ª They weren¡¯t just chasing her from behind. They were trying to cut her off. Figures crawled over the rooftops¡ªbodies moving in unnatural, weightless motions, gliding like shadows across the wooden beams. She choked back a scream, twisting at the last second to avoid running straight beneath them. She needed to get out of here now. However, her foot hit something uneven. Too late¡ª The ground disappeared beneath her. She barely had time to react before she was falling. Her body slammed into the dirt, tumbling down a sharp incline, rocks and dust scraping against her skin as she crashed downward. She came to a stop at the bottom, sprawled out, gasping for breath. Pain shot through her ribs. Her limbs felt numb. She had hit the ground hard. Her mind raced. Get up. Get up. They¡¯re coming. They¡¯re¡ª Then, for the first time¡ª She noticed it. Something she hadn¡¯t been paying attention to. Something she had been too panicked to realize. The sky wasn¡¯t black anymore. It was¡­ Lighter. A deep, murky blue stretched over the horizon. Dawn. She hadn¡¯t realized. She had been running for her life, her mind fixated on escaping¡ª She hadn¡¯t noticed the night had ended. The footsteps behind her¡ª They were gone. Not fading. Not slowing. Not retreating. Just¡ªgone. Like they had never been there at all. She lay motionless, chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. Her fingers curled into the dirt, grasping for any sense of reality. She had survived. She had¡ª A blue window flickered before her. [Second Trial: Completed.] She let out a shaking breath. But the cold feeling in her arm didn¡¯t fade. Chapter 5 The blue window flickered into existence above her. [Second Trial: Completed.] The words barely registered. She was lying on her back, staring at nothing, her breath coming in slow, uneven pulls. Dawn had begun to stretch across the sky, painting the ruins in muted blue light. It was an unnatural dawn¡ªnot golden, not warm. Just pale and cold. She inhaled. The air smelled stale. Still. Everything ached. Not in the sharp, immediate way of fresh wounds, but in the deep, all-consuming way of exhaustion. Like she had been wrung dry, inside and out. Her limbs felt like dead weight. A heavy, sluggish thing, her own body betraying her. Even breathing took effort. Like her lungs were reluctant to expand, reluctant to draw her further into wakefulness. She shifted slightly, and a new wave of dull pain rolled through her limbs. Not agony¡ªnothing sharp or unbearable. Just deep, lingering soreness, like her muscles had been stretched beyond their limit and left to wither. Then, as she moved, she felt her body sting. A sharp, stinging heat. Her arms. Her legs. Scratches. She turned her head slightly, her gaze tracing the thin, shallow cuts along her skin. The tumble she had taken¡ªthe fall down the incline, the scraping dirt and loose stone¡ªhad left its mark. Small lines of red had dried over her forearms, her palms, her knees. She pressed her fingers lightly against the worst of them. They burned faintly under her touch but didn¡¯t bleed. The pain was an afterthought now, something her body had chosen to ignore in the face of greater threats. ¡®Superficial.¡¯ she thought. She was lucky. If she had landed just a little differently¡ª If she had twisted her ankle¡ª If she had hit her head¡ª The thought made her swallow. She forced herself to flex her fingers, her toes. She bent one knee, then the other. Everything moved. Her body hurt, but she could move. That was enough. A slow, deep inhale. Her chest rose, then fell in a careful rhythm. Then, she remembered. Her arm. The place where the entity had touched her. Her stomach tightened. It wasn¡¯t painful. Not even sore. But it was cold. Not skin-cold. Not like a winter chill. It was something deeper, settled beneath the surface. Like a bruise she couldn¡¯t see. She lifted her hand, pressing her fingers against the spot. Nothing. No wound. No scar. No indication that anything had happened at all. But the sensation remained. It hadn¡¯t faded. She exhaled sharply, willing herself to ignore it. She could worry about that later. Right now, her body felt like lead. Her limbs refused to listen, her head pounded with the weight of exhaustion, and the world around her had blurred at the edges. She just needed to close her eyes for a moment. The blue window pulsed again. A new message. [Third Trial Pending: Await Further Instructions.] Her breath left her in a quiet, bitter laugh. Of course. Her vision swayed. The exhaustion in her body finally won. And as her limbs gave in¡ª The world lurched. One moment, she was lying on the cold dirt, her limbs too heavy to move¡ª And the next, she was somewhere else. She recognized it instantly. The White Space. Endless. Empty. Silent. It stretched in all directions, a vast and sterile void. There was no ceiling, no floor¡ªjust an unbroken expanse of white. Her breath left her in a slow, shaky exhale. The Tower had brought her back here again. After everything¡ªthe chase, the voices, the weight of her own exhaustion pressing into her bones¡ª It didn¡¯t seem real. Her fingers twitched slightly against the smooth nothingness beneath her. She swallowed, but even that motion felt distant. A breath. Then another. The tension in her shoulders loosened, her limbs sagging slightly. Her body refused to lift. It felt heavier than before. The weight of everything¡ªthe exhaustion and fear that had rooted itself in her since she stepped into the Tower felt too much. She had pushed herself to the edge, barely keeping herself upright against the constant pull of survival. She had fought, she had run, she had bled. And now, for the first time since stepping into the Tower, her body was giving in. The stillness of the White Space wrapped around her. There was no immediate danger here. And because of that, her chest rose and fell in slow, shallow breaths. For the first time since entering the Tower¡ª She slept. . . . . . . A slow inhale. Her eyes opened. The White Space hadn¡¯t changed. It was still vast. Still silent. She exhaled, letting her fingers brush against the surface beneath her. It was smooth. Cool. She pushed herself upright, rolling her shoulders, stretching out the stiffness in her arms. Even the smallest motion sent a dull ache through her limbs. She had barely moved, and already her body protested. She had fallen. Ran. Fought. Bled. And yet¡ª Here she was. Her scratches still stung, thin, sharp lines across her skin. She ran a hand along the worst of them, feeling the scabbing under her fingertips. Not deep. Not dangerous. They would heal. She had gotten lucky. Again. She started rotating her wrists, then her ankles, loosening the tightness in her joints. This wasn¡¯t instinct. It was habit. A habit she had hated. A habit she had been forced into. At the barracks, where the kingdom trained Tower entrants before sending them to die, The instructors had drilled it into them. ¡ª"When you first get in, you won¡¯t have weapons. You won¡¯t have allies. You¡¯ll have your body. That¡¯s it." She had resented the torture they put her through. The morning drills. The grueling physical training. There were no gentle explanations. No encouragement. Just orders. ¡ª"If you can¡¯t move, then consider yourself already dead." The instructors had stated it like it was a fact. There was no coddling. Nor any sympathy. And she had been too stubborn to believe them at first. She had thought¡ªwhat did it matter? What difference would a few stretches and push-ups make within the Tower? But she still pushed herself. Not because she wanted to, but because of what happened when she had watched others drop out, one by one. Some had even tried to escape the barracks. And they were quickly caught. But no one went home. They were sent north. To the war. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. And none of them came back. So she had forced herself to wake up earlier. Move more. Train harder. Because even if she hated it, even if her body screamed in protest, she wasn¡¯t about to die because she was too weak to lift her own limbs. She had suffered for it then. And now¡ª It was the only thing keeping her steady. She let her muscles stretch, drawing in slow breaths, taking stock of her body. Her body was worn, but functional. Her instructors would have called that a victory. She let out a slow breath, steadying herself. Then, the blue window flickered to life. [Third Trial Pending: Await Further Instructions.] She stared at the words. The White Space had given her just enough time to recover. But not enough time to prepare. She exhaled. Then¡ª The world lurched. Not like before. The air around her twisted, warped¡ª And then¡ª She was somewhere else. The first thing she noticed was the air. It was thick, almost suffocating, pressing against her skin like a presence. She took a slow, steady breath, but even that felt weighted. She took a moment to regain her footing, her muscles tense from the sudden shift. The second thing she noticed was the silence. It wasn¡¯t the eerie stillness of the White Space, nor was it the oppressive quiet of the ruined village from the last trial. This was something different. It was the silence of a place untouched by time, a silence that stretched so deep it felt sacred. She looked up. The chamber around her was enormous, stretching far beyond what her eyes could immediately take in. Towering stone walls framed the vast space, carved with symbols and faded inscriptions she couldn¡¯t read. The ceiling arched high into darkness, vanishing somewhere beyond the reach of the dim light that illuminated the space. There were no doors. No windows. No way in or out. And ahead of her¡ª Rows upon rows of stone pedestals. She stared, her breath caught somewhere in her throat. There were hundreds of them. Maybe even thousands. Neatly arranged, stretching deep into the temple¡¯s vastness. Each was carved from the same smooth stone. They stood in perfect formation. She took a hesitant step forward. The chamber did not react. Her fingers brushed against the surface of the nearest pedestal. The stone was cool under her fingertips. She traced the lettering and looked at the words carved into the smooth rock. [Swordsman] Her eyes flickered to the next. [Lancer] She let her gaze shift further down the rows. [Archer] [Brawler] [Mage] The realization settled over her slowly. These were professions. Paths to follow, skills to claim. Her instructors have informed them of this, that depending on one¡¯s aptitude and the tower¡¯s decision, we would be able to visit this place in as soon as after the first trial. But that was only the lucky cases. There were even entrants who had to endure more than five trials. Considering this, she was quite lucky. Finally, the tower allowed her a true choice. She let her fingers graze the stone again, her breath slow, controlled. [Knight] [Duelist] [Warrior] She moved forward, scanning the rows. Each pedestal represented a different path. [Rogue] [Monk] [Cleric] Each title carried weight. Each one held meaning. It was overwhelming. There were so many choices. So many different branches she could step into. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, inhaling deeply. What did she want? What did she need? Her fingers hovered over another stone pedestal once more. And then¡ª The Tower reacted. The pedestals started shattering. It started slow¡ªa single pedestal to her right cracked with a sharp, splintering noise, the engraved name of [Knight] breaking apart into nothing. Then another. The destruction rippled outward like a wave, racing through the rows of stone. The chamber thundered as the weight of countless paths collapsed around her, reducing choices to dust. She turned sharply, eyes darting across the chamber, watching as the Tower stripped away her possibilities. It felt like the Tower was looking at her. At what she had done. At how she had survived. And it was now limiting her choicecs. The first to go were the warriors. She saw the two-handed greatswords crumble into nothing, the pedestals of knights and battle-mages cracking apart. All paths of overwhelming force, of standing on the battlefield and taking hits meant for others¡ªgone. She was fine with this. She wasn¡¯t a wall. She wasn¡¯t a hero. The next to break were the hunters. The archers, the rangers, the beast-callers. The Tower had seen her escape. It had seen her run, hide, evade. But she hadn¡¯t fought from the shadows. She hadn¡¯t set traps, hadn¡¯t struck unseen. And so the Tower took those away too. Then came the magic users. The destruction slowed, the shattering of stone punctuated by long stretches of silence. She turned, watching as the intricate names of fire-callers, storm-weavers, necromancers, and frost-binders broke apart like brittle glass. It took magic away. And when the dust settled, she saw what remained. The dust settled. The chamber, once filled with countless choices, had been reduced to a scattered few. She turned slowly, her breath unsteady, her gaze drifting across the remaining pedestals. Gone were the warriors and the mages, the archers and the assassins. Gone were the paths of strength, of power, of elemental forces bending at one¡¯s command. What was left behind felt¡­ quieter. She took a slow step forward, her fingers brushing over the stone as she read the names. [Survivor] [Pathfinder] [Lone Wanderer] She had expected these. These were paths for those who could slip through the cracks, who could live on when others would fall. But the others¡­ She frowned. [Wordbearer] [Poet] [Teller] Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came. Why these? Was it because she was once a teacher? But for some reason, her intuition stirred. She had learned to listen to that feeling a long time ago. It had been the same instinct that screamed at her when a deal had gone bad before she even saw the knife. The same instinct that had carried her through the ruined village, guiding her away from the wrong turns, away from the whispers that wanted her to respond. It had saved her. Again and again. And now, that same feeling was pulling her toward one of the pedestals. Not toward Survivor. Not toward Pathfinder. But toward a single word carved into stone. [Loquere.] She frowned. It wasn¡¯t like the others. The name felt¡­ old. She said it under her breath, testing the weight of it on her tongue. "Loquere." It was Aethric. A language spoken centuries ago from a well-off nation. She recognized the root of it. To speak. To converse. Her frown deepened. Why? Why were her instincts pushing her toward this? Her instincts didn¡¯t pull her toward Survivor, even though it made the most sense. That quiet, persistent part of her was whispering¡ªthis one. That this was the right choice. But why? Because she had known when to talk. When to lie. When to say just enough to buy time. When the debt collectors had been breathing down her neck, she hadn¡¯t fought them. She had talked her way out. Slipped through their fingers with a word here, a misdirection there. Even in the last trial¡ªshe hadn¡¯t fought the voices. She had ignored them. Refused to acknowledge them. She knew that conversing with them meant death. A slow breath escaped her lips. It made sense. Not in a way she could explain, not in a way she fully understood¡ªbut her gut knew. Her intuition had carried her this far. And now, it was telling her that this was the right choice. Her fingers hovered over the stone. She pressed her palm against the stone. Her choice was made. The stone was warm beneath her palm. A deep, resonating chime echoed through the air, vibrating through her bones. The pedestal beneath her hand shuddered, cracks splitting across its surface, glowing faintly with some unseen force. Then¡ª It crumbled. Not violently, not like the shattered remains of the other pedestals. The stone collapsed inward, dissolving into fine dust that swirled in the air before reshaping itself into something new. A book. She blinked. It was old, the cover smooth and bound in deep, dark leather. No title. No markings. Yet, the moment she saw it, she knew it was hers. Her fingers hovered over it for a moment before she picked it up. The weight was comfortable in her hands, heavier than she expected but not burdensome. She opened it. And there, inscribed in elegant, flowing letters, was her first skill.
[Vox Animus] "Congratulations, you have been granted an extraordinary gift! A once-in-a-lifetime ability that allows your words to be just slightly less misunderstood! Behold¡ªnow when you speak, people might tilt their heads a little less! Maybe even nod as if they totally get it!" Effect: Your words carry a faint resonance, making them slightly easier to understand. This does not persuade, does not compel, does not guarantee people will listen. But now, when you say something confusing, people will at least try a little harder to follow along instead of immediately assuming you¡¯re an idiot.
She stared. Then stared harder. Her fingers tightened around the book, her eye twitching. "This has to be a joke." She flipped the page. Blank. She flipped another. Still blank. Her lips pressed into a thin line. This was it? This was what she got? She let out a slow, controlled breath, but the frustration curled hot in her chest. This wasn¡¯t an ability that let her fight. This wasn¡¯t something that made her stronger, faster, more adaptable. No¡ªit just made her a little less likely to be ignored. "Great," She muttered, rubbing a hand down her face. "So if I ever get into an argument, at least they¡¯ll think about what I said before dismissing me." The book didn¡¯t respond. It just sat there. Smug. She groaned. Her instructors¡¯ words rang in her head. ¡ª"Most people will get something that actively helps them." One of them¡ªSir Alric, a man whose arms were as thick as tree trunks but whose lectures could lull anyone to sleep¡ªhad spoken about it during one of their rare moments of rest. ¡ª"The Tower doesn¡¯t just throw you in without something to work with. It gives you tools. Helps you refine what¡¯s already there." He had stood in front of the recruits, rolling his shoulders before sitting heavily on an overturned crate. ¡ª"A mage will often gain something that attunes them to mana better¡ªespecially if they already had a connection to it before entering." She remembered him stretching out a scarred hand, his fingers moving through the air as if tracing something invisible. "Some feel mana like heat. Others like a song they just barely remember. Their first skill helps them shape it faster. Makes them better casters. More refined." The hopeful mages-in-training had soaked in every word. To them, this was proof that the Tower wasn¡¯t just some death trap. But it wasn¡¯t just mages. Even the warriors had something waiting for them. ¡ª"Martial classes tend to awaken something else," Alric had continued, adjusting his bracers. ¡ª"Not mana. Not something external. Something from within." A few recruits had shifted where they sat, listening closer. ¡ª"Aether. But the eastern continent calls it Qi. It lets them push beyond normal limits. Their weapons feel like extensions of themselves. They hit harder, move faster, last longer. It¡¯s how a swordsman becomes more than just a brute swinging steel around." But what about her? Even before entering the Tower, she had seen reports, stories, and records of what first skills often looked like. And she¡ª She had received an upgraded conversation starter. Out of frustration, she shut the book hard enough to echo. And it suddenly vanished. In its place, a new sensation spread across her skin¡ªwarm, pulsing, weighty in a way that wasn''t entirely physical. Her breath caught. She looked down. A small mark now adorned her forearm. It wasn¡¯t just a random symbol. It was a book. Not a perfect, detailed illustration, but something stylized¡ªan open tome, its pages curling outward. She reached out instinctively, running her fingers over it. Her skin was smooth. No raised edges. No burning. No lingering discomfort. But the moment her fingers brushed against the sigil¡ª The book reappeared in her hands. Her grip tightened around the leather binding. She touched the sigil again. The book vanished. Another tap¡ª It returned. Her jaw clenched. She repeated the process a few more times, watching as the object blinked in and out of existence at her command. A trick. That¡¯s what it felt like. Not a weapon. Not a shield. Not something that made her stronger, faster, better. Just a trick. She exhaled sharply through her nose, pushing back the rising frustration. Was this really it? She had read that recruits would receive orbs, weapons, and even staves as tattoos. And she? She got a book that came and went like a bad stage magician¡¯s prop. There was more to this skill. There had to be. Even if she didn¡¯t understand it yet¡ª Even if it felt useless now¡ª It should at the very least mean something. She let out a slow breath.