The ash had barely settled.
Leonhart stood at the edge of the black chasm, where the ancient tower pierced the sky like a fang. Behind him, the valley still carried the scent of scorched earth and rusted blood. He didn't look back.
He couldn't.
Not after what he had seen.
Not after what he had done.
The black mark across his chest—a gift from the tower—still pulsed with eerie warmth beneath his armor. It wasn't painful, but it was alive. A reminder that something old had awakened… inside him.
He tightened the strap of his sword and stepped forward.
A faint humming echoed from deep within the ground. Not metal. Not wind. A whisper—like the tower itself was breathing. Each breath carried something ancient, like a memory being pulled from the soil.
As he approached the tower's entrance, the sky darkened unnaturally. The sun seemed to retreat behind thick clouds, though none had gathered.
That's when he felt it.
A presence.
Not seen, not heard—but felt in his bones.
Something was watching.
No… studying.
Leonhart pressed forward. The doorway was taller than any gate he had seen, carved with symbols that shifted when he blinked. He touched one with his gloved hand, and for a heartbeat—just one—the world went silent.
A scream echoed in his mind.
Not his.
Not human.
He staggered back, eyes wide.
The door creaked open.
Darkness spilled out like liquid smoke.
He entered.
Inside, it was colder than expected. Not the cold of wind or winter—but the chill of places long forgotten. His footsteps echoed through the hollow corridor, where the walls curved and twisted unnaturally, as if space itself had been reshaped by madness.
He followed the path downward.
Deeper into the belly of the tower.
Every few meters, violet torches lit themselves as he passed. The flames did not flicker. They stared.
He finally reached a chamber.
Circular. Silent.
In the center, a pedestal.
Floating above it… a shard of crystal.
Not like the orb he had seen in visions. This one was cracked. Flickering. Weak.
But as his hand reached out, it flared to life.
The entire room trembled.
The ground split open.
From beneath the stone, a claw emerged.
Metal. Bone. Fire.
Then the rest of it followed.
A creature—eight feet tall, its body a fusion of armor and flesh, forged in flame and hatred. Its mouth was a jagged, steaming wound, and from its eyes poured blue smoke.
Leonhart didn't hesitate.
He drew his blade.
"You're the guardian," he muttered.
The creature snarled in answer and lunged.
Steel met claw. Sparks danced. Leonhart spun, striking low, but the creature's hide was tougher than iron. It backhanded him across the room.
He hit the wall hard, gasping.
The shard pulsed again, brighter this time.
His mark responded.
His fingers burned with power.
Without knowing how—he raised his hand.
Energy surged.
The creature screamed.
Then silence.
Smoke rose from the creature's chest, its body dissolving into ash.
Leonhart dropped to his knees, breathing hard.
The crystal floated toward him, now glowing with steady, quiet light.
And a whisper echoed through the chamber, spoken not with words,
but intent:
"One trial passed. Six remain."
His eyes narrowed.
Six.
This tower… was just the beginning.