Chapter 202
The Rothchester Mansion stood at the far western edge of Solnara Cererindu, the grand merchant kingdom known across the region as the Lotus City. From above, its walls and districts stretched outward like the petals of a colossal stone flower, each petal dedicated to a different stratum of society. The outermost petals were home to bustling trade bazaars and sky docks filled with floating cargo ships, while the inner petals gleamed with marble courtyards, towers, and silver-domed estates. At the very tip of the western petal, where the city walls curved outward toward the sea, lay the Rothchester estate, an isolated twenty-acre sanctuary of nobility and history, surrounded by serene canals and a private forest of white-leafed sycamores.
Morning sunlight broke through thin mist, casting a golden sheen over the mansion's outer ramparts, which had been rebuilt during the past fortnight into a fusion of old-world elegance and war-forged engineering. The new architectural layout reflected both grace and readiness: tall spires shaped like blooming lotus buds crowned the roofs, their mirrored glass catching every ray of dawn, while steel-reinforced walkways ran along the walls where guards in blue and silver armor patrolled in quiet rhythm. The gardens, once decorative and peaceful, now doubled as training grounds, rows of young knights drilling under banners embroidered with the Rothchester crest. Beyond the gates, steam-powered haulers rumbled over the cobblestone roads, pulling crates of materials toward a newly built transfer gate that shimmered like a pool of liquid light in the main courtyard. From it, massive battle wagons and armored constructs emerged, fresh reinforcements from allied forges.
Inside the main hall, Duke Aereth Rothchester's voice cut through the murmur of servants and clerks. Even weakened from past battles, his command carried iron resolve. "Organize the Third Settlement before dusk," he ordered, his tone calm but final. "We'll need it operational if the next wave comes through the upper corridors." His new knights' commander bowed low before hurrying off, parchment and quill glowing faintly with arcane ink as he relayed orders through enchanted seals. Reports from distant provinces flooded in, rebuilding efforts, troop placements, and trade route negotiations, all orchestrated from this single mansion that now served as both fortress and nerve center of the western alliance. Even the Crown Prince himself had arrived two days prior, his royal insignia gleaming as he discussed strategy beside the war tables set up beneath stained-glass windows.
And there, beneath this hive of motion and purpose, Daniel awoke.
The curtains fluttered as he stirred, sunlight washing across the pale marble floor of his chamber. For two weeks he had slept, recovering from the strain of the Tower's first awakening, but now his eyes opened, calm, clear, and impossibly focused. The world did not rush into him as chaos anymore. His mind no longer drowned in noise or flickers of half-formed visions. Instead, every sense flowed smoothly, refined, almost… elegant. The air itself felt structured—data aligning, thoughts filtering into clarity as though a vast invisible system had reorganized reality for him. He sat up slowly, breathing in, and the sensation was precise: the distant ring of hammers in the courtyard, the rhythmic footsteps of guards, the faint aroma of baked bread from the kitchen far below. Everything came to him not as confusion, but as order.
Downstairs, laughter echoed faintly. Melgil was in the kitchen again, her voice bright as she learned a new dish from the head chef, a spiced herb stew from the northern provinces. The woman had wasted no time during Daniel's rest. Between lessons in the mansion's grand kitchen, she trained in martial arts under her mother-in-law's stern guidance and studied diplomacy and etiquette under Custodia, one of the Duke's most respected advisors. She had changed—grown steadier, stronger, carrying herself with quiet grace that was almost noble. The staff adored her; even the hardened knights treated her with gentle respect.
Daniel rose, stretching his arms, feeling his body respond perfectly—no weakness, no lingering pain. Through the open window, he saw the sky above Solnara Cererindu filled with movement: fleets of aerial cargo ships gliding through the morning haze, their silver hulls gleaming as they drifted toward the central lotus tower at the city's heart. The hum of their engines mingled with the faint chime of bells from the merchant districts below. The whole kingdom seemed alive, vibrant, infused with a strange surge of hope.
He gazed toward the horizon, where the faint golden shimmer of the Ascension Gate could still be seen flickering above the clouds. The gate to the Second Floor was open now—its energy pulsing through the world, renewing life, awakening purpose. Perhaps that was why everything felt lighter, warmer, more alive. The people sensed it too: a collective stirring, as if the realm itself had taken its first full breath after an age of fear.
Daniel exhaled slowly and smiled. The Empire of Graves was gone. The Tower was awakening. And from the high terraces of the Rothchester Mansion, beneath the shining sky of Solnara Cererindu, the next chapter of his journey quietly began.
Melgil's hands moved with quiet precision as she ladled the steaming stew into a porcelain bowl. The scent of simmered herbs, garlic, and tender venison filled the kitchen, wrapping the air in warmth. The staff had grown used to seeing her here each morning—focused, patient, refusing to let despair take root even when the Duke's healers said Daniel might never wake.
For fourteen days she had prepared his breakfast just the same—lightly seasoned, never cold, always fresh, placing it on the tray with care as though each motion carried a silent prayer. Even when his body lay motionless, even when his pulse vanished for that single terrifying minute, she never allowed her hands to tremble. "He'll eat when he's ready," she'd whisper softly, more to herself than anyone else. "Daniel never breaks a promise."
Today, though, something was different.
The light coming through the kitchen windows seemed sharper, golden rather than pale. The air hummed faintly with the same strange rhythm that had spread throughout the city, the pulse of the Ascension Gate. Melgil paused, spoon halfway through the bowl, feeling a faint tug in her chest. It was as if the mansion itself had just exhaled.
"Milady?" asked one of the maids nearby, noticing her stillness. "Is something wrong?"
Melgil blinked, then smiled faintly. "No… nothing's wrong. He's awake."
The maid gasped, but before she could ask how she knew, Melgil was already moving—graceful, quick, her apron fluttering as she carried the tray through the marble corridors. The morning bustle of servants and soldiers parted instinctively for her; everyone in the estate had learned to respect her quiet determination.
When she reached Daniel's chamber, she hesitated only briefly before opening the door.
The soft sound of curtains brushing against the wind greeted her, and there, by the window—Daniel stood, alive, whole, his silver eyes catching the dawn. The sunlight framed him like a figure reborn, calm and impossibly serene.
Melgil froze in the doorway, her breath catching. The tray trembled faintly in her hands. For days she had rehearsed this moment, what she would say, how she would smile, but now her words tangled somewhere between disbelief and relief.
"...You're awake," she finally whispered.
Daniel turned toward her, a small smile forming. "I could smell your cooking from here."
Melgil let out a sound ,half laugh, half sob, and crossed the room, setting the tray down beside the bed before her knees gave out from under her. "You idiot," she said, her voice breaking softly. "You scared everyone half to death. You even stopped breathing."
He knelt beside her, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Then I suppose I owe you breakfast," he said quietly.
She shook her head, wiping her eyes. "You owe me a lifetime of them."
For a long moment, neither spoke. The world outside continued in its rhythm—the chime of bells, the distant hum of engines, the soft murmur of the living city—but within that chamber, there was only peace.
Then Daniel glanced toward the window again, his gaze lingering on the horizon. "It's changed, hasn't it?"
Melgil followed his eyes, watching the faint golden shimmer above the clouds. "Everything's changing," she said. "The Tower. The city. Even the people."
He nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "Then we'll change with it."
And as Melgil smiled faintly through her tears, the sound of distant bells deepened, marking the dawn of a new age in Solnara Cererindu.
Melgil took a steady breath, still kneeling beside him. The relief of seeing him alive had not yet faded, but her voice, when she finally spoke, was calm, carrying that quiet strength she had built over those fifteen long days.
"You've been asleep for fifteen days," she said softly, setting the bowl in his hands as if to anchor the reality of the moment. "The healers called it a miracle that your body held together at all after what happened in the Tower. They said your heart gave out… for one full minute."
Daniel's expression didn't waver, though his hand tightened slightly around the bowl. "And yet I'm still here."
Melgil nodded slowly. "Yes. You are." She rose to her feet and moved to the window, the morning wind brushing her hair aside. "But you weren't alone. The moment the Ascension Gate opened—the instant its light broke through the skies, something happened across the whole city. It was as if time itself paused. Every clock in the mansion stopped. Every sound outside went silent for a breath."
She turned toward him, her gaze distant, as if reliving it. "Your three vassals were there that night. All three, Thrakir, Erias, and Vael." Her tone softened, almost reverent. "When your pulse vanished, none of them cried out. None of them moved. They simply stood there, watching, calm as stone. I thought they were in shock at first, but then… I realized they weren't mourning you."
Daniel frowned slightly. "They knew."
"Yes," Melgil said quietly. "They knew. Thrakir just crossed his arms and said, 'He isn't gone. He's between.' Erias placed her hand on your chest and whispered something I couldn't understand—it wasn't our language, it sounded ancient, like wind through crystal. And Vael… he stayed by the window, looking toward the Gate. He said, 'He's answering the call. When the Tower opens, so must its keeper.'"
Her fingers brushed against the edge of the bed as she looked at him, a faint tremor in her breath. "They didn't move for hours. Even when your body went cold, they didn't doubt. I don't think they could. It was as if their faith in you wasn't faith at all, it was knowledge."
Daniel stared down at his hands, the faint lines of the runes on his wrists glowing softly in the morning light. "Between life and death," he murmured. "The Tower's awakening pulled me into the in-between."
Melgil nodded. "When the Gate to the upper floors activated, the mansion's wards flared. Every seal, every binding mark, every relic connected to you, everything glowed in unison. The city saw it from miles away. The people thought the Tower itself had blessed us."
Her eyes softened. "And then, your heart started beating again."
Silence filled the chamber. Only the faint hum of the Ascension Gate echoed in the distance, like a song sung through the clouds.
After a moment, Daniel met her gaze. "You stayed."
"Of course I did," Melgil said simply. "If even your vassals refused to give up, why would I?"
A faint smile tugged at Daniel's lips. "You've changed, Melgil."
She returned the smile, soft, proud, and a little weary. "We all have. But it was your kind of change that started it."
Outside, the bells of Solnara Cererindu rang again, clear, resonant, and full of life.
"When the Gate opened," she began, "everything changed, every player and inhabitants of our realm , even the law of magic, every limit we thought we knew. You had already fallen unconscious, but the system, the Tower itself, recognized your victory. All who survived the first awakening were rewarded. You should have seen it, Daniel."
Her eyes shimmered faintly as she recalled the sight. "The sky split into threads of gold. Voices echoed from nowhere and everywhere at once. Symbols we couldn't read appeared in the air, etched in light. And then came the announcement , one none of us will ever forget. It said: 'The First Floor has been cleared. Rewards shall be bestowed upon the Conquerors of Dawn.'"
Daniel's fingers tightened slightly around the cup she had given him. "Rewards?"
Melgil nodded. "Enormous ones. Resources, relics, the right to claim land beyond the Gate. Each of us, those who survived and were part of the clearing, were granted a domain of our own, a settlement to rule and shape as we saw fit. The Duke called it a divine blessing. But the truth…" Her expression darkened slightly. "The truth is, that world we were given is no paradise."
She sat down beside him, her eyes distant again. "The Second Floor, the world beyond the Ascension Gate, is vast, Daniel. Endless seas of frost and black sand stretch across its northern reaches, while jagged mountains rise like broken teeth in the east. The rivers there glow faintly at night, laced with strange minerals that hum like singing glass. And the sky gods, the sky, it burns with three suns and a pale red moon that never sets. The land is alive with storms of light, as if the heavens themselves are always at war."
Her voice softened as she continued. "Forests of bone-white trees grow from stone valleys, their roots drinking not water but the fog that rolls from the crimson sea. The animals there are… different. Not beasts, not spirits, something between. I saw a stag with wings of ash that shed sparks when it ran. And wolves that howled in chorus, summoning thunder in the distance. The flora glows faintly in the dark, ronds and vines pulsing with soft bioluminescent veins. Even the smallest flower carries the scent of iron."
Daniel's expression remained calm, but his eyes grew more alert, curious. "And the people?"
Melgil's gaze sharpened. "Born of war," she said simply. "Every inhabitant of the Second Floor lives for battle. They are descendants of an age that never knew peace, a land of clans, bound by oath and blood. Their culture reminds me of the old northern raiders from our legends. They live in longhalls carved from bones of titans, their ships sail rivers of molten light, and their songs are both prayers and battle cries. They honor strength above all else, strength, courage, and death with glory. To die with a weapon in hand is their greatest pride."
Her hands clasped together as she spoke, her voice a mix of awe and sorrow. "Men and women alike bear scars as proof of worth. Their children learn to wield axes before they can walk. Every clan carves their mark into the stones of their homeland, claiming territory in an endless feud that's lasted for centuries. Some ride beasts the size of fortresses; others channel storm fire from their own blood. And yet, even in their chaos, there's something beautiful about them, an unbroken will, a defiance against the endless cold of that realm."
Daniel stood slowly, walking toward the window. His reflection gleamed faintly in the glass, eyes like mirrors catching the golden light. "So the Second Floor is alive," he murmured. "Untamed. A world born from the Tower's own hunger."
"Yes," Melgil said softly. "A world that rewards the strong and devours the weak." She hesitated, then added, "But your name, your banner, still carries weight there. Even among those war-born tribes, they whisper of the one who silenced the Empire of Graves. Some already call you the Keeper of Dawn."
Daniel looked out over the city, his expression unreadable. "Then perhaps that's where we must go next."
Melgil lowered her eyes, smiling faintly. "I knew you'd say that."
For a while, they stood in silence, the sound of the sea beyond the walls blending with the hum of engines and bells. Outside, the Ascension Gate shimmered above the clouds, its golden ripples spreading across the heavens like the surface of a living sun.
And as the light touched Daniel's face, the world itself seemed to hold its breath. The Second Floor awaited, wild, cruel, and magnificent, a realm of fire and frost where legends were forged through blood and glory.
"After the Gate stabilized," she began, "we began receiving fragments of data, messages from the explorers from your parents side who crossed and obtain and eather information on the second floor, as the 400 plus survivors were given a entire year to freely enter the upper realm, those guilds were given full authority to whom can enter,
That's how we learned what the inhabitants there call their magic." She looked up at Daniel. "They don't use the word mana the way we do. To them, it's Seiðr. Battle Seiðr, they call it,War Magic."
Daniel tilted his head slightly. "Seiðr… old tongue. It means both spellcraft and fate."
"Yes," Melgil replied. "And they treat it as both. Their entire culture believes that Seiðr is a living force that chooses the worthy in battle. They don't train to use it for farming, healing, or building like our magisters do here. Every form of Seiðr is crafted for killing,runes that split the air, chants that call lightning, sigils that harden blood into steel. Even their so-called priests are warriors; their prayers are war-songs meant to summon storms and strike down their foes."
She stood and crossed to the table, unfolding a scroll she had carried in earlier. The parchment shimmered faintly with runic script, records gathered by scouts and diviners who had survived their first ventures into that savage world.
"They have no guilds, Daniel," she said, pointing at the inked map. "No adventurer unions, no merchant networks. The Second Floor doesn't reward cooperation the way the First Floor did. Their system, the one the Tower set for them, values combat above all else. Every duel, every raid, every victory against a stronger foe increases their standing. It's woven into their very lives."
Daniel stepped beside her, his gaze scanning the runes that glowed like embers on the map. "So strength isn't just survival," he murmured. "It's identity."
"Exactly." Melgil's eyes darkened with a strange reverence. "They follow the old path of the war clans. To win against a mighty enemy is to rise closer to godhood. To die with a blade in hand is the greatest passage one can earn. Their shamans claim that those who fall honorably are welcomed into the Hall of the War God,a realm beyond the auroras where eternal battles are fought among heroes and spirits. It's not superstition either; the Gate system itself confirmed it. When a warrior dies in glory, a light, like a burning spear, rises into the clouds, and the land itself roars. The Tower recognizes their valor."
She paused, her gaze distant. "Can you imagine it, Daniel? A world where every child is taught to die beautifully rather than live carefully. Where courage is the only currency that matters. Their songs speak of rivers turned red from centuries of bloodshed, of mountains that still echo with the cries of gods slain in forgotten wars."
Daniel's eyes drifted toward the window again, his reflection sharp in the glass. "They've built civilization out of conflict."
Melgil nodded. "Even their towns are shaped like fortresses. Great halls built from dragon ribs, gates carved with faces of fallen kings, torches that never extinguish. Their ships, long, narrow, and fast, are etched with runes that channel Seiðr into the wind. And every settlement has an arena at its heart, not for sport, but for rites of passage. Before they can claim adulthood, each warrior must offer blood to the circle, either their own or that of an enemy. It's their way of earning their true name."
She rolled the scroll shut, her expression both troubled and awed. "We call it barbarism. But to them, it's faith. Battle is how they speak to their gods."
Daniel turned to her, his voice low. "Then the Tower has given us a realm that breathes war."
"Yes." Melgil's gaze softened. "And yet… there's beauty there too. When night falls,if you can call it night,the skies blaze with auroras so bright they light the oceans. The warriors feast under that glow, singing of their dead and their victories. Even the air hums with energy, thick with Seiðr that makes every heartbeat feel like thunder. It's terrible and magnificent all at once."
Daniel was silent for a moment, the faint hum of power from his body resonating with something distant, unseen. "A land of endless war," he murmured. "Where death is glory and Seiðr is the breath of life."
Melgil nodded slowly. "And now, it's the next stage of your journey. The Second Floor waits for its conqueror, the one who can master its chaos without losing himself to it."
She reached for his hand, her fingers brushing his lightly. "Just promise me one thing, Daniel."
He met her gaze. "What?"
"That you'll remember who you are when you stand among them. The Tower rewards strength, but it also devours souls that forget their purpose."
Daniel's expression softened, though his eyes burned with quiet determination. "Then I'll give the Tower something it's never seen before, strength with reason."
The light outside flared brighter, casting long golden streaks across the chamber floor. Somewhere beyond the city's horizon, the Ascension Gate pulsed once, like the heartbeat of a living world calling to its chosen.
And in that moment, both of them knew, the Second Floor was not merely another step upward. It was a crucible of gods and warriors, a place where even legends bled to prove they were real.
Daniel listened with growing fascination. The more Melgil described the Second Floor, the more it echoed the sagas he had studied in his youth, tales of seafaring tribes that carved their destiny in blood and storm. Yet this was something greater, older, as if the myths of every world had been reborn in one endless continent.
He stepped closer to the window, eyes narrowing as he imagined the world she spoke of. "Tell me about them," he said. "These warriors."
Melgil nodded. "They call themselves the Skald-born, descendants of the first War Chant. Every clan believes that their ancestors were forged in the breath of the Tower itself, spirits of thunder who took flesh so they could fight in the mortal realm."
Their Form and Bearing
The Skald-born were built like the mountains they ruled, tall, broad-shouldered, and dense with the strength of their strange Seiðr-bound blood. The smallest of them stood head-to-head with the tallest human knight, while their chieftains could reach eight or nine feet in height. Their skin carried faint markings, not tattoos but natural sigils that glowed when they entered battle. Eyes burned in hues of ember and stormlight; hair flowed in tones of pale ash, silver, or deep iron red. Every scar was worn as honor, each wound a verse in their personal saga.
They adorned themselves with fragments of fallen beasts: jawbone pauldrons, feathers of thunderbirds, scales of frost serpents. Yet even under such weight, they moved with the ease of predators, fast, deliberate, relentless.
The Creed of Endless Combat
Their belief system revolved around a single truth: Peace is decay. They held that the universe itself was born in the clash between creation and destruction, and thus to fight was to live in harmony with the cosmic order. Each warrior sought a Last Verse, the perfect death in battle that would be sung for eternity.
From the time a child could stand, they learned the art of war as prayer. Training circles were as sacred as temples. Seiðr was not studied in tomes but awakened through blood, song, and pain. To wield it was to channel the will of the War God, whose name was forbidden to be spoken except in death cries.
Victory against a stronger foe was seen as divine union; defeat was purification. They believed the soul, in dying bravely, joined the War God's host in the Hall Beyond the Aurora,a sky fortress where eternal combat sustained the balance of all worlds.
The Structure of Clans and Realms
The Second Floor was divided among countless war clans, each a living nation. The Hroldir ruled the northern coasts, seafarers who rode leviathans through black seas. The Varnask controlled the frost plains, warriors who crafted armor from frozen light. To the east roamed the Skjoldr, nomads of the storm deserts who carried thunder in jars made of bone. In the south, deep valleys housed the Brennheim, smith-lords who forged Seiðr-steel weapons said to sing when drawn.
Every clan owed allegiance to its Jarl, and every Jarl, in theory, to the High Skald,a priest-king chosen once every generation through ritual combat that could last for weeks. Yet their unity was fragile. Honor demanded constant challenge; peace between clans was temporary, as if war itself were the pulse that kept their world alive.
The Gift of the Tree of Life
Despite their endless feuds, there was one place where no blood could be shed, the Eldstruna, the Grove of Life. At its heart stood the Tree, said to have sprouted from the Tower's own heartwood when the Second Floor was born. It reached so high that its upper branches vanished into the aurora, and its roots wound deep into the veins of the world.
The Skald-born believed the Tree's pulse nourished their race. Its blossoms glowed with blue fire, shedding petals that carried healing Seiðr through the air. From its fruit came the essence that sustained their extraordinary vitality and the speed of their growth. New life, both plant and sentient, drew strength from that rhythm, allowing their children to grow swiftly and join the eternal struggle.
The grove was tended by the Handmaidens of the Bough, tall, silent women clad in veils of silver moss, bound by oath to the Tree. Their Seiðr was not for battle but for balance. They sang day and night, weaving a barrier that no weapon could cross. Within those borders, every clan was equal; even mortal enemies could walk side by side under the Tree's light. To break that peace was to be erased from all songs, a fate worse than death among the Skald-born.
A Living Storm of Nations
The population of the Second Floor never truly dwindled. The Tower's strange blessing, channeled through the Tree of Life, filled their lands with fertility and rebirth. Generations rose and fell like waves, feeding the constant tide of warriors. To outsiders, their endless numbers seemed impossible, but to the Skald-born, it was the Tower's reminder that war must never cease.
Each time a clan fell, another rose from the ashes. Their banners changed, their names rewritten, yet their essence remained, a single will expressed through countless blades. The Second Floor was thus an ecosystem of conflict, sustained by its own blood and glory.
When Melgil finished her report, the chamber was silent. Daniel's eyes gleamed with something between awe and recognition.
"They fight like I do," he said at last. "Unpredictable, relentless. But they're chaos given shape."
Melgil smiled faintly. "Then perhaps that's why the Tower opened this realm to you. You'll understand them in ways others can't."
Daniel turned toward the glowing horizon, where the Ascension Gate pulsed like a heartbeat in the sky. "Or perhaps," he murmured, "it's because the Tower wants to see what happens when order meets the storm."
And far above, unseen yet certain, the winds of the Second Floor stirred, as if the warriors of Seiðr already felt the coming of a new challenger.
Daniel sat quietly by the open window, the cold morning air brushing his face as he sipped the bitter herbal drink Melgil had left for him. His body still felt weak from the fifteen days of deep slumber, yet his mind was clear, sharp enough to grasp the storm that awaited them beyond the Tower Gate.
The air shimmered faintly, like ripples of heat across cold glass. A second later, three small, radiant motes of light slipped through the window and landed softly upon the wooden floor. The motes twisted and took form, first into shadows, then into shapes, and finally into familiar figures.
Vaelith, the pale-winged shadow who once commanded storms, took the form of a small raven perched upon the chair. Nyxiel, the ethereal succubus whose charm could bend even divine wills, appeared as a black-furred feline with glinting violet eyes. And Kitsune, the cunning fox spirit, materialized in her smaller fox form, her nine tails condensed into one silvery wisp of smoke trailing behind her.
They had all taken these smaller, less conspicuous forms to avoid attracting attention. The mansion was alive with movement, soldiers, scribes, and servants rushing through the corridors, each carrying maps, weapons, or relics. The news of the Second Floor's Opening had changed everything.
Vaelith spoke first, her voice echoing telepathically within Daniel's mind."You shouldn't be standing by the window like that, master. They'll start asking questions again."
Daniel smiled faintly. "Let them wonder. I've been asleep for too long."
Nyxiel stretched lazily on the table, her feline tail flicking with impatience."Melgil's forces are preparing for another expedition," she purred. "They call themselves the Veyrra, the Daughters of War. Fierce women… their chants can shake the ground. I heard one of their priests say they were chosen by the Tree itself."
Daniel raised a brow. "The Tree of Life?"
Kitsune nodded, her tone serious. "Yes. The same sacred tree Melgil spoke of. It's the only place where bloodshed is forbidden. All the clans, no matter how savage or proud, honor its roots. The handmaidens guarding it are said to be born from the tree's light, immune to aging, wielding Seiðr strong enough to shatter mountains."
Daniel's gaze drifted beyond the window again, to the faint golden horizon where the Second Floor's lands waited. "And yet… they live in endless war."
Nyxiel's eyes shimmered. "Because to them, war is life."
Meanwhile, Melgil was deep within the Veyrra camp, overseeing the preparations. The Daughters of War, all women trained in both martial combat and Seiðr rites, were aligning their banners, chanting hymns that resonated through the valley. The sound carried like thunder, their voices rising in perfect unison.
Beyond the camp, the War Forge led by Siglorr Bouldergrove was establishing a fortified outpost at the Second Floor's entrance, building structures that could withstand the unpredictable mana storms. The Rothchester Clan, famed for their noble diplomacy, struggled to adapt. Their intricate talks and treaties meant little to the native war clans of this new world.
On the Second Floor, strength was law.
The clans of the Second Floor viewed politics not as discussion, but as duel. Each disagreement, each alliance, each claim of territory was decided by combat. To win was to be right; to lose was to submit. Manipulation, deceit, or backroom scheming were not only despised, they were considered dishonorable. Those who survived their bloody history had learned to speak with their blades, not their tongues.
Melgil understood now why diplomacy was failing. The native war clans were not savages, nor were they ignorant. They had culture, rich, brutal, and spiritual. Their wars were not mindless slaughter but ritualized displays of faith and dominance.
They believed their War God granted strength only to those who embraced chaos.
To the clans, a warrior who died in battle was not gone, they were ascended. The fallen were said to feast in the halls of their god, drinking from rivers of molten silver beneath the roots of the World Tree.
Every clan had its own crest, its own war song, and its own sacred weapon forged from mana-infused steel. Their women, strong, fierce, and unyielding, ensured their survival through rapid birth cycles aided by the Tree's blessing. Unlike humans, their offspring grew within only two moons' time, and their numbers could replenish faster than any army could slaughter them.
This was the Second Floor, a world where strength ruled, gods watched from the shadows, and peace was a stranger's dream.
Daniel turned from the window at last, his eyes glinting with something between resolve and curiosity. "So that's the world waiting for us," he murmured. "A world of warriors born from gods' fire."
Kitsune's single silver tail flicked. "And it's calling to you, master. Isn't it?"
Daniel smirked, his gaze hardening. "It always has."
The morning haze had not yet lifted when Daniel gathered his three vassals inside his chamber, the curtains drawn tight and the doors sealed by Vaelith's silent wards. The air shimmered faintly with the residue of mana as he laid a map upon the table one marked with Melgil's recent discoveries, routes, and the rumored borders of the Second Floor.
The mansion outside still buzzed with the chaos of preparation , soldiers shouting, messengers running, carts loaded with supplies bound for the new frontier. Yet within that quiet room, Daniel's voice cut through the low hum of his vassals' whispers.
"We move at dawn, three days from now," he said, his tone calm but absolute. "No escort. No banners. No announcements."
Nyxiel's feline form stretched atop the map, tail curling lazily as her violet eyes fixed on him."So soon? You just woke from fifteen days of coma, and already you're planning another descent?"
Daniel didn't look up. He was marking the known path toward the Second Floor Gate, a spiraling descent through the lower ruins, now guarded by the War Forge's sentries."I didn't wake to sit behind walls," he replied. "Melgil and her army can claim diplomacy and conquest all they want… but I've had enough of politics. I want freedom , the kind that only exploration can give."
Kitsune's form shimmered, her fox body expanding into her humanoid self , a woman with pale amber hair and faintly glowing eyes. "Freedom," she said softly, folding her arms. "You mean leaving all of this behind again. You don't trust the way things are moving, do you?"
Daniel paused, meeting her gaze. "I trust Melgil's leadership… but not the world above her. Every expedition becomes another campaign. Every discovery, another claim of ownership. That's not what this tower was meant for."
Vaelith , now half materialized in her spirit form, her raven wings dimly reflecting the room's candlelight , stepped forward. "You intend to explore the Second Floor on your own. Without the support of the Veyrra or the War Forge."
Daniel nodded once. "Exactly. The fewer people, the fewer complications. The Tower isn't a prize to conquer. It's a path , and I need to see where it leads before others twist it into something else."
Nyxiel tilted her head. "And what of Melgil? She'll notice your absence. You're still the central figure that holds this alliance together."
Daniel's eyes flickered with a quiet resolve. "She'll understand eventually. I left her enough command structure to lead without me. If I stay, my presence will only draw more politics and attention. If I leave, I can act freely , and find out what this Tower really wants."
For a long moment, no one spoke. The faint hum of mana from Vaelith's barrier was the only sound. Then Kitsune finally broke the silence, her voice carrying a mix of admiration and exasperation. "You're reckless… but I've missed this side of you. The one who walks into danger just to ask the world what's next."
Daniel smirked. "You're still coming with me, right?"
"Obviously," Kitsune replied, rolling her eyes. "Someone has to keep you from walking into traps again."
Nyxiel gave a mischievous grin, her feline form shimmering before turning fully human , long black hair falling like ink over her shoulders. "Count me in. It's been too quiet since you fell asleep. I could use the chaos."
Vaelith simply nodded, her tone solemn. "As always, my blade is yours. But we'll need to move carefully. The War Forge controls the lower corridors now , sneaking past them will take precision."
Daniel looked down at the map again, his fingers tracing the faint markings of unexplored terrain that spread beyond the Gate's symbol. The Second Floor's name written in the old runic script , Valdyrheim, the Land of Endless War.
He whispered the name under his breath. "Valdyrheim… then that's where we begin again."
Vaelith raised an eyebrow. "You're not planning to conquer it, are you?"
Daniel chuckled softly. "No. I just want to understand why the Tower keeps calling people like us. Every floor feels like a reflection of something , a world reborn from someone's forgotten history. Maybe… we'll find the truth this time."
The candlelight flickered as the four of them stood together, silent yet unified. Outside, the banners of the Veyrra fluttered under the rising sun, and the sound of horns echoed across the camp. The others prepared for conquest , but Daniel and his vassals prepared for something far deeper.
A journey into the unknown heart of Valdyrheim.