I woke up disoriented, my eyelids numb. My vision was still blurry as I slowly sat up. When I finally opened my eyes, I found myself lying on a long couch inside a spacious, pure white room.
"You took your sweet time coming back,"
At the sound of that familiar voice, I turned my head to the left. Standing beside me was Helena, boasting as if the previous trial had been nothing to her.
"If I'd known it would be that easy, I would've taken a longer nap. Didn't I tell you, sister, that I'd be the first to wake up?"
I thought to myself,
"Where does she get all that energy from?"
"My head hurts…" — I groaned as I slowly raised my aching torso. Placing my left hand over my face, I tried to ease the pressure throbbing in my temples. "How long was I out?" — I asked Helena.
"Maybe… forty minutes? I'm not really sure. But you don't look too good. What happened?"
Still confused by the distorted sense of reality, I struggled to make sense of the vividness of what I had just experienced — it had felt so real that it blurred the line between dream and memory.
"I think… I had a vision, not a dream."
"What did you say?" — Helena asked, clearly unsure if she'd heard me right.
"It was supposed to be a challenge, wasn't it? But instead… in that vision, I was in the middle of a full-scale war. Our entire clan was fighting the branches. And our sister—she was unrecognizable, almost dead. Consumed by darkness… I couldn't reach her heart."
Sensing the turmoil in my mind, Helena suddenly pulled me into a tight embrace — one so strong I could feel her heartbeat against mine. A warmth so comforting, it was almost overwhelming.
"H-Helena…"
I tried to speak, but no words came out. My voice was locked in my throat, silenced by the tenderness of that moment. Enveloped by that rare, soothing warmth, a thought crossed my mind:
"I could fall asleep in her arms for hours…"
As she gently stroked my hair, Helena whispered softly:
"It was just a nightmare. Don't worry."
From afar, I saw Rebeca approaching, her steps steady yet concerned. She must have woken up a while ago, but the moment she saw me, she immediately noticed how shaken I was.
"Was it that bad?" — she asked.
"As normal as any other nightmare I've had," — I replied casually.
"Berbatov wants everyone who's awake to gather on the next floor."
We ascended, only to realize that of the fifteen participants who had entered, only nine remained. The time limit had expired, so Berbatov decided to proceed with the remaining trials.
We climbed four more floors. The forty-sixth was a massive labyrinth filled with monsters — yet it turned out to be the easiest stage. We simply tore through the walls to reach the exit.
The forty-seventh floor tested our endurance: a steep, endless mountain climb plagued by rockslides. Together, we shattered every boulder that came our way, but the physical toll was severe — our muscles burned, torn from exhaustion.
The forty-eighth trial was no easier. We had to cross a sea of fire without being burned. The concept was simple — envelop our bodies in mana and push forward through the blazing waters. The heat was unbearable; some suffered burns that would scar them for life.
Finally, on the forty-ninth floor — the penultimate level — we were told we would have to make a choice. After nearly a month trapped inside that tower, hell felt like an understatement. Only eight of us remained, barely holding on.
As we stepped out of the elevator, a small arena awaited us, surrounded by rows of plastic chairs, like a makeshift stadium. Berbatov stood before us, waiting.
"So, how's everyone feeling?" — he asked, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Tired? Have you even looked at us properly?" — an elf in our group shot back with sarcasm.
"Haha… Don't worry. I'll explain the next step."
Rebeca, Helena, and I reached the forty-ninth floor alongside five others:A bronze-skinned dwarf, his body broad and muscular, with a long gray beard and the air of a seasoned warrior.A tall, lean elf with long black hair and sharp features.A beast-man — half-human, half-tiger — towering over two meters, his dark-striped fur covering a physique built for war.And finally, a young human boy, barely fifteen, small in stature, with unkempt black hair falling over his modest frame.
We each took a seat at random, spaced evenly apart. Medics emerged from a large iron door on our left, carrying bags and treating the wounded. At first, I thought it was part of the test, but they were simply administering first aid.
Berbatov watched us closely, suspicion glinting behind those cold, piercing eyes. When he saw that everyone had settled, he snapped his fingers — the sound echoing sharply through the chamber.
"We've reached the end of this journey. Most of you perished, but what matters is — you're still alive. Right?" — he said, standing tall with that same false smile.
"There it is again… that fake grin. Does he take pleasure in our suffering?" — I thought bitterly.
Then, his expression darkened.
"This tower and its trials were designed to prepare you for the challenges of this world. Few know this, but during the Third Great War, our founder created this organization — with the help of many — to preserve global peace."
In my mind, all I could think was:
"What the hell is this guy talking about? Just get to the point."
"There are things in this world both terrifying and beautiful — things that defy explanation. And for that, we need the strong to protect what is truly valuable. Those of you who reached this floor are now officially accepted into Organization Zero. Your efforts were not in vain. And of course… the bodies of the fallen were respectfully returned to their families. We're not that cold, are we?" — Berbatov added with his usual sarcasm.
To his left sat the elf, heavily bandaged and trembling, who raised his right hand.
"So, what's next?" — he asked weakly.
"Still want to climb to the final floor? It's simple — you can end it here and be assigned to a division… or continue upward and earn the right to choose your own. Simple, isn't it?" — Berbatov replied.
The elf sighed. "Even with these wounds… maybe I can still go on. But…"
Rebeca, in silence, thought to herself: "Such a tempting offer. Could this finally earn me the respect I've always wanted?"
Then, the elf spoke aloud: "I'll stop here."
Berbatov nodded. "What's your name?"
"Azlos. Azlos Cargaladh."
"Take him for treatment."
The medics escorted him away.
"Anyone else?" — Berbatov asked.
The dwarf raised his hand next. "I've reached my limit. I'm done here."
"Your name?"
"Gan… Gan Longbeard."
"Take him as well."
One by one, those too weak to continue began to withdraw — until…
"I'm quitting too," — Helena said firmly, raising her left hand.
I looked into her eyes and saw the truth. She was at her breaking point — dark circles under her eyes, brittle hair, cracked nails, and dry skin. She wasn't okay.
"Are you sure about this? There's no turning back," — I asked softly.
"I've reached my goal. Don't worry about me. I know you'll keep going… so, good luck." — she said, smiling warmly. That smile made my chest tighten — I hoped she'd never lose it.
As she passed Rebeca, Helena wished her luck too. Rebeca only gave a small thumbs-up and a faint half-smile — rare for her. I could tell she was surprised; they'd hardly ever spoken before.
In the end, only three of us remained: Rebeca, the quiet human boy, and me. Something about him felt familiar — had I seen him before? Was he the one who helped Helena during the fight with that giant bee? Even after everything, that memory still lingered.
"So, the three of you wish to continue," — Berbatov said, turning toward the final door.
"Very well then… follow me."
To be continued…