I woke up dizzy; my eyelids felt numb. My vision still blurred as I rose slowly. When I opened my eyes I realized I was in a spacious, brightly lit room, lying on a long chaise.
— You took your time coming back.
At that voice I turned my head to the left. Helena stood beside me, already bragging about how easy the trial had been for her.
— If I'd known it would be that easy I would've slept longer. Didn't I tell you I'd be the first to wake up, sis?
I thought to myself, Where does she get all that energy?
— My head hurts. — I raised my aching torso little by little, pressing my left hand to my face to ease the pressure. — How long was I out? — I asked Helena.
— Maybe… forty minutes? I'm not sure. But you don't look well. What happened?
Still confused by the warped sense of reality — everything in the vision had felt so real it blurred the line between dream and memory — I answered:
— I think I had a vision, not a dream.
— What did you say? — Helena asked, clearly not understanding at first.
— It was supposed to be a trial, right? But instead, in my vision I was in the middle of a full-scale war. Our whole clan was fighting. And our sister — she was unrecognizable, nearly dead, consumed by darkness. I couldn't reach her heart…
Helena sensed my distress and instantly pulled me into a hug so tight I could feel the beat of her heart. The warmth was overwhelming and strangely comforting.
— H‑Helena?
I tried to speak, but my voice failed me; I was frozen by that never-before-felt embrace. Enveloped by that soothing warmth, I thought, I could sleep in these arms for hours.
As she stroked my hair, Helena whispered:
— It was only a nightmare. Don't worry.
Rebeca, who was already awake, walked over and noticed I was shaken.
— Was it that bad? — she asked.
— As bad as any nightmare I've had, — I replied lightly.
— Berbatov wants everyone who's awake to gather on the next floor.
We went up. Of the fifteen who had started, only nine remained. The time limit had expired, so Berbatov pressed on with the trials. We climbed four more floors. The 46th was a vast labyrinth full of monstrosities — it turned out to be the easiest, since we forced a path by tearing down the walls in front of us.
On the 47th we climbed a steep, enormous mountain with constant landslides; we stuck together and smashed the rocks that came at us. It was our toughest physical trial — our muscles tore from the strain.
The 48th required crossing a sea of flame without being burned — enveloping our bodies in powerful mana and passing through a lake of blazing water. The temperature was brutal; some participants took burns that would scar them forever.
On the 49th, the penultimate floor, we were told we'd have to choose between two options. We were exhausted — a month inside the tower felt like hell. Only eight remained. Stepping from the elevator, we found a small arena ringed with plastic chairs like a makeshift stadium. Berbatov stood waiting.
— So — how are you feeling? — he asked, his smile thin and forced.
— Tired? Have you even looked at us? — an elf in the group retorted sarcastically.
— Ha — don't worry. I'll explain the next step.
Rebeca, Helena and I arrived at the forty‑ninth alongside others: a bronze‑skinned dwarf, broad and muscular with a long gray beard; a tall, slim elf with long black hair; a feral man — half human, half tiger — nearly two meters tall with dark striped fur; and a small human boy, maybe fifteen, modest and skinny.
We sat in scattered chairs. Medics emerged from a large iron door to treat the wounded — at first I thought it was part of the test, but they were real paramedics. Berbatov watched us with cold, penetrating eyes. When everyone settled, he snapped his fingers and spoke.
— You've reached the end of this journey. Most perished — what matters is that you're alive. Right?
That fake smile again. Does he enjoy our suffering? I thought.
He grew serious.
— This tower was designed to prepare you for the world's trials. During the Third Great War our founder created this organization to preserve peace. There are things in this world both beautiful and terrifying that need protecting. Those who reached this floor are accepted into Organization Zero. Your efforts were not in vain. The bodies of the fallen were returned to their families — we're not that cold.
The wounded elf raised his hand.
— What's next? — he asked.
— Do you still want to climb to the final floor? End here and be assigned to a division, or go up and earn the right to choose your own division. Simple.
The elf declined. One by one, those who could not continue withdrew: Azlos Cargaladh, Gan Longbeard… then Helena.
— I quit. I'm satisfied to be in the organization, — she said, raising her hand.
I looked into her eyes — dark circles, brittle hair, cracked nails, dry skin. She was done.
— Are you sure? There's no turning back, — I asked.
— I reached my goal. Don't worry. I know you'll go on. Good luck, — she smiled. I hoped she would never change.
Rebeca nodded to Helena with a rare small smile; they barely ever spoke. In the end, only three of us remained: Rebeca, the quiet boy, and me. I recognized him — the one who had helped Helena before, the one who'd dealt with the giant wasp.
— So the three of you will continue. Follow me, — Berbatov said.
To be continued…