The air within the Tower of Convergence shimmered like a mirage, warped by the concentration of raw energy that spiraled through its chambers. Orion stood in silence before the colossal gateway etched with ancient glyphs, his breath slow, mind steady. The pulse of the Ascension Protocol thrummed beneath his skin like a second heartbeat, ever guiding, ever whispering of what lay beyond.
He had climbed twenty-nine floors of trials, facing distorted time loops, soul-fracturing illusions, and monstrosities born from forgotten realms. Each floor tested a different part of him: strength, intellect, willpower, empathy. And each floor had changed him, molding him into something more than human.
Now, the thirtieth floor waited.
This floor was different.
There were no immediate enemies, no traps, no illusions. Instead, a serene garden stretched out before him, impossibly vast, blooming with flowers that radiated stardust and moonlight. The sky above was an endless aurora, painted with colors no language could describe. And in the heart of the garden sat a figure on a stone bench—an elderly man cloaked in silver and midnight blue.
Orion approached cautiously. He could feel the pressure of the figure's existence—a gravitational weight in the soul, a presence that echoed across dimensions.
"You've come far," the man said without looking up. His voice was gentle, timeless.
"Who are you?" Orion asked.
The man finally looked up, revealing eyes like twin galaxies. "I am the First Ascendant. The one who activated the original Protocol. The architect of this Tower."
Orion's breath hitched. "You... you're a myth."
The First Ascendant smiled. "A myth is merely a truth cloaked in time. But I am real, as are you. And you stand on the brink of the Infinite."
Orion took a step closer. "What lies beyond this floor?"
"That depends," the First Ascendant said. "On whether you are ready."
The garden shifted subtly. Flowers folded in on themselves, and the sky darkened just slightly. A test—subtle, intangible—had begun.
"You've wielded power," the Ascendant said, rising from the bench. "But have you understood its weight?"
Orion opened his mouth to speak, but a memory flashed—of Terra's anguished scream when she fell on the twenty-third floor, of the look in Kael's eyes when he sacrificed himself to buy time.
He lowered his gaze. "I've made mistakes. I've lost people."
"Good," the First Ascendant said. "A god who feels no grief becomes a tyrant. Now—show me what you've become."
The space around them folded like paper.
Suddenly, Orion stood in a mirror dimension of himself. Hundreds of versions surrounded him—each representing paths not taken: the Orion who gave up, the Orion who chose revenge over growth, the Orion who saved Terra but lost himself.
They all moved at once.
The battle was not physical. It was spiritual—a clash of identities, ideals, regrets, and aspirations.
He fought with memories, parried with acceptance, countered with hope.
Time lost all meaning.
When the last doppelgänger faded, Orion stood bleeding not from his body, but from his soul. Yet in his hands, he held something new—a sphere of light, dense with potential.
The First Ascendant approached. "You faced yourself. Most cannot. Now choose: remain here, and guard this place as I did, or ascend further, into the Unknown Realms."
Orion looked at the path behind him—filled with pain, victory, love, and loss.
Then he looked forward.
"I choose to ascend."
The garden dissolved.
The Protocol ignited.
A new staircase unfolded before him, made of starlight and whispers of reality not yet born.
And as Orion climbed, the voice of the Protocol spoke directly into his mind for the first time:
"Stage Two Initiated. Welcome, True Ascendant."