The desert night came like a reversal of the day—where the sun had burned mercilessly, now the cold bit like a living blade. Every breath Evren drew turned to frost before vanishing into the endless dark. The dunes that had shimmered gold hours earlier were now silver ghosts under a sky of infinite black. Above, stars stretched in such profusion that the heavens seemed to bleed light, and for the first time, Evren wondered whether the Tower's ceiling was truly a sky—or an illusion meant to mock the freedom outside its walls.
He sat by a dying fire, the faint orange glow flickering weakly against the cold wind. His hands trembled—not from fear, but from exhaustion. Every muscle throbbed. His sword rested beside him, half-buried in sand, its blade still carrying a faint pulse of blue. The Abyssal Flame inside it seemed almost alive, a heartbeat echoing his own fatigue.
Across from him, Lira Solen crouched, eyes half-hidden behind her loose hair. The wings etched on her arm shimmered faintly—her Soul Mark, breathing with her pulse. She hadn't spoken for hours. Not since Caro fell. The loss hung between them like another presence, heavy and unspoken.
When she finally broke the silence, her voice was soft but edged.
> "The Tower won't let us rest."
Evren looked up. "You mean tonight?"
She nodded. "It always does. The Tower tests not only strength, but solitude. At night, it watches for the weak heart—the one that can't face its own shadow."
The fire popped, sending a shower of sparks into the air. They rose, twisted, and vanished into the vast black sky.
Evren stared into the embers. "You've seen this before."
Lira hesitated, then nodded. "Once. Years ago. I climbed with a group—a strong one. We were prepared, trained, confident. But the Tower doesn't care about confidence. That night… only I woke up."
He didn't ask what happened to the others. Her eyes said enough.
The wind shifted, carrying with it a faint whisper. It wasn't sound, not truly—it was vibration, like a thought that didn't belong to him brushing against the edge of his consciousness.
Evren straightened. "Did you hear that?"
Lira's hand moved instinctively to her dagger. "It begins."
The sand trembled. A low hum spread across the dunes, subtle at first, then rising into a rhythm that made the air itself vibrate. From beneath the surface, shadows began to stir. They slithered upward, taking form—not wolves this time, but echoes. Shapes half-human, half-void. Their bodies rippled with a darkness that devoured light. Each pair of eyes glowed with the same molten hue that had haunted Evren since the day began.
The Tower was learning. Adapting.
Evren rose, gripping his sword. The Abyssal Flame flared in response, as though eager for another battle.
> "Stay close," he said.
"I don't need protecting," Lira replied sharply.
Despite her tone, she stepped into formation beside him, her daggers flashing in the starlight.
The first echo lunged. It moved faster than anything human should—its body flowing like smoke, claws cutting arcs of shadow through the air. Evren met it with a swing that blazed blue, the blade slicing through darkness like sunlight through mist. The creature dissolved, but not completely. The remnants curled together, reforming behind him.
"Evren!" Lira shouted. He spun just in time, cutting again. The flame roared hotter, brighter, consuming the echo fully this time.
"Adapt," she warned. "It's learning how you fight."
Her words chilled him more than the wind. The Tower itself was thinking. Every motion, every decision he made—it absorbed, processed, improved upon.
The battle became chaos. Shadows danced across the dunes, the air alive with light and darkness intertwined. Evren's breath came ragged, every movement draining more of his strength. The sand beneath his feet shifted constantly, swallowing his steps. Lira fought beside him like a spirit of silver and wind—every strike precise, every motion calculated. But even she was slowing.
Then the howls began.
Low at first, then layered—hundreds of them, merging into one endless sound that pressed against their skulls. Evren staggered, clutching his head. Images flooded his mind—not of monsters, but of memories.
His mother, frail and fading, coughing blood on a blanket too thin for the winter cold.
Her voice whispering: "Live. Climb. The Tower holds what we lost."
The scent of home, the warmth of her hands—and then, her absence.
"Evren!" Lira's shout cut through the illusion. "Don't let it in!"
He blinked hard. The shadows swirled back into focus. The echoes had closed around them.
Something inside him broke. Not with despair—but defiance.
He let the Abyssal Flame surge.
The sword exploded with light. Blue fire poured from the blade, wrapping around him like armor, searing the darkness. Every strike tore the air, every step left trails of flame on the sand. The echoes screamed without voices, dissolving in bursts of ash and light.
Lira fought at his side, her own Soul Mark glowing brilliantly now. For a moment, she looked like something celestial—her daggers leaving silver arcs in the air that traced symbols Evren couldn't recognize.
Then came the last echo. Taller, heavier, its eyes brighter than the rest. Its voice—if it could be called that—vibrated through the sand.
> "You cannot climb without loss. The Tower remembers."
Evren roared back. "Then remember this!"
He leapt, bringing his sword down in a burning arc. The flame met shadow—the explosion rippled across the desert, a burst of blue and black colliding. For an instant, the world was pure light.
When it cleared, silence reigned.
The sand was scorched in a perfect circle around them, still smoking faintly. The stars above seemed dimmer, as if the Tower itself had drawn a breath. Evren dropped to one knee, panting. The Abyssal Flame flickered low, faint as a dying heartbeat.
Lira stood over him, her chest rising and falling with exhaustion.
> "It's over," she said.
"For now," Evren murmured.
They stayed there, wordless, until the first hint of dawn crept along the horizon. The dunes slowly turned gold again, shadows retreating beneath the weight of the coming light.
Evren sank to the sand, eyes closing for just a moment. He wasn't sure if he was resting or passing out. Lira sat beside him, silent, then said softly:
> "He'd be proud of you."
Evren opened one eye. "Caro?"
She nodded. "You didn't freeze. You didn't break."
He stared at the rising sun. "Not yet."
For a long time, they simply sat there, listening to the wind slide across the dunes. The Tower was quiet again—but Evren knew better now. Quiet didn't mean peace. It meant preparation.
He glanced at his sword. The Abyssal Flame pulsed weakly, as if waiting for him to stand.
He whispered, almost to himself:
> "I will climb. I will survive. I will save her."
Lira's gaze softened. "Then the Tower will learn to fear you."
Above them, the faintest echo stirred in the wind, almost like laughter—or a promise.
> "The path has begun, Evren Calden. Dream well… before the next trial awakens."
The sun rose fully then, spilling warmth across the wasteland. The dunes glittered, alive again with motion and light. The night had tested them. They had survived.
But survival wasn't victory. The Tower was far from done.
And as Evren rose, tightening his grip on his sword, he felt something shift deep inside his chest—resolve turning into fire, and fear into purpose.
The Desert of Souls had taken much.
But it had given him something greater.
Conviction.
And so began the first true night of the climb.