The desert had grown colder as night fell, the sun's dying warmth replaced by an eerie chill that crept into every bone. Evren Calden and Lira Solen had set their camp among the dunes, cautious and alert. The day's trials—the Dune Labyrinth, the relentless constructs—had left them drained, yet the Tower had one more test for them: the Night of the Howls.
From the moment the moon rose, a low, haunting sound rolled across the sands. Not wind. Not an animal. Something alive yet otherworldly. The sound carried with it the unmistakable cadence of hunger, of intent, of predation. Evren's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword, the Abyssal Flame responding with a pulse that mirrored his own heartbeat.
"They're coming," Lira whispered, her eyes scanning the horizon where the dunes twisted and shivered under the moonlight. "The Tower doesn't just test skill during the day. Night… is where it strikes at your fear, your instinct. And the Howls—they feed on despair."
Evren nodded, teeth gritted against rising tension. His mind wandered briefly to his mother, sick and fragile in the world beyond. The thought steeled him. I cannot fail. I will not let this desert or this Tower break me.
The first pack emerged from the shadows. They were spectral, hound-like creatures, larger than any animal Evren had ever seen, eyes glowing with an unnatural, burning intelligence. Their forms shimmered with a shifting gray light, constantly in motion, appearing both solid and ephemeral at the same time. They circled the camp with predatory precision, tails lashing, jaws snapping, claws cutting shallow grooves in the sand.
Evren drew his sword, flames erupting along the blade, casting long shadows across the dunes. "Stay close," he said to Lira, who nodded and drew her daggers. The creatures lunged in perfect unison, howls tearing through the night. Their attack was relentless, testing not just reflexes but the ability to anticipate, to adapt under pressure.
Hours passed in a haze of motion and sound. Evren swung his sword, each strike precise, each parry calculated. Lira moved in harmony, her daggers flashing like silver streaks through the darkness. The Abyssal Flame responded to the emotions that surged through him—anger, fear, determination—burning brighter with each attack.
But the Tower was cunning. The Howls began to imitate voices, murmurs of loved ones, echoes of past failures, Caro's laughter, his mother's cough. Evren faltered for a moment, heart tightening, throat constricting. The spectral hounds exploited his hesitation, their attacks faster, sharper, more lethal.
"Evren!" Lira's voice cut through the hallucinations, sharp and commanding. "Focus on what's real! The Tower is trying to tear your mind apart!"
He inhaled deeply, forcing himself to center, to anchor his senses. The Abyssal Flame pulsed, brighter than ever, as if feeding off his resolve. His strikes became more deliberate, more powerful. Every swing, every parry, every movement was a defiance of the Tower's manipulation.
The night wore on. Fatigue clawed at every fiber of Evren's body, but he refused to yield. With each hound defeated, he felt a surge of clarity, a deeper understanding of the Tower's mechanics, its cruel artistry. Lira's movements mirrored his own, a synchronized dance of survival, trust, and unspoken camaraderie.
Then came the final moment of the trial. From the darkest corner of the dunes, a monstrous form emerged—larger than the rest, its howl piercing the night like a blade. Evren recognized it immediately: the echo of Caro, twisted and corrupted by the Tower's power. The illusion was so lifelike that for a heartbeat, Evren's chest tightened, every nerve frozen in recognition.
But the Abyssal Flame flared, searing away doubt. Evren raised his sword, focusing on the truth beneath the illusion. "I will not let you—break me," he whispered, voice shaking but unwavering. Flames erupted in a torrent of fury, cutting through the mirage in a blaze of light and heat. The illusion dissolved, leaving only the cold, silent dunes.
Dawn broke, spilling light across the desert, revealing the camp still intact, the spectral hounds vanished, and the sand calm once more. Evren sank to his knees, exhaustion pressing down with a weight he had never known. Lira collapsed beside him, her daggers still clutched tightly, sweat and sand coating her body.
"You… survived," she murmured, her voice a mixture of awe and relief. "Many would have been consumed. Many would have fled. But you… you faced the Tower's fear and held your ground."
Evren's gaze drifted toward the horizon, thinking of his mother and the promise that had propelled him into this nightmare. I cannot fail her. I will climb. I will endure. I will survive. The Abyssal Flame pulsed gently, a heartbeat in resonance with his own, a quiet acknowledgment that he had grown, that he had endured the Tower's first true crucible.
The desert, now quiet and still under the rising sun, seemed to exhale in approval. The Tower had tested him, pushed him to the brink, and he had emerged stronger. The Night of the Howls had passed—but Evren knew the climb was far from over.
> "The climb continues, Evren Calden. Every trial, every fear, every sacrifice… they shape you. The Tower watches, and it waits."
Evren rose to his feet, exhaustion heavy in every movement, but the fire in his chest burned brighter than ever. The Desert of Souls had tested him—and he had not wavered. The Tower awaited the next challenge, and he would meet it head-on.
The Night of the Howls had come and gone, and Evren Calden continued his climb.