The sun had dipped beyond the horizon, leaving the desert bathed in silver and shadow. The dunes shifted silently in the cool night air, but silence in the Desert of Souls was never a blessing—it was a trap. Evren Calden crouched low, his sword—the Abyssal Flame—glowing faintly, casting flickering shadows across the sand. Lira Solen sat beside him, daggers resting on her knees, eyes scanning the endless dunes.
"They're coming," she whispered. The tone of her voice was different tonight—strained, heavy with dread. "I can feel them. The Tower… it's testing our endurance differently this time. The night of the howls will separate the brave from the dead."
Evren's pulse quickened. Memories of the Scorpion's Nest and the Mirage Serpent flashed before his eyes. He had survived storms, venom, and illusions, but the whispers in Lira's voice carried a weight deeper than any trial he had faced. The night was alive, and it hungered for their fear.
The first howl ripped through the desert like a physical strike, a sound so sharp and unnatural it made his teeth ache. From the dunes emerged figures cloaked in darkness—predators shaped by the Tower itself. Their forms were humanoid but twisted, elongated, faces obscured by masks of jagged bone. Each movement was fluid, terrifyingly silent, yet each exhalation produced that piercing, wailing cry.
Evren's grip tightened on his sword. The Abyssal Flame flared, illuminating the approaching figures. Lira moved beside him, eyes sharp, daggers poised. "Stick together," she urged. "They hunt in pairs and triads. They know fear, they know hesitation… they feed on it."
The first predator lunged, its elongated claws slicing through the sand toward Evren's chest. He rolled to the side, swinging the Abyssal Flame in a wide arc, searing the creature as it collided with its shadowy partner. The sand erupted, fire and dust mingling in the silver light of the moon. Lira darted through the fray, her blades striking with deadly precision, finding gaps in the creatures' unnatural armor.
Hours passed in a relentless blur. The predators moved in perfect coordination, attacking from shadows, disappearing into dunes only to reappear behind them. Evren's muscles burned, fatigue gnawed at every limb, yet he could not stop. Every strike, every parry, every calculated movement was powered by the image of his mother's fragile smile, the memory of her labored breaths, the promise he had made before entering the Tower.
At one point, a predator leapt from a dune directly at Evren, fangs bared, claws ready to rend. He countered instinctively, Abyssal Flame meeting shadow in a burst of fire and light. The strike cut deep into the creature, but it only staggered momentarily before lunging again. Evren's heart pounded—he had to finish this, had to survive. He could not fail—not now, not ever.
Lira's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding. "Evren! The sand! They're using the dunes to mislead us!" He followed her gaze: shadows on the dunes shifted unnaturally, creating phantom predators that lured them into traps. The Tower had escalated the trial, combining perception and endurance into a deadly maze.
Evren's mind raced. He remembered Caro Den's sacrifice, the first death he had witnessed in the Tower. I cannot let that happen again, he thought. I cannot let fear control me. Channeling every ounce of willpower, he let the Abyssal Flame surge, striking with precision, following the rhythm of the creatures' attacks. Lira mirrored his movements perfectly, their synergy a dance of survival.
The predators roared in unison, a haunting cacophony that shook the desert air. One of them, larger and faster than the rest, lunged directly at Lira. Evren reacted without hesitation, pushing her out of the way just as the creature's claws scraped the sand where she had been standing moments before. The Abyssal Flame flared violently, cutting through the creature's chest. It let out a howl unlike the others, a scream filled with rage and pain, before collapsing into the dunes.
Silence returned slowly, like a reluctant tide retreating from the shore. The sand settled, and only the flickering glow of the Abyssal Flame remained. Evren sank to his knees, chest heaving, arms trembling from exertion and adrenaline. Lira approached, placing a hand on his shoulder, eyes reflecting relief, exhaustion, and awe.
"You… you survived," she said quietly, voice trembling. "The Night of the Howls… most climbers die here. Most never see the dawn."
Evren shook his head, trying to process the intensity of the trial. His heart ached—not from the physical pain, but from the reminder of mortality, the fragility of life, and the weight of his purpose. He thought of his mother, her laughter, her warmth, her fragile heartbeat, and felt the Abyssal Flame surge in response. I cannot stop. I will survive. I must reach the top.
The Tower whispered through the desert winds, a voice resonating with power and approval:
> "The Night of the Howls is conquered, Evren Calden. Endurance, courage, and will have brought you through. Yet the desert is vast, and the trials grow harsher. Continue, and let no fear hold you."
The first rays of dawn broke across the horizon, painting the dunes in gold and crimson. Evren rose slowly, muscles screaming, body trembling, yet his gaze was unwavering. The Desert of Souls had tested him in every conceivable way—physical strength, mental fortitude, emotional resolve—and he had endured.
The climb continued. The Tower watched. And Evren Calden, tempered by fire, battle, and promise, moved forward, unyielding, unbroken.