They said the Towers came without warning.
But they're lying.
The truth is, we knew something was coming.
We just didn't understand what.
Thirty years ago, the sky split open in twelve places across the Earth.
They weren't portals. They weren't alien ships.
They were… structures.
Living, breathing, impossible Towers—reaching endlessly into the sky.
And when the first explorers stepped inside, they didn't come back.
Not as they were.
The Towers were trials, they realized.
Tests. Gauntlets. Game-like labyrinths of monsters, traps, curses, and relics.
But they weren't just dungeons.
They were engines.
Whoever climbed them… changed.
---
Some say the Towers were punishment. Others say they're evolution.
I think they're watching us.
Recording us.
Choosing.
Because after the Towers appeared, so did the System.
It wasn't a program or a spell.
It was something deeper—stitched into the bones of reality.
And one day, every human on Earth heard it:
> [Initializing World System...]
[Welcome, Player. Protocol initializing...]
Since then, life has never been the same.
---
Now, every person is born with a dormant Protocol—a skillset, affinity, or weapon granted by the System, tied to a unique class.
Some summon lightning.
Others manipulate time, shadow, bone.
Some create entire realities inside the Towers.
These people are called Rankers.
And they're the only reason we haven't gone extinct.
Humanity restructured itself after the first decade of chaos. Governments collapsed, borders shifted, and cities were either absorbed by Towers or turned into Ranker Fortresses—hubs of survival, research, and resistance.
Only Rankers can enter the Towers.
Only Rankers can fight back.
And only Rankers can die inside them and not be forgotten.
---
Most of us never even see a Tower up close.
But we feel them.
Each Tower releases a different kind of pressure—like gravity and madness combined. They warp the world around them. Change the rules. In some cities, time flows differently. In others, the wildlife mutates. And sometimes… people vanish and reappear with no memory of where they've been.
To combat this, humanity created Academies—places where potential Rankers are trained, tested, and monitored.
I go to one of them.
Ashenvale Institute of Ranker Development.
A fortress disguised as a school.
One of the few places in the world where teens like me are taught how to survive in a world that wants us dead.
They call us the next generation.
But me?
I'm just an error.
A System glitch.
A student without a Protocol.
A nobody.
- - -
Ashenvale Institute is divided into three tiers:
Outer Ring — where the freshbloods train, the ones still dreaming they'll awaken early.
Inner Ring — second and third-years, split into combat units and tactical study groups.
Core — the elite Ranker candidates. The ones the System actually likes.
I live in the Inner Ring dorms—barely.
My room's smaller than the combat trainees'. My rations are simpler. My classes are… less dangerous.
Because in Ashenvale, your Protocol decides your worth.
And I don't have one.
I'm not a Flameblade. Not a Chrono-Archer. Not a Gravity Monk or a Mindweaver.
I'm just… Kael.
---
> "Hey! Error-boy! You coming or what?"
That's Ryn.
Combat track. Ranker bloodline. 6'3", obnoxious, and somehow still my best friend.
He's the kind of guy who dual-wields broadswords like they're made of paper and eats five thousand calories a day without blinking.
> "Keep shouting and you'll wake the walls," I mutter, stuffing my uniform jacket on.
> "Then they'll finally have someone interesting to talk to."
Behind him trails Mira, quiet as usual, tablet in hand, fingers twitching as she runs calculations for today's Simulation Class.
She's a System Engineer—one of the rare few who understand how the System works rather than just obey it.
She looks up, tucks a strand of silver hair behind her ear, and gives me the softest smile.
> "You overslept again."
> "Vivid dreams," I lie.
(I dreamt of Towers again. One of them spoke.)
---
Classes at Ashenvale rotate between theory and live combat.
Morning: System Analytics — taught by Instructor Nyem, who once rewrote a Protocol mid-fight.
Afternoon: Tower Ecology — how monsters adapt and evolve.
Evenings: Simulations — training chambers that mimic early Tower floors.
Everyone is expected to have activated their Protocol by year two.
Everyone… except me.
> "[Student: Kael Vire – Protocol Status: NULL]"
It flashes on every attendance list.
Every time I walk into class, a hundred eyes glance up to see if I've "finally gotten something."
I haven't.
---
Lunch is loud. Always is.
The Core Track students sit on an elevated platform like gods on their marble thrones.
They don't look at us.
We're statistics to them. Fodder. NPCs.
One of them—Elias Drein, top Climber candidate—smirks as I walk by. He once told me I'd be "useful as bait" on a real Tower floor.
I told him he'd make a better wall decoration.
We've hated each other ever since.
---
I try not to let it get to me.
I've got Ryn. Mira. Even Instructor Voss, my tactical advisor, doesn't look at me like I'm broken.
- - -
Simulation Room 7: Ashenvale Institute – 20:42 PM
Ashenvale's simulations are no joke.
They use T-Class Projectors, laced with System fragments pulled directly from lower Tower floors. Every scenario is randomized, with death penalties simulated down to the last neural spark.
So yeah. It feels real.
Because it is.
The sim room hums with a low, dangerous energy. Blue hex-grids crawl across the floor as the tower-sized holographic projectors ignite. I glance to my side.
Ryn's jaw clenches as he tightens his gauntlets. "I've got front line. Let's not get wiped this time."
Mira rolls her eyes. "That was your fault, blade-boy. Maybe try not charging headfirst into a berserker pack?"
They bicker like they always do—but there's an edge tonight.
The instructor, Voss, stands at the far end, hands behind his back. His sharp eyes lock onto me.
> "Kael. You're squad lead tonight. Let's see how you handle real pressure."
I nod stiffly. My pulse spikes.
We're assigned a Level 3 scenario: Dungeon Escort, corrupted floor. Escort an injured ranker to the exit gate through hostile zones. Medium threat, adaptive AI.
We've done harder.
But when the sim boots up… it's wrong.
---
We're standing in a ruined cathedral drowned in moonlight, vines crawling over cracked pillars. The sky's an endless eclipse. Something's… off. The ambient mana burns instead of humming. The air tastes like ozone and old blood.
> "Don't like this," Mira mutters, eyes scanning. "The architecture doesn't match any known Tower floor."
The injured ranker—our NPC—groans nearby. We fall into formation.
But then… he starts walking the wrong way.
> "What's he doing?" Ryn frowns. "The path's left. The gate's over the hill—"
The NPC lurches forward—into a red-lit corruption zone.
The ground trembles.
> "[Simulation instability detected.]"
"[WARNING: Abyss-Class threat imminent.]"
"[Emergency Exit: Disabled.]"
> "Wait—what?!" Mira shouts. "The system's locked us in!?"
And then it arrives.
---
A shadow crawls through the shattered ceiling.
It shouldn't fit—but it does.
A massive, faceless creature, stitched from limbs and eyes and mouths. Glyphs pulse across its skin like molten lava.
It screams—not through sound, but thought. My vision shatters in static.
> "RUN!" Ryn roars, charging it with reckless fury.
He gets swatted like a fly, slammed through a pillar. Mira casts a panic shield—shattered instantly. My instincts scream.
I raise my sword.
Too slow.
A tendril impales me—straight through the stomach.
> "KAEL!" Mira screams.
I hit the ground, coughing blood. Pain flares like wildfire. My body's numb.
The world slows.
I hear something—no, I feel it.
A whisper.
A pulse.
A voice I don't know, yet feels ancient and mine.
> "Awaken."
---
> "[Life force: Critical.]"
"[Death threshold met.]"
[Dormant Protocol Accessed.]
[System Override Initiated.]
[You have unlocked: Deathbound Protocol]
Class: Revenant
Trait: Near-death enhancement
Primary Skill: Grim Reversal (Lv. 1)
You grow stronger… when you're about to die.