Silence settled over the space.
Then, the air stirred slightly.
From a spiral of black mist above the platform, something began to descend.
A figure emerged, larger and heavier, infinitely scarier than Veyrax.
It didn't walk; it simply floated.
The creature appeared to be made of smoke and tar. Its tall and thin body shifted constantly. Sometimes it had four arms, other times six. Long fingers extended from each hand, dragging along the ground like a sharp knife.
Its skin looked cracked and dry, resembling burnt wood. Faint red lines glowed beneath the surface, suggesting there was fire hidden inside.
Its face lacked eyes, presenting only smooth skin where features should be. In the center, a round mouth slowly opened, wide and filled with rows of small, sharp teeth that clicked together even when it wasn't speaking.
"So, this is the boy who returned from Nitya," it said, circling Zen like a predator.
"You're more ordinary than I expected. Hmm," it added, passing behind him, its form shifting in and out of focus.
"How did you survive there?" it asked.
Zen understood the implications behind the demon's intense stare.
"I just got lucky," he replied, his voice quiet yet steady.
It wasn't an excuse; it was the only answer he had. Because truthfully, he didn't fully understand it either.
Looking back now, his decision to enter Nitya felt reckless. Maybe even suicidal. What if he had never returned? What would have happened to her? That thought chilled him more than any demon ever could.
But at that moment, there hadn't been a choice.
He remembered how their eyes shifted. The hunger in their gazes became ugly and lustful towards Aileen. Zen couldn't stand it. He had to act, even if it meant throwing himself into a situation he didn't fully understand.
He had overheard them mention Nitya once, how even their Matriarch had failed there, how that place devoured pride and power alike. It was judged not by strength but by something else entirely.
So, he took his chance.
What followed still didn't make sense.
Time inside Nitya is distorted; strangely, it didn't affect him. He didn't know why.
When he finally secured the Demon Orb, everything went dark, and he fell unconscious.
When he woke up, his body was whole again. The wounds he remembered were deep, bloody, and deadly, but they had vanished completely. Not even a scratch remained. His skin looked untouched, as if nothing had happened at all.
He remembered his hand clearly. He had punched the barrier again and again until it became a broken mess. After that, he couldn't feel it anymore. He was sure it was ruined. Yet now, it was back. Perfect. No pain, no marks. Just normal. He didn't understand how that was possible.
Nothing about it made sense. He didn't feel stronger, nor did he sense any power waiting within him. He still felt tired, and his muscles ached. It was just him, the same as before.
Back then, he hadn't stopped to question why. There had been no time. But now, with the Demon Master standing before him, studying him like a fascinating object, all of it came rushing back. Zen felt the weight of every unanswered question.
No one would believe him if he told them the truth.
And worse, they might try to force it out of him.
He couldn't stop them.
He couldn't escape.
He had nowhere to hide.
The Demon Master's eyes narrowed, cold and silent. Zen tensed up. He had no idea what was coming, but he prepared himself to face it.
He had to do this.
For her.
"I'd love to cut you open, to see what made you so special," it mused, a low chuckle echoing from the void, dry and cold, tinged with amusement.
"But fate has other plans," it added, stopping before him.
"Pity."
Huh… other plans? So, they weren't concerned about how he survived? That didn't add up. From the way the demon spoke, it was clear it wanted to know. But it seemed it couldn't do anything about it. Why? Who was stopping it? And more importantly, what did they want from him instead?
One name surfaced in his mind. The Demon of Dreams. She was the only one powerful enough to interfere like that. Zen's thoughts tangled, questions looping with no answers.
Ekrid tilted its grinning head.
"Tell me, Zen… do you know of the Tower?"
Zen nodded slowly. "A little."
The creature grinned wider.
"Of course. Just a little. Most mortals know only fragments, enough to fear or to dream."
It glided around him again.
"Six hundred and sixty-nine years ago, they appeared, all over the world. Silent, sky-piercing spires, born overnight."
It paused, one disjointed finger tapping against a jagged jaw.
"At first, we thought they were divine punishment. Or perhaps a rift in the world, a cosmic inversion. But then-"
Its tone lowered, as if reminiscing about an old joke.
"And then… people began to be summoned inside."
Zen's breath caught.
"They faced trials, strange and harrowing. But when they returned, they were changed. Stronger. Faster. Some even claimed to hear the voice of gods or devils."
The air became dense, pressing against his skin.
"Religions blossomed like weeds. A golden age followed. Sixty-nine years of miracles. The world believed it was blessed." Its grin split, jagged and unnatural. "But it was merely the calm before the storm."
Ekrid's voice lowered, weaving tales that made Zen's heart race, drawing him into a world of mystery and danger.
"No one ever really questioned why the Tower changed us. No one asked what it was preparing us for."
It leaned in, its presence almost magnetic.
"Not until Conjunction."
The walls around them pulsed, as if responding to the weight of the words.
"During Conjunction, Seven Forbidden Zones manifested across the world like deep, unforgiving scars. No one, except the Towerbearers, knew how or why it happened. Even mana itself became corrupted… tainted."
Saying it felt like uttering a curse.
The shadows flickered, and the walls pulsed with a faint, unsettling glow.
"And from that corruption, the Beings emerged. They were incredibly powerful, yet hollow. Mindless. Stripped of reason and driven only by raw instinct. They were born from decay, made stronger by it, but utterly broken."
Ekrid tilted its head, an unsettling curiosity glinting in its eyes.
"We still don't truly know what caused it. But it wasn't the Tower."
A pause hung in the air.
"It was something else. Something beyond our understanding."
Its voice fell into a whisper, almost reverent.
"And yet… the Tower prepared us for it."
Zen felt an unfamiliar weight settle deep in his chest.
He didn't know much about the Tower. This was the first time he had heard anything about its past. To him, the Tower was just a colossal structure that had always loomed in the distance.
But it wasn't just a legend. It was a dream. For someone like him, without power, privilege, or protection, the Tower offered the only hope to change his fate. People like him clung to that belief, hoping that one day the Tower would choose them.
Zen believed that anyone could be called. Rich or poor, strong or weak, it didn't matter. If the Tower beckoned, everything could change. That belief fueled his determination.
He had a plan. Enter the Tower. Get stronger. And one day, confront the Demon of Dreams. Some might have thought him foolish, but he didn't care. That dream felt incredibly real.
Ekrid started to circle him again, slow and deliberate, as if it were a predator waiting for its target.
"Do you know how someone is chosen by the Tower?" it asked, its voice a smooth whisper sliding through the quiet gloom.
Zen shook his head, the anticipation crawling under his skin.
Ekrid floated behind him, cold and watchful, always observing.
"People aren't chosen because of their bloodline, strength, or even their desperate yearning," it explained. "The Tower has its own way of choosing. A way that remains a mystery."
It slid closer, its voice deliberate, every word like softly falling dust.
"For humans, the signs don't appear randomly." Ekrid's tone was thoughtful. "They always start when a child turns twelve. That is when the soul is called."
Zen frowned. "Why twelve?" he asked, puzzled.
Ekrid grinned wider, an unsettling gleam in its eyes.
"Because that's when the Zeroth Trial begins," it answered.
A chill danced down Zen's spine.
"The Trial of Worthiness," the creature murmured, its words heavy in the still air, as if the room itself was holding its breath.
"This is the first trial. The most crucial one. Everything else follows from it."
Now floating beside him, Ekrid lingered just long enough for the silence to settle around them.
"In that trial, you discover your class. Your path takes shape. Your foundation is built. But make no mistake, the trial is far from simple. The soul is thrust into the past. Not your own past, but something much older and buried deep within the world."
Zen's heart raced, each beat echoing with a nervous thrill.
"In those memories, you don't just observe. You live in them. You fight, you suffer, you bleed. And if you make it through, you return changed. Not the same person, you come back with something etched into your soul, a piece of ancient wisdom."
Ekrid floated back slightly, holding Zen's gaze with an unsettling calm.
"And if you fail?" It gave a small, casual shrug. "Then your body simply vanishes. It's as if you never existed."
Zen couldn't find his voice.
"The ones who survive the Zeroth Trial are granted entry to the Tower's first floor. Inside, they discover many wonders, dungeons, ancient ruins, inheritance grounds, training zones, all designed to help them grow stronger."
Ekrid paused, a peculiar glint in its eye, then added, "But to ascend to the next floor, the cost is much greater."
It turned its head slowly, the grin sharp and almost predatory.
"But you don't need to worry about that. Not yet."
The room fell into a heavy stillness.
Then Ekrid spoke again, its voice softening.
"One thing you must remember. The Tower does not guide. It does not teach. It only uses."
It floated to the side, leaning in to whisper,
"But now I'm curious."
The grin spread wider.
"What kind of memory would you have to survive?"