We were all gathered in the grand hall, where several long ceremonial tables lined the room, draped in elegant green and gold cloths.

  Each instructor sat with their team, including ours. Instructor Vallen sat at the end of our table, in a chair different from the rest, taller and carved with intricate patterns.

  One table stood out from the others, at the very front. It wasn’t the longest, nor the most decorated, yet it drew everyone’s attention. Not because of the ornaments, but because of the people sitting there. The Archdruid, with his majestic antlers, sat at the center, flanked by elder druids in robes marked with ancient sigils of rank and honor. Among them, one figure looked strikingly out of place, a younger druid resting her chin on her hand, looking thoroughly bored.

  The Circle Keeper.

  A trumpet blared across the hall, echoing off the high wooden walls. The Archdruid rose from his seat, spreading his arms in a welcoming gesture. His smile carried the kind of warmth that made the entire hall fall silent.

  “Congratulations!” he said, his voice rich and commanding. “You have survived three grueling days. I believe you’re ready for the greater trials that await.”

  He paused, clearing his throat. Every gaze locked onto him, expectant. “I have only three words for you. Fight. Grow. Survive.”

  Simple words, yet they carried a strange, almost magical weight.

  When he sat back down, the hall erupted in applause and cheers. An elder in a white robe stepped forward and began explaining the next part of the ceremony.

  “Is that it?” Alwen muttered beside me, sounding uncertain.

  “That’s a good thing,” I whispered back. “The faster this ends, the more time we have to prepare.”

  Moments later, the trumpet sounded again. This time, Instructor Belerick stepped forward with his team, his black attire contrasting sharply with the golden insignia gleaming on his chest. He bowed respectfully toward the Archdruid before stepping aside to let his students approach.

  “Step forward and state your name,” said the Archdruid, his tone calm yet firm, his smile kind.

  “Lir Manannán,” declared the druid at the front, stepping forward confidently before kneeling.

  “Lir Manannán. May the blessings of the Sacred Forest guide you,” the Archdruid intoned, lifting his staff. A faint golden light enveloped Lir, shimmering briefly before fading.

  The Sacred Blessing. In the game, it had no mechanical effect, just a ceremonial formality before entering the Tower.

  The rite continued in rhythm, each newborn stepping forward, receiving the blessing, and returning to their group. A beautiful monotony settled over the hall, golden light flickering again and again.

  Until I spotted a familiar, smug face in the crowd. Of course, it was Piggy.

  “Do you think his name’s as ugly as his face?” I whispered to Alwen.

  It didn’t take long before he stepped forward.

  “Gorlan Pigg,” he announced confidently.

  I couldn’t help it, I burst out laughing.

  Alwen elbowed me hard, covering my mouth, though his grin gave him away. “Turns out you were right all along,” he muttered.

  I could feel Vallen’s glare from the end of the table, but honestly, it was worth it.

  The ceremony went on, and eventually it was our turn. Vallen rose, and we followed behind her toward the Archdruid.

  I could see Myr sitting behind the Archdruid, looking at me blankly. For a brief moment, maybe just my imagination, I could have sworn she smiled.

  Orin, standing at the front, stepped forward nervously.

  “Orin Sylvas,” she murmured, voice almost trembling.

  A faint golden light flickered across her body before fading.

  “Alwen Mordigai.”

  “Alton Broiner.”

  Then came my turn.

  I took a deep breath and knelt before the Archdruid. “Eryndor Leafshade.”

  One second. Two. Five.

  Nothing.

  The Archdruid didn’t speak immediately. His sharp gaze stayed fixed on me, and a cold unease began crawling up my spine.

  Was he angry that I’d laughed earlier? Or worse… did he somehow know I wasn’t from this world?

  Then, to my surprise, he stroked his long beard and turned slightly. “Tyranael, this is the one you mentioned, isn’t it?”

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  The Shaman replied softly, “Yes. He is.”

  “I see what you mean,” said the Archdruid, his voice thoughtful. “It’s been decades since Centrius Eldertide, the Keeper of the Grove.”

  “Centrius Eldertide?” I echoed quietly. The name meant nothing to me. There was no record of him anywhere in Dreadspire.

  The Archdruid’s eyes softened, as if he’d read my confusion. “He was a respected druid. Some even called him a hero. And you share a similar trait, an exceptionally high Willpower.”

  “This Keeper of the Grove,” I asked carefully, “where is he now?”

  “No one knows,” he said casually, as if discussing the weather. “His final years were… unfortunate. Then one day, he simply vanished. Most believe he’s gone for good.”

  I swallowed hard. Was he cursed too?

  The question burned on my tongue, but the Archdruid raised his staff before I could speak. “Eryndor Leafshade. May the blessings of the Sacred Forest guide you.”

  A faint golden light wrapped around me.

  Damn, I’m expecting too much.

  I felt nothing. No warmth, no change. It really was just a ceremonial formality.

  ***

  By the time the ritual ended, the sun was already shining brightly. After a quick breakfast and short rest, we followed Instructor Vallen into the forest.

  “Well, look at you, the Archdruid actually noticed you,” Callen said, his large ears twitching with excitement.

  “First the Shaman, now the Archdruid,” Riven added, lightly punching my arm. “Seriously, what’s your secret?”

  “If I’d known, I’d have joined your team,” Fenric joked, until he caught Alton’s glare. “Kidding. Relax.”

  “There’s still a slot open on our team,” Alwen said quickly, glancing toward Orin.

  Fenric caught it immediately. “Smooth move, Alwen.” He turned to her. “What do you say? Want to join them?”

  “Sorry,” Orin replied with an awkward smile. “I already have my own plan.”

  The group fell into easy chatter as we trekked deeper. The forest thickened around us, the air rich with damp earth and faint magic.

  Then, through the veil of trees, I saw it.

  A colossal oak that towered into the heavens, its roots sprawling across the ground like veins of the world itself. Its branches clawed at the sky, each leaf glowing faintly under sunlight.

  “We call it the Andrheus Oak,” Vallen said.

  “What’s that?” Sable asked, pointing toward a circular stone platform at its base, half-swallowed by moss and etched with runes.

  “That’s the Andrheus Rift,” Riven murmured, eyes bright. “A warp point.”

  “Correct,” Vallen interjected. “It allows us to travel across vast distances with ease.”

  Wait… wasn’t there supposed to be a certain requirement before we could use it?

  That’s how it worked in Dreadspire.

  A small seed of caution sprouted in the back of my mind. The world around me was tangible, alive, and unpredictable. Not everything I had learned in the digital realm would apply here.

  Vallen stepped onto the platform and gestured for us to follow. Then, raising her staff, she began the incantation.

  The moment the Rift activated, nausea coiled in my gut like a twisting knot. My vision warped and bled into a whirl of colors, as if reality itself had come undone. The air thickened, pressing in from all sides, and for a moment, I couldn’t even feel the ground beneath my feet.

  Then, as quickly as it had come, the sensation faded.

  The spinning stopped, the dizziness vanished, and I could finally open my eyes again. But the world around me had changed completely.

  The forest clearing was gone. In its place sprawled a vibrant town filled with movement and noise. People of every race and shape hurried past, their voices blending into a constant hum of life.

  And towering over everything was the infamous Tower of Ascension.

  It rose from the heart of the city like a monument carved by God, a colossal spire that pierced the clouds. Its surface was covered in glowing runes that pulsed faintly, like the heartbeat of some ancient being. Even from afar, the Tower radiated an intimidating presence, beautiful yet daunting.

  “Eight, nine, ten… ten floors!” Callen counted, shading his eyes as he looked up. “Wonder when we’ll ever reach the top.”

  “No thanks,” Fenric said flatly. “I’d rather stay on the first floor and not die early.”

  A gagging noise cut him off. Pica was vomiting near a gutter.

  “The after-effect causes nausea,” Vallen said, checking on her. “You’ll be fine soon.”

  She then turned to the rest of us.

  “I need to take care of some paperwork first,” Vallen continued, pointing to a small post nearby where a long line of adventurers was forming. “Stay here for now. Alton, you’re in charge.”

  “My pleasure,” Alton said, straightening with obvious pride.

  “Maahh pleh-sure,” Fenric whispered mockingly, earning a snort from Riven.

  We waited around, chatting idly as we tried to shake off the nerves. The air smelled faintly of iron and smoke, and the chatter of adventurers mixed with the rhythmic clang of the blacksmith’s forge.

  It hadn’t been long before a sharp, grating laugh sliced through the air like a blade.

  “Ha! Look at those grass-fed weaklings!”

  A group of adventurers was approaching, louder and full of that kind of confidence only idiots carried. Their leader, a burly man with a massive war hammer, sneered at Pica, who was still pale and shaky.

  “Great,” Fenric muttered. “Every place has at least one bunch like this.”

  The man’s companions fanned out behind him, cracking their knuckles and smirking. One brushed past Sable, shoulder-checking her hard enough to make her stumble. She caught her balance, eyes flashing. I stepped forward before I even realized it, heart hammering.

  “Careful,” I said quietly.

  The man sneered. “Or what? You’ll grow a tree at me?”

  His men laughed. One of them flicked the edge of my robe. Another grabbed the tip of Riven’s staff and tugged like it was a toy.

  “Let’s hope we don’t find your cold body inside the Tower later,” the burly man said, stepping closer until our noses almost touched. His breath stank of ale and arrogance.

  “We don’t want trouble! Please leave us alone!” Alton shouted, loud enough for nearby Royal Guards to hear.

  The man’s smirk faltered. He muttered a curse, jerked his chin, and led his group away, but not before tossing one last mocking glance.

  As they swaggered toward the Tower, I exhaled through clenched teeth.

  Those fuckers. I’ll remember them.

  Something inside me shifted, a quiet, cold certainty. I didn’t know when or how… but I knew one thing for sure.

  I’d see them again.

  And next time, things wouldn’t go the same way.

  way louder!