A small figure lay sprawled across the cold stone floor of the hidden cave, the domain where Ooborosk had once reigned supreme.

  The body did not move.

  Dark crimson streaked the cracked ground beneath it, smeared in wild arcs that told the story of a brutal, desperate battle. Shattered stalagmites jutted from the ground like broken teeth, their jagged edges half-submerged in puddles of toxic residue that hissed and writhed as they ate into the stone. Scorched marks crawled up the cavern walls, silent scars left behind by venom and violent magic.

  The air reeked of iron and venom.

  Silence pressed in, thick and suffocating.

  For a long while, nothing happened.

  Then, faintly, a dull green glow pulsed around the unmoving body.

  It flickered weakly at first, as though it might vanish at any moment. But the light endured, clinging stubbornly to existence. Each pulse grew steadier. Brighter.

  A sharp gasp tore through my lungs.

  Pain crashed into me all at once, a deep, bone-rattling agony that dragged my awareness back from the brink. My fingers curled reflexively against the stone as every nerve screamed, sensation returning raw and overwhelming.

  Memory crashed in alongside the pain.

  Ooborosk’s fangs.

  The instant they pierced my abdomen. Venom surging through me like liquid fire. The absolute certainty that I had been dying.

  I groaned softly, clutching my stomach as my breath came in shallow bursts. The pain hadn’t vanished, but it no longer felt like it was consuming me from the inside out. Something had halted the venom’s advance. Barely. Precariously.

  During that final exchange, I had forced down my last Fleeting Potion.

  It had bought me seconds. Just enough.

  Enough to cast Rejuvenation again and again as magic and venom tore at my body in a vicious tug-of-war.

  I had won by the thinnest margin imaginable.

  My body trembled as the realization settled in.

  I had survived.

  The faint green glow clung to me, stubborn and weak, like the last vestige of life in a place that should have swallowed me whole. It pulsed softly as I stared at the ruined cavern ceiling. My thoughts drifted to the absurd chain of chance that had carried me this far.

  Gnoll Tails.

  An ingredient I had hunted relentlessly, slaughtering pack after pack with nothing to show for it until, during the chaotic battle with Mad-Eye Mordok, I spotted two lying on the ground as if placed there by fate itself.

  That single fluke had allowed me to brew exactly two Fleeting Potions.

  One had let me escape the Minotaur.

  The other had saved my life here.

  I exhaled slowly.

  For the first time since entering the Tower, I allowed myself to believe it.

  Maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t entirely cursed.

  I forced myself upright, the weight of survival still heavy on my chest. The egg lay before me, a grotesque reminder of the last steps I needed to take. The thought of it made my stomach churn, but there was no other choice.

  I grimaced as I forced down Ooborosk’s Egg.

  Thick, translucent slime coated its surface, reeking of rot so overpowering it nearly made me gag. The rubbery membrane resisted my bite, as though the thing itself did not want to be consumed.

  The taste was worse.

  Bitter. Sour. Overwhelmingly foul, with an aftertaste reminiscent of unwashed socks left to fester in damp darkness for weeks. I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to retch as the flavor clung stubbornly to my tongue and throat.

  My stomach twisted in protest.

  Worth it, I told myself, forcing the rest down. It has to be.

  [Egg of Ooborosk has been consumed]

  [Passive Skill Acquired: Ooborosk’s Mantle. Negative status effect durations reduced by 15%]

  I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and forced myself upright.

  Fifteen percent might not sound impressive, but on higher floors, where poisons, curses, and debuffs could last minutes instead of seconds, that margin meant survival.

  And now, I was harder to kill.

  [Eryndor Leafshade]

  [Soul Capacity: 1

  Vitality: 33

  Strength: 64

  Agility: 18

  Wisdom: 44

  Willpower: 134]

  [Spells: Rejuvenation, Windstride, Wind Cutter

  Passives: Enlightenment, Ooborosk’s Mantle]

  ***

  “Is it the venom playing tricks on me…?”

  My vision was still blurred as I scanned the ruined cavern. That was when I saw it.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  A faint, semi-transparent orb, barely visible against the darkness.

  The closer I stepped, the more my instincts screamed.

  The orb was black as the void, its surface smooth and glass-like. Within it, a warped silhouette twisted and coiled, unmistakably resembling Ooborosk. For a split second, something tugged at me. An unfamiliar pressure brushed against my will, whispering promises of power.

  Carefully, I wrapped my fingers around the orb, resisting the strange pull it exerted. The pressure vanished the moment I asserted control.

  A Soul Fragment.

  Beautiful. Powerful.

  I couldn’t use it. Ooborosk’s power clashed fundamentally with my build, and with my limited Soul Capacity, claiming it would be a catastrophic mistake.

  Still… discarding it felt wrong.

  Without hesitation, I slipped it into my sub-space pouch. I would decide its fate later. Even unused, a Fragment of this caliber would be worth a fortune.

  Right now, I needed rest.

  I deployed my Canopy Pod and crawled inside. Exhaustion claimed me the instant my eyes closed.

  When I woke, my body felt… lighter.

  Refreshed.

  Hours must have passed.

  Stepping out, I surveyed the cavern. Without Ooborosk’s presence, the dungeon felt eerily calm. Safe, even. With the only exit sealed by collapsed stone and the Tower’s time limit approaching, there was nothing more to do.

  So, I took stock.

  The Mana Stones alone were more than any beginner should possess. My consumables were gone, every last one spent, each traded for survival.

  In exchange, I now possessed three treasures that eclipsed everything else.

  Ooborosk’s Soul Fragment.

  Hex Mortis, reclaimed from the Altar of Tenebris Mortem.

  The Fangbone Scepter.

  Alongside them were quieter gains. Bonus stats, a stolen edge of Luck, and two powerful passives.

  And most valuable of all...

  The Talisman of the Ursine Spirit.

  The haul was absurd.

  And dangerous.

  “If word gets out…” I murmured, packing everything away.

  Power attracted envy.

  Envy attracted blood.

  Yet for all I had gained, I had also lost something irreplaceable.

  Alwen Mordigai.

  My first friend in this world.

  Alwen’s bright smile flashed in my mind, and the weight of his death settled heavily on my chest. A reminder of how fragile everything was here, and how quickly someone could be lost. His death carved its lesson deeper than any wound.

  Trust was a luxury.

  My thoughts drifted to the others.

  Darwyn Vonn Gwydion would likely survive.

  The dwarf, though…

  Muradin Bromir, son of Thrain. His boisterous laughter echoed in my memory, equal parts annoying and comforting. I genuinely hoped I would hear it again.

  “I’m getting too emotional,” I muttered.

  I wiped at my eyes, surprised to find moisture there.

  This Tower did not reward innocence.

  It rewarded caution. Resolve. And the will to endure.

  A familiar distortion rippled through the air.

  The world twisted.

  And as reality pulled itself apart, one thought burned clearly in my mind.

  The Tower had nearly killed me.

  Next time…

  I wouldn’t just survive.

  I would be ready.

  My first Tower exploration came to an end.

  ***

  “Eryndor!”

  A familiar voice called out not long after I returned to Asterion City.

  I turned to see Orin Sylvas weaving through the crowd, practically bouncing with energy. A small-framed druid with a button nose and chubby cheeks.

  “You’re back!” she said, panting. “In one piece!”

  I smiled faintly. “You still have an impressive amount of energy.”

  Orin’s gaze flicked to my forehead, her eyes widening. She leaned in, mouth open in surprise, before instinctively pointing toward the budding antlers. “Whoa... they’re bigger! How’d you get them to grow so fast?”

  Instinctively, I brushed my fingers against them. A druid’s antlers reflected their power.

  Without a doubt, I had grown stronger.

  “Let’s move,” I said. “Too many people here.”

  As if on cue, someone bumped into me while squeezing past.

  The Tower had expelled everyone at the same moment, precisely at noon, as it always did on the twenty-fifth. Time inside the Tower of Ascension flowed differently. One hour in the city equaled an entire day within its depths.

  Orin and I walked together toward the checkpoint, the same place where we had first arrived through the Andrheus Rift.

  Instructor Vallen Raenhir stood ahead in her crimson cloak, posture rigid, eyes scanning the crowd with thinly veiled concern.

  “Wait…” Orin slowed. “Where are the rest of your team?”

  I let the words hang between us, heavy and unyielding. “Alwen didn’t make it. He died saving my life. And Pica… we were separated.”

  Orin’s eyes went wide, her lips trembling as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t. I reached into my pouch, the familiar weight of the small object a reminder of everything we had lost. “He left something for you.

  Before I could hand it over, a shoulder slammed into Orin’s side, almost knocking her off.

  The rat-faced man grinned as he elbowed his companion. Yellowed teeth flashed. His eyes dragged over me, snagging on my antlers with open contempt.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. The deer boy survived after all.”

  His wiry archer companion chuckled softly. “Told you he wouldn’t stay dead. Cockroaches rarely do.”

  The rat-faced man went on, rocking on his heels. “Last time, you bled real pretty.”

  Heat stirred low in my chest, old and familiar. I kept my voice level. “I don’t have the luxury of forgetting things like that.”

  Heavy footsteps approached.

  A massive warrior stepped into my space, his shadow swallowing me whole. He loomed close, breath thick with stale ale.

  “How’s your head?” he mocked, clamping his hand onto my shoulder.

  Pain flared. Not sharp, just heavy. I let out a quiet breath and smiled faintly. “Better than yours.”

  His brows knit.

  “You have the potential to be wise,” I continued, meeting his gaze. “Too bad you keep sabotaging yourself.”

  He laughed once. A sharp, humorless bark. “Still running that mouth.” He tightened his grip.

  My pulse thudded, but my feet stayed planted. Compared to Ooborosk, this was nothing.

  “I admire your confidence,” I added. “Acting without thinking must make life very simple.”

  The rat-faced man snorted. Orin sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers instinctively clutching the sleeve of my robe as if to pull me back, eyes wide and glassy with fear.

  The big man’s grin slipped. His thumb dug in harder.

  “Watch your mouth.”

  “Enough!” Instructor Vallen’s voice rang out, sharp and unforgiving. Her presence descended like a blade, and the tension in the air shifted, as if the world had suddenly aligned in her favor. “I’ve already alerted the Royal Guard. Leave now, or I’ll have you locked up.”

  “Well, well. The mother deer has arrived,” he mocked. “You think that scares me?”

  “Tell me,” I said softly, a deliberate smirk spreading across my face. “Did you enjoy the bonfire I prepared for you?”

  Silence.

  I let it linger.

  “Thanks to you,” I added, “I felt incredibly lucky that day.”

  The warrior’s expression twisted in fury.

  He knew exactly what I meant.

  Veins bulged along his neck, his face flushing red as his teeth clenched.

  “You little shit,” he snarled. “I challenge you to a duel!”

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