The Tower always looked like it was waiting for someone to make a mistake.
From the cracked rooftop of our apartment, I stared at that impossible spire slicing through the Dallas skyline. Even from miles away, it felt close—too close. Black stone, shifting with a sickly silver light, like it was breathing. People down below called it hope. To me, it looked more like a threat.
My name is Abel. Most people don't know me, and that's fine. In the slums, you learn early that attention gets you killed. I keep my head down, keep my hands busy, and keep my brother and sister alive. That's all that matters.
The city was waking up. Sirens in the distance, neon signs flickering to life, the smell of fried food and exhaust in the air. Somewhere, kids my age were getting ready for the Tutorial. The whole world knew it was coming. Every eighteen-year-old, dragged into the Tower's game whether they wanted it or not.
Most spent years preparing—training, fighting, learning how to kill. Me? I spent the last week nursing broken ribs and a split lip, courtesy of a street fight I couldn't afford to lose. Couldn't afford a doctor, either. I just wrapped myself up and prayed I'd make it to the summons.
Didn't matter now. The Tower would fix me, just like it fixed everyone. Level the playing field, they said. No sickness, no scars, no pain. Just you, a sword, and twenty goblins who wanted to rip your throat out.
I glanced back through the window. My brother, Eli, and my sister, Lila, were still asleep, curled up on the mattress we shared. Seventeen, twins, smarter and braver than I'd ever been. They didn't know how much I worried about them. Didn't know how many times I'd done things I couldn't talk about, just to keep food on the table.
I looked back at the Tower, fists clenched. Maybe this was my chance. Maybe I could claw my way out, drag Eli and Lila with me, and leave this place behind. Or maybe I'd die on the first floor, just another body for the Tower to swallow.
Didn't matter. I'd already made my choice.
No system interface. No level. Not yet. Just a date burned into my mind: the day the Tower would call me, just like it called everyone.
A cold wind swept across the rooftop, carrying the scent of rain and something else—something metallic, sharp, like blood. I shivered, not from the cold, but from the feeling that the Tower was watching me. Judging me.
I wasn't the strongest. I wasn't the fastest. But I'd survived things that would have broken most people. And if the Tower wanted to test me, I'd give it a fight it wouldn't forget.
The sun was rising, painting the Tower in bruised gold and shadow. I took one last look at the city, at the world I was about to leave behind, and whispered a promise to the empty sky.
"I'll come back. No matter what."
The Tower didn't answer. It never did.
But I could feel it—waiting.
And I was ready