Inside the Tower, the air was cool and still, a stark contrast to the chaos Jace had just left behind. The world seemed to pause, the cacophony of voices and battle fading into memory like the last notes of a symphony.
He blinked, trying to orient himself. The first thing he noticed was that he stood on a platform—a vast circular expanse of stone, suspended impossibly high in the sky. The air was crisp and thin, carrying the bite of winter. His heart sank as the realization settled: he was alone. His friends were nowhere to be seen, replaced by an unnerving emptiness that pressed against him from all sides.
The platform began to descend slowly, and Jace stepped cautiously to its edge. Far below, a sprawling landscape unfolded—a realm of winter. A jagged mountain dominated the horizon, its peaks cutting into the sky like shards of obsidian. Frozen rivers snaked through the valleys, their surfaces glinting in the pale light like veins of quicksilver. Slurries of snow cascaded down steep cliffs, blanketing the earth in icy sheets. Ancient trees towered over the land, their branches heavy with frost, and in the distance, faint silhouettes of castles dotted the horizon, their spires barely visible through the crystalline haze.
“Where am I?” Jace muttered, his breath curling visibly in the cold air. He reached up instinctively and activated his HUD. The interface flickered to life but was stripped down, reduced to the bare essentials. Gone were the detailed menus and stats he had grown accustomed to. What remained was a simplified map with vague, color-coded zones.
Forest Zone. River Zone. Eastern Range. And a scattering of other indistinct labels.
He stared at the map, frustration bubbling beneath his skin. The lack of detail was unnerving, but he knew he couldn’t waste time on irritation. His eyes darted between the zones, trying to memorize their relative positions. The Forest Zone stretched out to the west, a thick expanse of green broken only by the snaking River Zone. The jagged mountain loomed near the center of the map, its shadow seeming to stretch across all others.
Jace closed the HUD with a grimace, his mind racing. Whatever this place was, it was difficult to believe he was inside the Tower. It felt like another world unto itself, a realm carved from winter and silence. He took a deep breath, his gaze drifting back to the mountain. Whatever lay ahead, he needed to be ready.
He could no longer feel Hades’ presence, not even the faintest hint. His Truthsense still functioned, but its range was severely limited, barely extending beyond his immediate surroundings. The Etheric Cloak clung to him like a thick mist, offering what protection it could against the pervasive cold.
He checked his inventory.
Empty.
Everything was gone—his weapons, gear, tools. All stripped clean by the Tower’s entry protocols.
All but three.
That was it.
Inventory:
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White Raven Ring (Soulbound)
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Traveler’s Handbook (Soulbound)
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Orientation Stone (Soulbound)
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Basic Garments (Cold-Resistant)
As the platform continued its descent, Jace’s thoughts turned to his friends. They were likely each on a different disc somewhere in this realm, facing the same disorientation, the same sudden solitude. The memory of Alice’s kiss lingered on his lips, a promise he intended to keep no matter what this place demanded of him.
“See you on the other side,” she had said.
To his right and left, other figures descended on identical stone platforms, silent silhouettes against the pale expanse of endless winter. Each face held a story; each set of eyes carried questions with no gentle answers.
Fifty paces to his left, on a mirrored descending platform, stood a young man carved from the bones of the north. His hair was a tangle of wind-bleached gold, thick as rope and pulled back from a broad, weather-hardened brow. Skin like sunlit stone—fair, but rubbed raw by salt air and cold wind—stretched over a frame made for shield walls and storm-hunts. Shoulders like quarried rock, fists that had likely split timber and skull alike. Their eyes met across the void—brief, bright, the flash of a sword in first light. The Viking offered a nod and a gleeful smile; a temporary armistice in what they both knew would become a battlefield. Jace returned the nod.
The sky above him shimmered. Words formed, a notification in the air. They hung suspended, massive and inescapable, burning with cold fire that seared itself into the consciousness of every observer regardless of language or origin.
RULES OF THE GAME
Your objective is to obtain a Runic Azure Heart Stone.
There are exactly enough Heart Stones for half of the current entrants.
Once a Runic Stone is claimed, you must hold onto it. Points are awarded based on the time you maintain possession of the stone and the number of opponents you eliminate.
At the end of three months, only those in possession of a Heart Stone will advance to the next trial.
There are no other rules.
The simplicity was elegant in its brutality. No complicated scoring systems, no elaborate explanations—just the raw mathematics of survival. Half would continue. Half would fail. The instructions hung in the air for a second longer before their bright lines faded into nothing.
Jace’s eyes dropped to his HUD, scanning quickly for the one piece of information that mattered more than all others. The Climber Roster. Relief flooded through him as he located Mount Olympus in the roster, finding his friends listed. They were here, somewhere amidst this vast wilderness.
Two more platforms hovered to the other side of Jace, their outlines blurred by the drifting snow. He squinted, breath curling from his lips, until the nearer shape came into focus—rounder than most of the climbers. It was Bart! He was waving wildly, his whole body thrown into the gesture like a kid on a playground. Jace raised a hand in return, and forced a friendly smile.
The second platform held a figure too far to name. A shadow against the white. Their aura was intense, like a storm waiting to break. Silent. Indistinct. Watching.
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Jace glanced back at the Viking, who was crouched low, muscles coiled, eyes locked forward with the stillness of a predator just before the pounce.
The platforms began their final descent. The air changed—denser, colder, braced with the collective inhale of those about to move.
There are no other rules.
The thought struck him with sudden certainty. The instructions hadn’t said to wait. Hadn’t said to start fair.
Before he could act, the distant shadow leapt from their platform. No hesitation. Their boots struck the snow below with muted thuds, then they vanished.
Bart hesitated, glancing nervously toward Jace.
The Viking didn’t. Jace felt the shift in his stance—intent and inevitable. Jace jerked his chin at Bart, signaling him to run the opposite direction. Whatever was coming, it would be fast. And bloody.
Jace hesitated only a heartbeat longer, taking in the terrain, the air, the sound—then jumped.
The landing jarred every sore spot he carried, bruises still blooming from the last fight, but his body held. The snow compressed beneath his boots. Cold bit through the seams of his leather and woolen clothes, burning in his chest with every breath. Behind him, his platform touched down with a hollow, echoing thunk—like a starting bell rung deep underground.
The trial had begun.
The Viking approach in a slow walk. Jace checked; Bart had taken the hint. He was already gone, swallowed by the brewing storm, his silhouette fading into the swirling white.
Jace called out to the Viking, voice steady, “There’s enough blood soaking the earth outside. We don’t need more in here. What d’you say we go our separate ways?”
The Viking only cracked his neck, drew his axe, and smiled like a man greeting an old friend.
The walk turned to a run as the Viking charged with primal ferocity, his wild eyes fixed on Jace with undisguised intent. The man’s axe caught the pale light, its edge hungry for the first blood of the competition.
Jace’s voice dropped low, all warmth stripped away. “Didn’t think so,” he growled. “Just remember—I gave you a chance.”He was done talking.
“Shift,” Jace mentally commanded.
The axe struck the ground where he had stood, scattering ice in a glittering spray. The Viking pivoted, his breath forming clouds in the frigid air.
“No hard feelings,” the man growled, his accent thick as honey left too long in winter’s embrace, “but I’ve got better chances the fewer of ye are out there.”
The pragmatism was undeniable, the calculus of survival laid bare. Every eliminated competitor improved the odds for those who remained. It was mathematics dressed in brutality.
Jace raised a Veilsteel sword just in time to parry another swing.
The Viking roared, a sound more beast than man. Before Jace’s eyes, the warrior’s form changed—muscles swelling beneath flesh, sinews stretching as his frame expanded. Whatever magic still remained to him, the Viking channeled it into brute strength, becoming a creature of primal fury.
Blow after blow rained down, each more ferocious than the last. Jace’s arms burned with the effort of deflection, his boots sliding on the treacherous ground. The cold worked against him, seeping into his limbs, slowing reactions that needed to be flawless.
A misstep on the slick surface sent him crashing onto his back, the impact driving the air from his lungs. He rolled desperately as the axe descended, embedding itself in the earth with a force that sent tremors through the frozen ground.
Scrambling to his feet, Jace swung his short blade in a desperate arc. The blade connected with the Viking’s side, but the man barely registered the impact. He turned, eyes burning with something beyond mere anger—a hunger, a need, the desperation of someone who had gambled everything on this trial.
“You’re strong,” Jace acknowledged, circling warily as he sought any opening, any weakness.
The Viking’s lips pulled back in a feral grin, revealing teeth that seemed too sharp for a human mouth. He snarled, charging again with renewed fury.
Strength isn’t everything, Jace thought. Even with his connection to Hades severed, he still carried the wisdom gained from countless battles, strategies refined in the crucible of experience.
As the Viking lunged forward, axe raised for a killing blow, Jace reached deep within himself. The Chains of Oblivion responded to his call. They emerged from the shadows cast by his weapon, ethereal links that caught the light like black diamonds.
The chains lashed forward with serpentine grace, wrapping themselves around the Viking’s massive form. The warrior’s expression shifted from confidence to shock as the bonds tightened, immobilizing him in mid-strike. With a vicious twist of will, Jace commanded the chains to wrench the double-bladed axe from the Viking’s grasp and drive it back against its owner’s chest.
The weapon cut deep, a mortal wound that needed no embellishment. The Viking’s eyes widened, not in pain but in understanding—the recognition that his journey ended here, in this foreign realm, at the hands of a stranger.
His body dissolved into motes of golden light, the golden orb activating to remove nearly dead competitors. The orb of escape—a last mercy granted to the defeated—pulled his essence away, leaving nothing behind but footprints already filling with drifting snow. But in this case, Jace couldn’t say how much of a mercy that really was; the orbs transporting them directly back into the terrible fray just outside, at the base of the Tower.
Jace stumbled backward, his breathing ragged, lungs burning from exertion and cold. His HUD flashed a warning, health indicators pulsing an angry red. The fight had cost him dearly, and the trial had barely begun.
He scanned the horizon, expecting another attack, but found only the vast emptiness of the winter landscape. The momentary solitude was both blessing and curse—time to recover, but also a stark reminder of his isolation.
Above him, the sky stretched like a blank canvas, offering neither guidance nor comfort. It held the same indifference as the Tower itself—an ancient, alien presence unconcerned with the struggles of those caught in its designs.
His HUD flickered, the leaderboard updating with cold efficiency. Names disappeared from the roster in real time, each erasure representing a life redirected, a journey ended. Students who had sat beside him in classes, passed him in hallways, shared meals and conversations—now reduced to statistical adjustments, their absence noted only in the changing numbers.
Hundreds gone already, in the span of minutes.
The brutality of it stole his breath more effectively than any physical blow. This was not education; this was culling. The Tower didn’t teach—it selected, it pruned, it discarded.
And yet, he could not deny the dark truth beneath it all: this was exactly what they needed. The Dark One wasn’t coming with fair challenges and measured responses. The world beyond the Tower wouldn’t pause for recovery or reflection. If they were to stand against the coming darkness, they needed to become something harder, sharper, more unforgiving than what they had been before.
The wind howled across the plain, a mourning cry for those already lost and those yet to fall. It wrapped around Jace like hungry fingers, stealing warmth, urging surrender to the endless cold. Each breath materialized before him, small clouds that dissipated too quickly—reminders of life’s fragility in this merciless realm.
He forced himself to move, each step a negotiation with pain and exhaustion. He needed to rest, to recover fully. His boots broke through the crust of snow, sinking into the powder beneath, making progress laborious and slow. The mountain loomed before him, its peak shrouded in swirling clouds, its slopes dotted with distant figures—each a competitor, each a potential threat.
Somewhere among them were his friends. Somewhere among them were his enemies. And for now, there was no way to tell which was which.
In the distance, far ahead where the forest began its climb up the mountainside, Jace thought he glimpsed a flash of silver-blonde hair. His heart stammered in his chest—Alice?
But the figure vanished too fast, slipping into the treeline before he could be sure it was ever really there.
Find me on the other side.
Her words echoed in his mind, a mantra against doubt, against the creeping cold that threatened to numb more than just his limbs. He had to believe in something beyond the rules of the game, beyond the cruel simplicity of elimination. He had to believe in the connections that had brought them this far.
Jace exhaled sharply, watching his breath dissipate into the unforgiving air. Everything before the Tower was gone—the safety of Mount Olympus, the comfort of known dangers, the life built on assumptions that had proven false.
The gods were imprisoned in stone. The Dark One was likely attacking right this very moment or would be soon.
And Roandia, the kingdom that had suffered in silence for generations, stood on the precipice of annihilation.
He wasn’t ready. Not for any of it.
But readiness, he was beginning to understand, was a luxury they could no longer afford. The world didn’t wait for heroes to prepare themselves. It broke them, forced them to adapt, to evolve or perish. The Tower wasn’t a school—it was a forge, and they were all metal to be melted down and recast into something stronger, something capable of withstanding what came next.
Jace walked toward the mountain, each step steadier than the last. His Truthsense pulled at him—not with urgency, but with certainty. The Azure Heart Stones were up there, he could feel it. His friends were out there too. And somewhere beyond this frozen trial waited the answers to questions he hadn’t yet dared to ask aloud.
Here he wasn’t the Avatar of Hades here. Not Silver Two. Not President of the Society of Hades. Not any of the roles that had once given him shape and meaning.
Here, he was simply Jason.
And for now, that would have to be enough.
Deep within the mountain’s heart, unseen by any climber, something ancient stirred from slumber.
And somewhere not too far away, in the world outside, the Dark One smiled.
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