Lloyd Atlas had no plans today. And that was exactly how he liked it.

  He lay sprawled in the grass behind the cabin, arms behind his head, staring up at the empty sky. The meadows of Tirnog stretched out in every direction—rolling green, wildflowers bending in the wind, bees drifting from bloom to bloom. Peaceful. Quiet. Predictable. Exactly how life should be. The breeze carried the scent of damp earth and pine. He closed his eyes, letting the hum of the crickets lull him into a lazy half-sleep. Out here, the world didn’t ask much of you. You did your chores, fixed what needed fixing, and no one gave a damn if you spent the rest of the day face down in the grass. It was perfect. Then a shadow cut across his face. Lloyd cracked one eye open and groaned. His grandfather stood over him, boots planted, arms crossed, expression sour as milk left in the sun.

  “Figures,” Atlas Arcane said, voice like gravel in a grinder. “I leave you alone for five minutes and you’re already growing moss.”

  “I’m conserving energy,” Lloyd mumbled.

  “For what? Swatting flies?” Lloyd didn’t answer. Mostly because he couldn’t be bothered.

  Atlas dropped a folded parchment onto his chest.

  Lloyd frowned. “What’s this?”

  “Draft notice,” Atlas said flatly. “Congratulations.”

  Lloyd sat up, brushing dirt from his hair. “Draft for what?”

  “The Ascension Trials.”

  Lloyd blinked. “Yeah, sure. And I’m the King of Margitine.”

  “Not yet. But you are leaving for the Trials.”

  Lloyd stared at him, waiting for the punchline. It didn’t come.

  He unfolded the parchment. There it was—his name, stamped in black ink, under the seal of the capital. The Ascension Trials. Departure instructions. No pleasantries, no choices.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Lloyd said, the words sticking in his throat. “You signed me up for that?”

  Atlas didn’t flinch. “You’re wasting away out here. Time you did something with yourself.”

  “You could’ve just asked me to get a job. Maybe start smaller than a suicide mission?”

  “You wouldn’t have listened.”

  Lloyd balled up the paper in his fist. “You know what the Trials are, right? They’re not some weekend camping trip.”

  “I know exactly what they are.”

  “Then why the hell would you throw me into them?”

  Atlas crossed his arms tighter, eyes hard. “Because you need it.”

  “I don’t need that. Nobody needs that.”

  “It’ll toughen you up. Make you see the world for what it is.”

  “I see the world fine from here, thanks.”

  Atlas let out a low, humorless chuckle. “You think you do.”

  Lloyd turned away, running a hand through his messy black hair, fingers catching on the white streak that always flopped into his eyes. “You can’t just decide this for me. I’m not your soldier.”

  “You are my grandson. That’s worse.”

  Lloyd threw his hands up. “That’s not how that works!”

  “It is today.”

  Silence hung between them, heavy and awkward.

  Lloyd let the parchment fall at his feet. “This is insane.”

  “Probably,” Atlas said.

  Lloyd gritted his teeth. “You think I’m gonna survive this?”

  Atlas shrugged. “Don’t know. That’s the point.”

  Lloyd laughed bitterly. “You’re a real motivator, old man.”

  “I’m not here to motivate you, boy. I’m here to make sure you stop rotting in your own filth.”

  Lloyd wanted to fight him on it. He wanted to scream, curse, throw the letter into the fire. But none of it would matter. Once Atlas set something in motion, it was already too late to stop it.

  “You know,” Lloyd muttered, “for a guy who never talks about his past, you sure love sending me off to die for it.” Atlas’s face didn’t change. No flicker of guilt, no stories, no explanations. Just that same unmovable stare.

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  “You leave at dawn,” Atlas said, turning toward the cabin. “Pack light.”

  And just like that, the conversation was over.

  Lloyd stood alone in the meadow, fists clenched, heart pounding. The wind felt colder. The horizon farther away than ever.

  The Ascension Trials.

  Gods help him.

  ####

  Lloyd had never seen a city like Margitine.

  The capital was… dazzling, if he had to put it into words. Grand avenues paved with polished marble, flanked by towering columns and statues of long-dead kings. The scent of fresh bread and roasted almonds drifted through the air from ornate bakeries and street vendors. Musicians played soft tunes in the open courtyards, and laughter echoed through garden squares. It was like stepping into one of the old storybooks his mother used to read to him. All neoclassical stone, painted domes, and arches that reached for the heavens.

  And Lloyd hated it. Not because it was ugly. Because it was suffocating.

  There were too many people. Too much noise. Too many strangers brushing past him like he was some smudge on the city’s perfect painting. Every alley and boulevard teemed with life, with faces he didn’t know and didn’t want to know. He pulled his hood up and stuck close to the flow of recruits moving toward the tower.

  The Tower of Requital.

  It cut through the city’s beauty like a black blade, all smooth obsidian and cold indifference. No banners, no warmth, no compromise. It belonged to no kingdom, no man. It simply was. And today, it was where Lloyd had to be.

  The line outside stretched far down the square, filled with mages of every stripe—nobles in gold-threaded cloaks, mercenaries with blades strapped to their backs, and more than a few scared-looking villagers clutching the same draft letter he had stuffed in his pocket.

  Nobody talked to him.

  He didn’t want them to.

  His boots scraped against the stone as he shuffled forward, the smell of the city mixing with the iron tang of the Tower’s guards, who checked papers with bored efficiency.

  “Name?” the guard at the gate asked, not bothering to look up from his ledger.

  “Lloyd Atlas.”

  The guard’s brow twitched slightly at the last name but said nothing. Just stamped the letter and waved him inside.

  The fortress swallowed him in shadows.

  The massive chamber inside was a sea of bodies and tension. Murals of past Ascension candidates lined the walls—faces proud, afraid, some crossed out entirely. Lloyd kept to the edge, arms folded tight across his chest.

  That’s when she found him.

  “You look like you want to be anywhere but here.”

  He turned.

  A girl with cropped blond hair and an eyepatch over one eye stood grinning at him. A battered bow rested across her back, the string worn but well-cared for.

  “You’re not wrong,” Lloyd muttered.

  “Didn’t think I was,” she said. “Name’s Celeste.”

  “…Lloyd.”

  “You got a team yet, Lloyd?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Good. You’re with us.”

  She didn’t wait for him to answer. She jerked her thumb toward her two companions.

  One was a woman with dark, warm skin and long brown curls that framed her face gently. She wore a white and gold dress that was both form-fitting and flowed gracefully when she moved. Her wooden staff, topped with carved vines and flowers, rested in her hands like an old friend. Her smile was soft, kind, but there was something steady beneath it—like an anchor in a storm.

  “Noella,” Celeste said. “She’s got your back. Literally. She’s the nice one.”

  Lloyd nodded awkwardly.

  Then there was the other.

  A man, completely cloaked in black from head to toe. A katana strapped across his back. His face was hidden beneath the hood, and his hands were gloved. He didn’t say a word, didn’t even seem to breathe.

  “That’s Yuto,” Celeste added. “He doesn’t talk much. Actually, he doesn’t talk at all.”

  Yuto didn’t even glance his way.

  “We’re nobodies. You’re a nobody. We’ll get along just fine.”

  Lloyd opened his mouth to argue but gave up halfway. She wasn’t wrong. And honestly, he was too tired to pretend he wasn’t relieved to not be standing alone anymore.

  “Fine. Whatever.”

  “I can sense this won’t be some dungeon crawl,” Celeste said, clapping him on the back.

  Before he could respond, the torches lining the chamber guttered.

  Silence.

  A figure descended from the high ceiling, glowing with a soft, otherworldly silver light. They were draped in flowing robes, no face, no gender—just a shape, a voice that filled the room without needing to shout.

  “Candidates of the Ascension Trials,” the figure spoke, the words pressing into the bones of everyone present.

  “This is your last moment to doubt. Once the gates open, there is no return. The Tower will reshape you… or it will devour you.”

  Lloyd’s throat tightened.

  “The Ascension Trials are not games of strength alone,” the figure continued. “Each realm beyond the gate will present a different face. Some will challenge your magic, your might. Others will test your wits, your resolve, your loyalty. Some will offer you everything you desire… if you are willing to pay the price. Your system will reset and everyone will be at the same level. There are ten realms, each realm a level. Each realm more difficult than the last."

  The crowd barely breathed.

  “Those who endure all realms will arrive at the celestial spires. There, you may stand before the gods themselves. You may challenge them. And if you kill them… you may take their place upon the thrones of the heavens.”

  The room stayed silent.

  Even the proudest nobles looked pale.

  Lloyd clenched his fists.

  The figure’s voice softened, but the weight never left.

  “Strength is not enough. Knowledge is not enough. You will need everything. And still… most of you will fail.”

  They paused.

  “Form your teams. Sundown is your limit. After that, the Tower will seal its gates until either four of you take your place within the heavens, or you all die.”

  With that, the figure vanished in a shimmer of silver dust. The crowd exploded into frantic noise. Lloyd stood still, completely numb.

  Celeste grinned beside him. “See? Told you this wasn’t just a dungeon crawl.” He didn’t answer. Because now he understood. This wasn’t some trial. This was a death march.

  And the gods themselves were waiting at the end.