Aaric woke before dawn in the ruins.
Not because he wanted to, but because the shadows wouldn't let him sleep. They thrummed beneath his skin like a second heartbeat, cold and hungry, demanding to be fed. He could feel them coiling in his chest, pressed against the cage of his ribs—alive in a way that terrified him.
The old stone structure was half-buried in moss and glowing vines, hidden on the outskirts of Dawnvale where few climbers dared venture. It was perfect for what he needed to do.
Aaric sat cross-legged on the cracked floor, his palms open. In the dim pre-dawn light, his hands looked almost normal. Almost.
He took a shaky breath and crushed an essence crystal in his fist.
The cold hit him like plunging into winter water. His arm seized. His spine arched. The shadow erupted outward in a violent burst of black mist, scattering across the ruins like spilled ink. Aaric gasped, clenching his teeth against the burning in his veins.
The mist hung in the air for exactly three seconds.
Then it dissipated.
He forced his breathing to steady. Again.
He crushed another crystal. The shadow came faster this time, wrapping around his forearm like smoke given weight. He tried to shape it—pulling, coaxing, commanding it to take the form of his brother's black sword.
For a moment, something answered. A tendril of darkness stretched upward, elongating, hardening—
And then snapped.
The shadow collapsed back into his skin, and Aaric fell backward onto the cold stone, panting. His arm trembled, burned like someone had poured acid through his veins.
Too much. Too fast.
Kael's voice whispered in the darkness, steady and distant: Control is a knife sharpened by limits, brother. Learn where you break, and you learn where you heal.
Aaric didn't know if the voice was memory or hallucination anymore. It didn't matter. He was learning.
Over the next four days, he returned to the ruins every morning.
Day One: The shadow held for five seconds before fading. By the fifteenth attempt, his legs wouldn't stop shaking.
Day Two: He managed a tendril that could stretch almost two meters, but it looked wrong—twisted, unstable, more like a writhing worm than a weapon. He tried to solidify it into a blade shape. Failed. Again. Again. By the end, he vomited bitter yellow liquid on the stone.
Day Three: The black mist took form for just a moment—a crude, jagged approximation of Kael's sword. Its edges flickered. Its weight made his arm scream. He held it for three seconds before it dissolved.
But he held it.
Day Four: He managed six seconds. Then seven.
Each morning, he returned to the cottage where Lynia lay fever-bright and trembling. He brought her medicine purchased with the essence crystals the Stanners had paid him. He cooked her broth. He held her thin hand and told her he'd be strong soon. He meant it with every fiber of his being.
But each night, doubts clawed at him. The shadow was growing stronger, yes—but not fast enough. Not nearly fast enough. Ariea had said she would train him when she returned from the tournament. But the tournament could last weeks. Months. And Lynia was running out of time.
On the fifth morning, Aaric was eating stale bread in the market quarter when a thin hand snatched it from his fingers.
He spun, ready to shadow-strike, but stopped.
The hand belonged to a girl—maybe nineteen, maybe younger, with sharp eyes and sharper cheekbones. Her clothes were patched and re-patched. Her hair was dark as his own, pulled back with a length of frayed cloth. She was grinning at him as she bit into his bread.
"Hey!" Aaric lunged, but she dodged with practiced ease, darting between market stalls.
He chased her down a narrow alley between merchant tents, his heart pounding. She was fast—almost dancer-quick—but Aaric was faster now. His legs carried him with a precision that felt new, fueled by shadow-essence thrumming in his bones.
She ducked left. He predicted the move and cut her off.
She skidded to a stop, laughing breathlessly. "Okay, okay, you're not completely useless. Here." She tossed his bread back. Half of it was gone. "Thanks for the sample."
Aaric stared at her, chest heaving. "Who are you?"
"Someone who knows the difference between a porter and a shadow-walker when she sees one," the girl said, crossing her arms. She tilted her head, studying him. "And someone who noticed you're not trying to turn me into paste for stealing your lunch, which means you've got a reason to keep your head down."
A chill ran down Aaric's spine. He'd been so careful. So careful—
"Relax, shadow-boy," she said, and there was something almost kind in her tone. "I'm not here to trade secrets. I'm here because people like us need to stick together in this Tower. The porters, the nobodies, the ones the guilds don't bother counting." She stuck out her hand. "Name's Syl. I'm a... let's call it an independent agent."
Aaric didn't take her hand. "What do you want?"
"Right now? To warn you." Syl's expression shifted, became serious. "There's a hunter in the markets. Wears silver and black. Ironflame Guild colors. Been asking questions about weak climbers who survive what they shouldn't. Been describing someone with raven hair and a shadow-aura." Her dark eyes held his. "Sound like anyone you know?"
Aaric's mouth went dry. An Ironflame scout. Hunting shadows.
"There's more," Syl continued.
"There's a black market for tainted crystals—corrupted essence from Floor 5 beasts. They're cheap, they're dangerous, and they're killing people. I think someone's flooding the lower settlements on purpose. Maybe a test. Maybe a weapon." She stepped closer. "Your sister's on the west edge, yeah? In that cottage by the wall? She's been buying crystals from a vendor called Vex. Vex sells tainted stock."
Aaric felt something cold and sharp unfurl in his chest. "How do you know about my sister?"
"Because I know everything that happens in Dawnvale's underbelly," Syl said simply.
"And because I watch out for people who watch out for people. You're carrying her medicine yourself. You visit her every night. You're not just a nobody trying to survive—you're someone with something to lose."
She smiled sadly.
"That makes you vulnerable."
Before Aaric could respond, voices echoed from the market.
Syl grabbed his wrist. "We need to move. Guild enforcement heading this way. And trust me, you don't want to be questioned about that shadow-aura today." She pulled him toward a narrow gap between two vendor tents.
"Wait—" Aaric started to protest, but the purple cloaks of Stanners enforcers were already visible, moving through the crowd with authority.
He followed Syl.
Over the next three days, Syl became a constant presence.
She appeared at the cottage with news about Vex's tainted crystal operation. She warned him that a Stanners Guild captain named Rydor wanted him assigned to a "simple" escort mission on Floor 3—too simple, Syl said, her eyes sharp with suspicion. She brought him information about the Ironflame scout's movements, her descriptions disturbingly accurate.
And she brought him something else: a proposition.
"There's a heist I'm planning," she said on the third evening, crouched in the shadows outside his cottage. "Merchant convoy carrying high-grade essence stones from the guild treasury. I need someone who can move fast and hit hard without leaving obvious marks. Someone with shadow-essence who won't show up on standard aura-detection wards." She grinned. "Interested?"
"No," Aaric said immediately. "That's stealing from the guild. That's—"
"Survival," Syl interrupted.
"The crystals I'm after are earmarked for the elite climbers. The ones going to the tournament. Meanwhile, people like your sister die from tainted stones." She leaned back, expression unreadable.
"You want to be strong, shadow-boy? Strength isn't given. It's taken."
The words echoed something Ariea had said to him once, long ago.
"I'll think about it," Aaric said finally.
But he didn't have time to think.
On the morning of his sixth day training in the ruins, a messenger from the Stanners Guild found him in the market. The message was simple:
Report to Captain Rydor immediately. Escort assignment, Floor 3 southern route. High priority. Failure is not an option.
Aaric's hands clenched. This was exactly what Syl had warned him about.
But he had to go. He needed the payment to buy Lynia real medicine, not the cheap tainted crystals that were slowly poisoning her.
He packed light—a spare jacket, a waterskin, and three essence crystals crushed into powder in a sealed pouch. He visited Lynia one last time before dawn, kissing her forehead while she slept fevered and restless.
"I'll be back," he whispered. "I promise. I'll be strong when I return."
The escort mission departed at dawn.
It was supposed to be simple: guide a merchant caravan down the southern route of Floor 3, protect them from monsters, deliver supplies to an outpost, return.
Darnell would have completed this in a day with eyes closed.
But Darnell was dead.
Aaric took his position at the caravan's rear, where the weak ones always went. The merchant guards—five of them, all 2-star or 3-star—barely acknowledged his presence. One spat, muttering something about "porters and deadweight."
They moved through the glowing forests of Floor 3 for hours.
The air shimmered with essence. Strange vines pulsed with bioluminescent light. In the distance, the roars of Floor 3 beasts echoed like distant thunder.
Aaric felt it immediately.
A wrongness. A weight in the air that had nothing to do with the Tower's oppressive energy.
"Captain," he called out to the lead guard, a scarred woman named Tess. "Something's wrong. The birds aren't—"
"Quiet, porter," one of the other guards snapped. "You're paid to carry, not think."
Aaric swallowed the response and kept walking.
Five minutes later, the forest went silent.
Not gradually. All at once. Like someone had pressed a mute button on the world.
"Company," Tess hissed, her hand moving to her sword.
They came from three directions at once.
Not Floor 3 beasts. Human climbers. Eight of them, wearing dark leather and carrying weapons with practiced ease. And they all had one thing in common—they moved with a unity that screamed guild training.
"Merchants of Stanners Guild," the leader called out, stepping from the trees. He was tall, his hair streaked with gray, his armor bearing the silver and black of Ironflame Guild. "We're here to requisition your cargo. Peacefully, if you cooperate."
Aaric's breath caught.
"Ironflame Guild has no authority on Floor 3," Tess spat. "This is Stanners territory. Back off, or we report this to the Guild Masters."
The Ironflame leader smiled coldly. "The report won't make it anywhere, I'm afraid. Neither will you." He raised his hand.
The eight guild members moved in, weapons drawn.
What happened next occurred in fragments, like a memory fragmented by shock:
Tess striking first with a shout. The ring of steel on steel. A younger guard falling, blood spraying red. Another guard screaming a warning about archers in the trees.
And Aaric—
Aaric felt the shadow rise in him like a living thing.
It wasn't a conscious choice. It was instinct. Survival. The same pull that had awakened his power in that forest when Darnell died.
He crushed a powder crystal between his hands.
The shadow erupted from him in a wave of black mist—uncontrolled, unrefined, but undeniably powerful. It lashed outward like a whip, wrapping around one of the Ironflame climbers and slamming him against a tree.
The man screamed.
Everything froze.
Every eye in the forest turned toward Aaric.
The Ironflame leader's expression shifted from arrogance to shock to hunger in a single heartbeat.
"Shadow essence," he whispered. Then, louder, his voice sharp as a blade: "Secure him! The Veil Lords want shadow-awakeners alive!"
Chaos erupted.
Tess and her guards fought harder, suddenly realizing what the real target was. But they were outnumbered, and the Ironflame climbers were stronger.
Aaric tried to run.
He didn't get far.
A shadow-net—pure blackness woven by an Ironflame mage—caught him mid-sprint. It wrapped around his legs and torso, immobilizing him. He struggled, trying to summon his own shadows to cut through, but the effort only tightened the net.
The Ironflame leader approached, drawing a curved blade.
"A wild shadow-awakener," he murmured, studying Aaric with the expression of a collector appraising a valuable artifact. "Young. Uncontrolled. Desperate." His eyes glinted. "And judging by your power signature, you carry inherited essence. Interesting." He raised the blade. "Don't worry, boy. The Veil Lords will take good care of you. They'll refine you into something useful. Or feed you to something hungry. Either way, your days as a free climber are finished."
The blade descended.
Aaric squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the end—
And the forest erupted in silver light.
A figure moved with impossible speed, cutting through the Ironflame climbers like wind through silk. Silver hair flashed. A voice rang out, cold as winter:
"Anyone touches what's mine, and I'll feed them their own shadows."
Aaric's eyes snapped open.
Standing before him, armor gleaming and eyes burning with fury, was Ariea.
Behind her stood twenty Stanners Guild warriors, weapons drawn.
The Ironflame leader's face drained of color. "Vice Leader," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "We were simply—"
"Ambushing a merchant caravan on Stanners territory," Ariea finished, her voice cutting like a blade. "Attempting to capture a Stanners climber with shadow essence, whom the guild has clearly marked as off-limits." She stepped forward. "That sounds like an act of war, doesn't it?"
The Ironflame leader backed away slowly. "This was an unauthorized operation. The guild leadership will—"
"The guild leadership," Ariea interrupted, "will receive my formal complaint within the hour. If I find one more Ironflame scout within twenty floors of Dawnvale, I will personally ensure their corpses feed the beasts on Floor 5." She smiled, and it was the smile of a predator. "Are we clear?"
The Ironflame leader nodded rapidly. "Crystal clear, Vice Leader."
He and his climbers retreated back into the forest, moving with haste.
Ariea waited until they were gone before turning to Aaric.
She was panting slightly, her silver hair disheveled, her eyes furious. She reached down and helped him to his feet, cutting through the shadow-net with a gesture.
"You're an idiot," she said quietly.
"I—" Aaric started.
"Don't talk," she snapped. "I was on my way back from the tournament when I got a report that a shadow-awakener was causing disturbances in Dawnvale. I thought it might be you. Then I felt your shadow-surge from three miles away." She grabbed his arm. "We need to leave. Now. The Ironflame won't stay deterred for long, and this incident is going to cause problems."
Tess and the surviving guards approached, bowing deeply. "Vice Leader," one of them called. "Thank you for—"
"Complete the escort mission," Ariea ordered. "If anyone asks, this ambush never happened. Report it as a successful defense against monster raids." She pulled Aaric forward. "Move."
They left the caravan behind and ran deeper into the forest, Ariea moving with a grace that suggested she could do this blindfolded.
By the time the sun began to set, they had reached a small cave overlooking Dawnvale.
Ariea released his arm and leaned against the cave wall, finally letting herself breathe. Her expression was a storm—anger, worry, and something else beneath it that Aaric couldn't name.
"You were supposed to hide," she said quietly. "You were supposed to stay weak and forgotten until I came back."
"I was trying—" Aaric began.
"I know," Ariea interrupted. "For Lynia. For your sister." She looked at him, and her eyes were different now—softer, older somehow. "That shadow-surge... how long have you been training?"
"Five days," Aaric admitted.
Ariea closed her eyes. "Five days of untrained shadow manipulation has just painted a target on your back that every faction in this Tower is going to see." She opened her eyes again, and there was decision in them. "When Kael disappeared, he was already 5-star. You're 1-star using inherited essence that's not even properly integrated. The difference is..." she paused, choosing her words carefully,
"fatal."
"So, what do I do?" Aaric asked.
Ariea stepped forward and placed her hand on his heart, just above where the shadows coiled beneath his skin. "You listen to me. Starting now. Starting today. Because if you don't, the Ironflame, the Sovereigns Circle, the legacy clans, the Veil Lords—they will all hunt you. And unlike me, they won't be gentle."
Behind her, in the darkness of the cave, Aaric saw his shadow flicker on the wall.
For just a moment, it looked like Kael's silhouette.
Smiling.