Floor 55 of the Celestial Tower opened into a vast open-air structure: a ring of drifting stone platforms circling a central void.
Illusory clouds hung overhead.
Wind tunnels howled unpredictably.
Glowing targets flashed into existence and vanished randomly, releasing shock pulses when struck—or when ignored for too long.
This floor tested one thing:
Accuracy under pressure.
Most fighters dreaded it.
Julian Breadstone appeared wearing a quiver stuffed with rubber chickens instead of arrows.
"WELCOME BACK, DEAR COSMIC CROWD!
We have reached one of the tower's most humbling floors—where shaky hands crumble dreams and missed shots invite PAIN."
Jimmy sighed. "Why the chickens?"
Julian whispered, "I thought they'd help me blend in."
"They don't."
Julian pouted.
But suddenly his eyes lit up.
"OHHH! HERE SHE COMES! MY SINGULAR, CALM, BEAUTIFUL SENSE OF PRECISION!"
The arena screens tightened on a lean woman crouched at the edge of a drifting stone platform.
Dark hair braided tightly against her scalp.
A simple leather vest.
Rough-woven trousers.
A bow made of pale yellow wood, clearly handmade.
A quiver of arrows fletched with mismatched but carefully maintained feathers.
Her eyes were steady.
Focused.
Not sharp with aggression—but sharp with clarity.
Her tag hovered silently:
Eira Thornbow – Ranger of the Plains
Jimmy nodded.
"Eira Thornbow. Not related to Whisperbound Eira. Totally different clans."
Julian pressed his face to the camera rune.
"She is SO GOOD at calm. LOOK at that posture! That back alignment! That sublime focus!"
A glowing target appeared in the air across the void.
Many fighters braced.
Some hesitated.
Some fired too early.
Eira didn't move.
She waited.
Wind howled.
Platforms listed sideways.
Then—
a lull.
Her bow rose.
One smooth, clean motion.
Her arrow sailed.
The target shattered silently.
She had not rushed.
She had not second-guessed.
She had waited for the right breath.
Julian spun in three midair somersaults.
"PERFECTION! SUBLIME! A MASTERCLASS OF 'WAIT-FOR-IT-NOW!'"
Jimmy nodded, impressed.
"She learned archery from her grandmother. In the plains wind. No magical aids. No fancy arrows. Just repetition until instinct replaced thought."
Another target appeared—
then vanished.
Then reappeared closer.
Most fighters scrambled to adjust.
Eira did not.
She stepped sideways, drawing a second arrow without looking.
Her movement was not fast—just efficient.
She considered the target angle.
Not the distance.
Not the wind.
Just the pattern.
She released.
Direct hit.
A fighter behind her whispered, "Did you—did you SEE that?!"
Another hissed, "She didn't even AIM!"
She had aimed.
Just not the way they believed aiming worked.
Julian whispered like announcing art in a museum:
"She calculates geometry intuitively. Her eyes track drift, angle, momentum. Her hands adjust for tension based on muscle memory alone. NO magic. ALL skill."
Jimmy nodded.
"She's a natural range fighter—but she built her skill from scratch. Years of hunting. Years of long-distance scouting. She knows the wind better than most people know themselves."
A sudden hazard erupted:
A pressure wave blasted across several platforms, knocking fighters into the void.
Eira crouched.
Shielded her quiver.
Stayed low.
The wave struck.
She did not fall.
Her body shifted slightly to the right, weight leaning with the force, letting the wind pass around her instead of against her.
When she stood again, she was already drawing another arrow.
A tower-spawn harpy swooped down from above, talons extended, eyes glowing with aggression.
Fighters screamed.
Eira didn't even look up.
She fired.
The arrow hit the harpy in its hollow chestplate, disrupting its energy core.
The creature dissolved in midair, leaving only twinkling particles behind.
Julian shrieked happily.
"SHE SHOT IT WITHOUT LOOKING!!! JIMMY—JIMMY DID YOU SEE—?!"
Jimmy nodded slowly.
"That was a reflex shot. That means she's been attacked from above a LOT."
Julian nodded, solemn.
"Nature is rude."
As platforms drifted out of alignment, Eira leapt to another without hesitation.
Not with acrobatics.
Not with bursts of chi.
Just a clean stride and a confident landing.
A swordfighter nearby shouted, "WATCH YOUR STEP—THIS ONE SHIFTS—"
The platform lurched.
Eira leaned, letting the lurch redirect her momentum, then planted her feet firmly.
"I know," she said simply.
The swordfighter stared.
"You're… not even worried?"
She scanned the sky.
Then the windlines.
Then the rhythm of platform drift.
"No," she said. "It's predictable."
The swordfighter opened his mouth to argue—
and a massive air-blast swept through the area.
Eira bent her knees.
The blast passed harmlessly overhead.
Most fighters were launched screaming.
Julian clapped wildly.
"She OUTSTUDIED THE WIND!"
Jimmy nodded.
"Plains survival training. If you grow up out there, the weather becomes your teacher."
Another wave of targets appeared.
Six this time.
Flickering.
Glitching.
Moving in odd patterns.
Most fighters panicked.
Some fired quickly.
Some missed.
Some hesitated and got stunned.
Eira observed.
She tracked the randomness of the flickers.
But randomness wasn't the right word.
It was a sequence.
A pattern of disappearance and reappearance.
Left, center, right, up, left, down.
She spoke softly.
"Six arrows."
Her bow rose.
She fired three in rapid succession.
Shifted stance.
Fired two more.
Paused.
One more arrow snapped free.
All six targets shattered.
Julian lost the ability to form real words.
"AKFDJLDSKFJDLSKFJ–!!"
Jimmy chuckled.
"Calm down."
"I CAN'T."
But the tower was not done.
A guardian emerged—a tall golem with rotating rings of wind energy swirling around its arms.
It hurled compressed gusts like spears.
Eira watched it quietly.
She tested the wind with a small hand gesture.
"This one's tricky."
The golem charged.
Eira stepped backward—
not away,
but into a zone where the wind rings would destabilize at the golem's next rotation.
The golem swung.
Its own blast deflected sideways, striking a platform and shattering it.
Eira fired.
Her arrow pierced the core between the rotating wind-rings.
The guardian collapsed into whirling dust.
Julian clutched his heart.
"SOMEONE WRITE A BOOK ABOUT HER. I DON'T CARE IF IT'S FICTION—I WANT IT ANYWAY."
Jimmy nodded thoughtfully.
"She reads the room as well as Tessa reads terrain and Maris reads patterns."
The final challenge of Floor 55 was the Triple Drift Leap—
three platforms drifting in spirals in different directions.
Most fighters tried to time their jumps.
Many fell.
Eira studied the drift.
Then the wind pressure.
Then the distance.
She shook her head.
"No. Not timing."
She stepped back three paces.
Exhaled.
And ran.
She leapt—
Wind caught her.
She adjusted her posture—
just slightly—
letting the wind curve her arc the way a kite rides a breeze.
She landed on the first platform, which drifted upward.
She pushed off immediately.
Wind pressed from the right—
she leaned left.
Second platform.
Final jump.
One last drift of wind—
she tilted her shoulders.
Third platform.
Perfect landing.
No panic.
No hesitation.
She reached the exit gate, drawing one last breath.
Calm.
Precise.
Ready.
Julian lifted both arms like a victorious referee.
"EIRA THORNBOW!
THE ARCHER WHO RESPECTS THE WIND!
THE BOW THAT NEVER TREMBLES!
A HUNTER OF PATTERNS AND POSSIBILITY!"
Jimmy nodded.
"She'll make top 500. Easy."
Eira stepped into Floor 56.
Quiet.
Steady.
Deadly.
Her bow lowered.
Her eyes focused upward.
Ready for whatever the tower held next.