Danny did not arrive at the base of the Celestial Tower the way most fighters did—panting, bruised, shaken from the lower-floor battles. He arrived like a quiet storm drifting in from a horizon no one had seen before.
The air shimmered faintly around him.
Not with heat.
Not with pressure.
Not with killing intent.
But with creation.
A warmth that made the runes in the tower's foundation flicker, as if the ancient structure recognized a lineage it hadn't sensed in millennia.
Danny's golden dragon aura was low, soft, almost gentle—but it pulsed with a depth that could reshape stone if it wished.
He placed one hand on the obsidian pillar beside the tower's entrance.
He inhaled.
And the tower inhaled with him.
"Floor one," he murmured. "Let's get to the top."
He stepped inside.
The door sealed behind him, and the Celestial Tower—an ancient superstructure built to judge champions—shuddered as if someone had disturbed its sleep.
Floor 1: The Path of First Intent
The first floor was designed for beginners.
Simple terrain.
Simple threats.
Simple puzzles.
Except it wasn't simple now.
Not with him in it.
The air thickened the moment Danny walked through the threshold. The floor's environment spiraled through several defensive presets in the span of a second—forest, desert, metal chamber, maze—before panicking and reverting to its default grassy plain, as if hoping he hadn't noticed the instability.
Danny did.
He felt everything.
He saw the threads of tower logic unraveling around him like strands of golden code, adjusting, re-adjusting, trying to recalibrate for a fighter far beyond the intended starting tier.
Danny raised his eyes—and the tower seemed to react, flinching like a living creature.
"I'm not here to break you," he said softly. "I'm just passing through."
A breeze moved across the grass.
The first wave of guardians appeared—small constructs shaped like armored goblins, holding brittle metal spears. They were meant to be threatening to novices, but harmless to real fighters.
Danny smiled kindly at them.
"Let's make this quick."
He took a single step.
Golden light shimmered around his body—not bursting outward, not blazing into brilliance—just rising like a calm sunrise. It rippled across the floor, and the constructs instinctively backed away.
They didn't choose to.
They simply knew.
Danny flicked his fingers.
Not a punch.
Not a blast.
Just a gesture.
The constructs fell apart into harmless spark fragments, dissolving like sand caught in a gentle breeze.
He walked forward.
Floor 1 accepted defeat.
The gate to Floor 2 opened without hesitation.
Danny stepped through.
Floor 2: Echoes of Skill
The environment shifted violently when he entered Floor 2.
Stone pillars.
Spinning weapons.
Shifting floors.
All designed to test agility.
Danny tilted his head.
His golden aura fluttered faintly as he took in the geometry. The entire floor was built around timing—jumps between rising pillars, leaps through ring traps, dodges through rotating blades.
Swift would've loved this floor.
Jake would've smashed the blades and walked through.
Danny?
Danny walked.
Every trap slowed as he approached, as if the floor was recalibrating so he could pass without needing to wait. Pillars lowered themselves to be level with his stride. The rotating blades lost momentum, drifting to a stop like windmills with no wind.
He stepped past each hazard, gently brushing his fingertips across mechanisms that had once challenged thousands of fighters.
"Rest," Danny murmured.
And the mechanisms obeyed.
He didn't absorb them or destroy them.
He simply stabilized them by existing near them—a side effect of the Golden Creation Flame resonating through the very material of the floor.
The tower registered this phenomenon.
It didn't like it.
The guardians appeared—this time humanoid archers made of stone, drawing glowing bows.
Danny raised one hand.
Glowing filaments of creation coiled between his fingers—not as weapons, but as pure potential. He flicked his wrist.
The arrows dissolved mid-air.
He walked forward.
The archers bowed.
Not consciously.
Not out of fear.
But because something older than the tower itself told them to.
Danny exhaled softly.
He didn't want to dominate the tower.
He wanted the tower to adapt so it wouldn't break under what was coming.
The Wolf King.
Shadeclaw.
Bones.
Dark Buddies.
Every calamity, every predator—
they were climbing.
Danny wasn't climbing for glory.
He was climbing for preparation.
And the tower felt that.
The gate to Floor 3 opened immediately.
Floor 3: The Beast Room
Massive beasts made of mana burst from the shadows, snarling.
Fangs bared.
Claws extended.
Danny crouched slightly, hands open in greeting.
The beasts paused mid-charge.
He reached out, gently placing a palm on the muzzle of the first one.
Golden creation energy pulsed softly.
Not a blast.
Not an attack.
A reassurance.
"Shh," Danny whispered. "You were made for this trial. I'll pass through quickly. No reason for anyone to get hurt."
The beast lowered its head.
The others followed.
The tower froze.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
No fighter had ever calmed the beasts.
They weren't creatures with emotions or instincts—they were constructs forged from tower energy.
Yet Danny's presence made them… gentler.
Like they remembered something.
Or someone.
He stroked the muzzle once more, then stepped past the group. The beasts parted to form a path.
The door opened immediately.
Floor 4: The Infinite Ladder
This floor really tried.
The environment shifted into an endless ladder stretching upward into clouds, each rung coated with slippery magic meant to test endurance.
Danny began climbing—
and the ladder moved.
Not away from him.
With him.
Like a lift.
He blinked, amused.
"That's new."
He continued climbing, but the ladder glided upward like a ride, carrying him straight to the top. Runes flickered in embarrassment.
Danny stepped off after barely ten seconds and faced the next gate.
The tower sighed.
He did not.
He smiled softly.
"This isn't a fight," he said. "It's a journey."
Floor 5: The First Real Guardian
The tower finally had enough.
Floor 5 shifted into a circular arena of marble and light.
A guardian descended from the ceiling—
a warrior-shaped construct twice Danny's height, holding a blade made of pure, crackling mana.
Its core pulsed with violet flame.
This was the one designed to halt early surges.
It roared.
Danny didn't move.
He simply raised his eyes.
Golden light flickered in his irises.
The guardian stepped forward—
and froze.
Its sword shook.
Its runes dimmed.
For a moment, it looked at Danny—not with hostility, but with something closer to awe.
Danny nodded.
"I'm not your enemy."
The guardian stumbled back as if pushed by unseen force. The tower tried to force it to attack. Runes flared. Commands screamed through its circuits.
Attack.
Attack.
ATTACK.
Danny sighed.
"Not today."
The guardian's sword cracked.
Then shattered.
Then the guardian bowed.
It dissolved into light that swirled once, then entered Danny's aura as harmless creation threads.
He didn't absorb its power.
He freed it.
The Flow Increases
The tower realized something profound:
Danny wasn't a challenger.
He was a stabilizer.
A restorer.
A creator.
And this was dangerous—
not because he was hostile,
but because the tower wasn't built to handle fighters who bent its nature without trying.
Danny stepped through Floor 6.
Floor 7.
Floor 8.
Each floor adapted to him, shifted around him, tried to match the rhythm of his presence.
Beasts calmed.
Constructs bowed.
Traps softened.
Environments reorganized to harmony instead of attack.
Danny didn't try to do this.
It simply happened.
Golden dragons weren't destroyers or conquerors.
They were anchors.
The tower had forgotten what it felt like to be near one.
But now it remembered.
Danny climbed.
Swift was elegant.
Jake was forceful.
Shadeclaw was deadly.
The Wolf King was terrifying.
But Danny?
Danny was inevitable.
By Floor 10, his steps were weightless.
By Floor 30, the tower had stopped resisting.
By Floor 50, the tower began leading him upward—guiding him toward something deeper.
The creation flame hummed in his chest.
Danny could feel the others climbing, the chaos gathering overhead, the war yet to come.
He didn't rush.
He didn't run.
He simply walked.
And the tower opened for him.
Welcomed him.
Prepared for him.
Every step echoing one truth:
Danny would reach the top.
Danny would surpass the Wolf King.
Danny was not climbing to win—
He was climbing to protect.
As he stepped into Floor 89, the runes pulsed in sequence, an ancient whisper resonating through stone:
"Golden one…
the tower remembers you."
Danny smiled.
"Good. Then let's go even higher."
He stepped forward.
And the tower opened its heart to him.
*******************++********************
Hey gang, add this story to your library. If we hit 50 library adds and 20 reviews, plus 50 power stones I will drop 20 chapters.