Sailor slowly rose to his feet, leaning on his hands. Every muscle, every bone screamed in pain. The trembling wouldn't subside, even after the dragon had returned control of his own body to him. Everything burned inside—not from fire, but from monstrous overexertion, from the fact that his body had barely withstood what it had gone through. The stone fragments underfoot crunched, mixing with droplets of blood left on the floor after the orc's destruction. Sailor was barely breathing, but his mind was already clearing, beginning to formulate a plan. He couldn't make a mistake on the next step.
"Listen carefully," said the dragon. His voice cut through the silence like a cold blade, and every word carried an undeniable command. "You think that was hell just now? That was a warm-up. The real game starts higher up. And believe me, it gets worse from here. Each floor is stronger than the last. You're too slow, you think too much. I'm giving you an opportunity—use it."
Sailor remained silent, feeling a heaviness in his chest and a strange relief at the same time. He understood: he no longer had the right to fear or doubt. Every move, every decision was a matter of life and death. He slowly shuffled towards the edge of the crater, trying to gather his strength, focusing his gaze on the route that seemed both real and impossible. The walls, once barren and indifferent, now swarmed with shadows. They stirred, reaching for him as if trying to steal the last vestige of his will.
"Look at the map," the dragon continued. "This Tower has 77 floors. You're on the 47th. Thirteen ahead. And each one will try to break you. If you're not ready—they will. The Tower counts time. A little over two days left. If we're late, all this chaos will break free. Want me to show you the timer?"
Sailor nodded. A semi-transparent window flared up in his consciousness. A timer—strict, merciless. Hours, minutes, seconds counting down like a death sentence. Red numbers flickered against a dark background, as if the Tower itself was watching his every move, evaluating his chances.
"Two days…" ran through his head. This short time turned into a stone slab pressing on his shoulders. They had to move on…
"Correct," the dragon's voice sounded soft, but held a steely precision. "Don't doubt. We're not here for a stroll. Every floor is a trial. And you'll pass them not just to survive. You'll learn to master yourself. Magic, body, mind—it's all in your hands. But you are weak. And I have no intention of doing your work for you. I will merely give you the tools and guide your hand."
Anxiety, mixed with irritation, stirred inside Sailor. He knew the dragon could take control at any moment. He understood and hated it—this feeling of lost freedom, even if it saved his life. He took a step forward, feeling his muscles clench again, the blood pulsing in his temples.
"First—training," said the dragon. "I'll show you how to use magic. Not for fireworks. For survival. Feel the power you carry within but don't understand. On your own, you won't be able to control it—not until I guide your body."
Sailor clenched his palms, trying to focus. He felt energy spreading through his nerves, a slight tingling on his skin turning into an electric charge straining to break free. The dragon observed, letting him try, and immediately corrected every movement—guided his hand, amplified the flow, maintained the fragile balance between power and destruction.
"Too slow," came the verdict. "Your magic isn't a toy. Watch how it's done."
The dragon raised his hand—and black flame erupted around it, swirled in the air, cut through space like a blade, and slammed into one of the shattered columns. The stone cracked, fragments flew aside, and Sailor felt a dull tremor in his chest. His heart beat faster—this wasn't just a spectacle. It was the sensation of genuine power that could be controlled.
I have to learn this, flashed a cold, clear thought. Otherwise, I won't reach the 77th floor…
The dragon smirked—without a smile, but with clear mockery. "You think this is the end? I was just warming you up, testing your patience. The next floor won't wait for you to gain confidence. Its monsters will tear you apart before you can even think about magic."
Sailor felt his breath quicken. Every movement was a struggle. He tried again, directing the energy as he'd been taught. A fragile flame flickered on his fingertips, obedient to his will, but it was weak, sputtered, and died.
"Alright," said the dragon. "Not perfect yet, but it'll do for understanding. It's enough against the weak ones. Against guardians—only with me. On your own, you're still too weak."
Sailor clenched his fists. Weak… I'm tired of being weak.
The dragon merely nodded. "Soon you'll stop. But first, we need to move. The Tower doesn't wait. The timer is ticking. A little over two days left. If we delay—every monster that lives here will break free. Do you understand what that means?"
If we don't make it…—his thoughts froze into an icy lump. All of this will get out…
The dragon didn't add anything else. He stepped to the edge of the hall, pointed forward, and made Sailor follow him. Every step was difficult. The floor, riddled with cracks, the remains of the orc—everything was covered in ash mixed with blood and shreds of flesh. Sailor dared not look at his feet—he felt that one wrong glance could kill the last of his will.
"Study the floor's structure," the dragon said as they walked. "The Tower remembers everything. It analyzes you. Adapt. If something breaks—fix it. If something frightens you—don't stop. Fear here equals death. Don't pity yourself and don't waste time. Every decision you make is a choice between life and instant death."
Sailor gritted his teeth, feeling the pain gradually dissolve into icy focus. He now noticed every detail: where a deep crack was, where a sharp fragment lay, where a magical trace still glimmered from the orc's death. Every stone, every handful of ash became a tool he could use to stay alive.
"You didn't think it would be easy," the dragon's voice sounded almost a whisper, yet penetrated directly into his consciousness. "The Tower is no place for the weak. You are weak. But you will get there. How many floors left? Fourteen? Thirteen? The Tower itself keeps count. We must go before it decides to unleash everything living within it."
Sailor nodded silently. He knew: weakness was not an option here. Knew that every movement was a decision, every breath a resource.
The dragon stepped forward. The darkness around them swirled, as if the Tower itself was watching their every step, testing if Sailor was ready to accept his fate. He felt magic flowing through his veins, felt his body—no longer quite human, but not yet draconic—merging with the power his ally provided.
"Let's move on," said the dragon. "I will guide your body if necessary. But the decisions are yours to make. We're heading to the 50th floor. It will be worse there. Do you understand what I mean?"
Pain… death… all of it again…—thoughts pierced his brain, but now a cold resolve smothered the fear. I cannot retreat.
The dragon only smirked. He knew—Sailor was ready. Not completely, but enough to go on, enough not to break under the pressure of the Tower, time, monsters, and this very living, hostile structure.
They stepped into the corridor leading to the 50th floor. The floor was dark, cracks glowing with a dull crimson light. Every step echoed in the stone walls. Sailor felt time compressing, pressure mounting, every muscle screaming from fatigue. But it no longer mattered. Only one thing was important—to move forward.
The dragon walked beside him. His presence was simultaneously oppressive and supportive, guiding Sailor's energy, provoking him, forcing him to think faster, act more decisively.
"We'll be at the 50th soon," he said. "That's where the real trial begins. Those who cannot act will remain on that floor forever. The Tower loves permanence… but you won't become one of them. I'll make sure of that."
Sailor nodded silently. Inside was an emptiness that gave birth to a strange, crystalline concentration. Every movement, every glance, every moment became a tool for survival. He walked, feeling that the Tower wasn't just watching—it was evaluating, it was ready to take the weak, it was already counting down the seconds until time ran out and the monsters broke free.