The first thing Eryan felt was cold—a biting chill that cut through him as though he were lying in the heart of a frozen wasteland. His chest heaved as he struggled to remember how he’d come to be here. The last thing he recalled was the storm, a ferocious tempest that clawed at the sky with its howling wind. Then there had been blinding light, and then—nothing.

A low, echoing groan rippled through the stone beneath him. Eryan pushed himself up, his muscles sore and tremulous, and the sight before him stole his breath away. He was no longer in the storm.

The floor he stood on was vast, made of stone so dark it looked almost obsidian. It stretched endlessly before him, covered in jagged edges and runes that glowed a soft, eerie blue. Above him, the ceiling arched into a dome that seemed to touch the clouds, a hollow echo of an unending sky. But the most unsettling part was the quiet—the kind of silence that presses into your chest and makes you question whether you’ve lost your hearing or your mind.

As he surveyed the area, Eryan felt an unexplainable pulse, a vibration deep within his veins. His eyes widened as the sensation spread through him, bringing with it an electrifying, almost joyful warmth. He looked down at his hands, and for a moment, they glistened, a faint spectrum of shifting colours tracing the lines of his skin. Prismatic Aetherline. The stories spoke of it as a gift, a power held by those who had touched the tower’s deepest truths. But for Eryan, it felt both familiar and alien, as if it had always been a part of him yet never fully revealed until now.

A voice resonated through the vast expanse, deep and ancient as if carved into the very stones of the tower.

"Welcome, challenger. Prove yourself or succumb."

Eryan’s heart pounded in his chest. He clenched his fists and felt the Aetherline surge in response, a hum that echoed in his bones. This was a place of trials, of power, and of impossible challenges. His breath quickened as the ground trembled, and a series of stone pillars burst upward in a formation before him. Each pillar bore runes that shimmered with the same blue glow, pulsing rhythmically as if in time with his heartbeat.

The voice spoke again.

"The path begins here."

Before Eryan could prepare, the pillars shifted, forming a path that led to an open, chasm-like void. The floor was now suspended, supported by thin, shifting platforms made of the same strange stone. He could see the chasm below, a swirling vortex of shadow as if the floor had been torn from reality and left only emptiness beneath.

Without warning, the platforms started to move. They jerked and spun, sometimes sinking into the shadow below, other times rising with a sudden jolt that nearly threw him off balance. Eryan’s pulse quickened, and his eyes narrowed as he focused on the nearest platform. The challenge was clear: cross the abyss and survive.

As he leapt to the first platform, a low growl reverberated through the air. Emerging from the shadows, a creature coalesced. Its scales shimmered with a dark sheen, blending seamlessly with the gloom. Eyes of molten gold met Eryan’s, and sharp, elongated claws clicked together as they moved. A Wyrmkin—a being forged of dark matter, a guardian of forgotten floors and treacherous trials.

Eryan’s breath caught as he took a step back. The creature lunged forward, its form a blur of motion and malevolent intent. Instinct took over, and the prismatic glow in Eryan’s veins flared, casting light against the encroaching darkness. His hands moved, and shards of glistening, translucent energy appeared in his palms, sharp and tingling with power.

The Wyrmkin stopped, eyes narrowing in recognition. It could sense the Aetherline, the legacy that Eryan carried. Its mouth twisted into a grin, fangs glistening as it prepared to strike.

"Come on, Eryan," he whispered to himself, the name strange yet familiar on his tongue. "This is just the beginning."

The air crackled with tension as the first clash echoed through the floor, and Eryan met his challenge head-on.