The stairway narrowed until it felt less like a passage and more like a throat. The walls pulsed faintly, veins of light dimming and brightening with each breath he took as though the Tower itself was alive and breathing with him. The silence here was absolute, broken only by the scrape of his boots and the soft hiss of his breath.
He had climbed for what felt like hours, his muscles screaming, his wounds reopening beneath the strain. His reflection followed him in the mirrored walls distorted, inhuman at times he could have sworn he looked half-dragon. Each step forward made him feel heavier, as if unseen hands were pressing him down, testing his resolve.
Then he reached the top. The stairway opened into a vast circular platform of polished crystal. The ceiling arched high above, vanishing into a haze of silver mist. Runes circled the edges like a great halo, shifting in rhythm with the tower's hum. And at the center stood it.
[Noble Silver Dragonling — Level 13]
It was enormous yet skeletal, its flesh translucent as glass, its veins gleaming with liquid light. Its wings were veils of crystal, folded neatly at its sides, refracting every stray beam of illumination into a thousand spectral hues. It had no eyes, only twin hollows filled with swirling galaxies of starlight. And from its spine rose jagged spikes of silver crystal, glimmering like the crowns of dead kings.
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It did not roar. It spoke. Not through air, but directly into his skull. "So… another seeker finds his way to my hall." The voice was layered ancient, resonant, both male and female, heavy with intellect and amusement.
Artorius raised his lance. "What are you?"
Smiling, a very eerie grin, "I am power manifest. Many have climbed here to challenge me, but they have all fallen before my feet."
A low hum filled the chamber. The crystal floor began to glow, runes igniting in intricate spirals around them. "You have clawed your way from the pit. You have killed your kin, stolen their strength, eaten their flesh. But you have no knowledge, little hatchling. It must wrangle you. Let me enlighten you to your true place in this Nest."
The air changed thickening, vibrating. The temperature plunged until cold air bloomed before him as he let out each breath. The dragon's wings unfurled, filling the chamber with light.
The fight began with thought. No movement, just pressure. An invisible force slammed into him, sending him skidding backward. The ground beneath him pulsed with each breath the dragon took. The second pulse of thought shattered the ground at his feet, causing him to sink even further in with spiderwebs spreading out.
He barely rolled aside as a crystal spear burst from the floor where he'd stood, shards slicing his arm open. He countered with a Heroic Blow, the light flaring golden against the dragon's pale radiance. The lance struck true only to bounce harmlessly off the creature's chest.
The dragon didn't flinch. It was studying him as one might study an insect. All he could do was stare in awe, that was his most powerful attack and it did nothing.
Then came the storm. Dozens of crystal shards rose from the floor, orbiting the dragon in perfect formation. With a single wordless thought, it sent them forward. They streaked through the air like meteors, curving midflight to follow his movements.
Artorius ran, wings flaring to life as he twisted through the barrage. Each shard that missed shattered against the walls in a blossom of glittering dust. He lunged low, closing the distance, and swung his lance at the dragon once more, not giving up. Sparks flared. A line of cracks splintered along the creature's forearm, but the damage healed instantly silver veins knitting over like ice.
So he could harm the thing, but it healed that small wound like it was nothing. This thing, what on earth was it! The dragon's voice was calm. "You fight with hunger. Admirable. But hunger blinds."
It raised one claw, and the world fractured. The entire room shattered into reflections. Now there were dozens of it, each suspended in mirrors of light, each moving differently. The runes multiplied, circling like a web of stars.
Artorius spun, disoriented, the reflections attacking him from every angle. Every blow he parried came from a new direction. Every motion echoed a moment too late. He struck one image and it shattered and felt pain explode across his ribs. The reflection had cut him.
Blood ran freely now, pattering against the mirrored floor. He roared, wings flaring, smashing through the illusions. His lance blazed with Heroic light as he charged the central figure, driving it forward with every ounce of strength.
The dragon finally moved. Its wings snapped wide, releasing a soundless shockwave that knocked him flat. The runes around the chamber flared in unison, bathing everything in blinding silver. From the ceiling descended a massive crystalline column, a weapon of pure magic. He looked up and saw death falling toward him.
Instinct screamed. His body moved on its own. He thrust his spear upward, all power condensed into one desperate strike. The blow met the falling light gold against silver. For a moment, the two forces clashed, the air warping under the pressure. Then his power broke as he ran out of energy.
The impact sent him flying across the platform, smashing him against the far wall. He felt countless bones break as he spat blood. The air left his lungs in a single ragged gasp.
The dragon lowered its head, drawing close until he could see his reflection rippling across its glass-like scales. "You are not without merit," it said softly. "You are still young. Still raw. Still bound to the weakness of flesh."
It extended one claw. The tip pressed lightly against his chest, over his heart. He couldn't move. Couldn't even breathe. The crystal beneath his back began to rise, wrapping around his limbs. His body seized, pain burning through every nerve as the Tower itself responded to its master's will. Silver light crawled up his arms, freezing muscle and bone.
He thrashed once, twice but the crystal spread faster, sealing him inch by inch in a coffin of translucent glass. His last sight was the dragon's head tilting in thought. "Rest, little hatchling. You will not die. You will be studied. Preserved. Made proper use of"
He tried to curse, but only blood came out. The world dimmed. His heart slowed. Light swallowed him whole. And far below, in the depths of the Dragon Nest, the Tower's glow flickered once then steadied, adding one more silent captive to its collection of fallen seekers.
-
He woke to the sound of a humming crystal. Light filtered through the translucent walls soft, sterile, silver and every breath he took came out hollow, echoing inside a space so small it felt like he was in a coffin.
His arms wouldn't move. Neither would his legs. When he tried to struggle, something beneath his skin responded first: silver lines burned through his veins, glowing faintly, suppressing every command his body tried to obey.
He was bound to a slab of glass that pulsed faintly with its own heartbeat. Around him, rows upon rows of figures hung suspended in crystalline cages humanoid, beastial, stranger things between. Some twitched faintly, shadows trapped in translucent prisons. Others were half-dissolved, their bodies bleeding into luminous filaments.
It wasn't a dungeon. It was a laboratory. The ceiling arched high above, lined with riblike struts of white crystal that pulsed like nerves. Draconic glyphs crawled across the walls, their shapes flowing like liquid runes. With every word they formed, he felt a spike of pressure behind his eyes, as if the language itself were digging through his thoughts.
And through it all, the Noble Dragon's voice filled the air calm, serene, merciless. "You are awake." The sound wasn't heard but felt, vibrating through the crystal, resonating with his bones. "We may begin."
Along with it seemed to be a small impish dragon creature, who was dancing around like a monkey. "Yes, yes," it cawed in joy and jumped right to its tasks with glee.
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The bindings constricted, and the pain came. Sharp, slow, deadly like he was being rewritten one nerve at a time. Threads of silver energy descended from the ceiling delicate, needle-fine and pierced his skin. They sank deeper, twisting through muscle and sinew, anchoring to his spine. He felt the dragon's curiosity probing his very soul, peeling back layers of memory and instinct like the pages of a book.
"Don't fear," the voice crooned. "I only wish to understand how you work!"
He wasn't being tortured. He was being studied, dissected, understood. Runes burned across his skin, spiraling up his arms in molten patterns. His blood glowed faintly, silver and gold. He screamed, but the sound dissolved, translated into sigils that bloomed along the wall.
"Your reactions are… remarkable," the voice mused. "You endure more than most. How fascinating." He knew why he was resilient and able to adapt to these horrific circumstances, his mutation was at play. Draconic Adaptation!
However the thing didn't know anything about that. Though it didn't stop it from trying to understand. The next few words he heard sent a shiver down his spine. "Let us see how far you can go!?"
He felt heat sear his chest, it started off slow then picked up. It felt as if he was being slowly roasted. His skin blistered, split… and then healed. The wounds sealed before the pain even faded. The skin that replaced it shimmered faintly, harder, tougher.
"You persist.How spectacular." The voice was no longer detached, it trembled with delight. "Let's continue and see what your body limit is!"
Then the pain began anew as the tests grew harsher. The temperature plummeted. Frost crawled over the glass. His breath crystallized midair. His lungs froze, his blood turned sluggish then thinned, adjusting to the cold.
Next, blades of crystal speared him clean through, suspending him midair like an insect on display then withdrew, dropping him back on the cold slab of crystal. His body quivered, knitting itself together stitch by stitch.
Poison followed, black, viscous and deadly as it seeped into his veins. His vision blurred, his pulse faltered… until his body learned the toxin's rhythm and burned it out. "Ah… the blood also learns."
He wanted to curse it, to beg it, to kill it. But the Dragon only sounded more enraptured as it took notes. "It seems like this is bodily self-corrective to any harm on a cellular level. Primitive, yet elegant."
It went further as he screamed until his throat tore, then healed again just to scream anew. Pressure built until his bones creaked. He couldn't breathe. The crystal pressed against his chest like the weight of the sea. He felt a rib snap then mend, crookedly but whole. He coughed blood, then his body steadied itself.
"Still alive," the Dragon murmured. "How… splendid."
He burned. He froze. He suffocated. He healed. Every new destruction became a new lesson for his body to learn from. His skin hardened, learning the pattern of each flame. His bones grew denser, resisting the crush. The poisons lost their potency as his blood rewrote itself, adapting to their corruption.
He felt that his body was no longer strictly human. Even worse yet, every adaptation came at a terrible cost. His mind was still human and it was all too much. Something seemed to snap inside of him as his mind frayed around the edges, stretched between agony and awakening.
He lost count of how many times he was brought close to death.
When it was done, if it ever was, he hung limp, half-conscious, suspended by the crystal threads that kept him alive. His breath was shallow, his skin marked with faint scars that wriggled and wiggled due to how fresh they were.
"How remarkable. No magic, no ritual, no higher intervention merely evolution written into flesh. Scorched, crushed, dissolved, impaled and yet you endure." The Noble Dragon loomed beyond the crystal wall, its form hazy and immense, eyes like silver eclipses. "That little session of ours would have killed anything many times over. And yet you endure."
The Noble Dragon's tone softened, almost gentle. "You are an extraordinary subject. We will start again soon until the truth in your flesh reveals itself to me."
The light dimmed. The hum slowed. The crystal cooled around him like a cooling breath. Darkness claimed him once more.
-
There was no rhythm to time in the crystal. Only the hum. Sometimes the light dimmed until nothing remained but his heartbeat echoing against the crystal. Sometimes it flared so bright it seared his vision into whiteness. That was how Artorius learned to count not by hours, but by intervals of torment.
Each time the light returned, he woke. Each time he woke, the Tower had changed. The chamber around him reshaped itself with each "session." Once, it resembled a cathedral of bone and quartz, arches stretching into beyond, runes drifting across the ceiling like constellations. The next time, it folded inward, mirror upon mirror, reflecting him in every direction until he was trapped inside a sphere of his own image.
The Tower seemed to be fluid thought; the Noble Dragon merely dreamed it into new geometries. The voice came and went, always calm, always curious: "You adapt quickly. The flesh learns, it resists. Fascinating."
They kept up this cycle for who knew how long as he was tortured, though the creature always loved to call it data gathering. He tried to keep count of the sessions. He lost track somewhere after sanity.
He stopped recognizing the sound of his own thoughts. His pulse became his metronome, his pain his anchor. The human part of him, the part that once studied, reasoned, cared, thinned like a dream fading at dawn.
And in the intervals between agony and unconsciousness, Artorius began to wonder: Was he still a man of flesh and will? Or was he becoming something else, something that wasn't him?
-
He woke to cold. Not the chill of air but the absence of self, his body divided, catalogued. He could see himself from somewhere above, a reflection suspended in a prism of glass. Limbs floated at impossible angles, nerves rendered as threads of light. His heart beat somewhere distant, not inside him but in a bowl of crystal that pulsed like a lantern.
The Noble Dragon's voice slid through the room, precise and reverent. "At last, the truth reveals itself."
He had long since ceased to panic; despair had stripped him hollow as he had become despondent. After so many "sessions," even this nightmarish violation had become routine to him.
Light gathered, and the Dragon materialized not the vast shape from the summit but a projection, a serpentine phantom woven of silver flame. Its eyeless head bent close to study the glowing organ. "Such pure ichor. Uncorrupted. How curious that you have such great blood in such a feeble shell."
Tubes of molten glass descended, touching the heart. Each pulse sent streams of golden blood upward through the conduits, branching into a hundred vials that hung from the ceiling like fruit. The Dragon's tail traced sigils across them; the liquid inside changed color amber, scarlet, black every shade producing a different sound, as though the blood were singing.
He tried to scream, but his jaw no longer belonged to him. Thin filaments of silver stitched his lips into silence. When he strained, they hummed, translating agony into data. "The harmony of pain is elegant," the Dragon mused. "But it is not my goal."
A second apparatus unfolded a lattice of mirrored plates. They turned slowly, reflecting a thousand fragments of his face. Where each reflection overlapped, new features formed: scales, horns, wings. Each version blinked independently and overtime he saw himself degrade and degenerate until he was only a brown sludge.
The Dragon observed them with priestly devotion. "Every generation weakens the blood. Yet yours remembers the First Song." The creature ignored his pitiful squirming as it commanded. "Commence resonance test. Observe the instability in the subject's ichor."
Light speared through him again, tracing his veins. But instead of silver, they flared gold. It wasn't a glow, it was a revolt. The light spilled beyond the instruments, staining the chamber in warm, living color. The machines screamed. One of the crystal conduits cracked; molten fluid sprayed across the floor, solidifying into shards of light. The runes burned out. For the first time, the Noble Dragon sounded startled. "…Impossible."
He reformed above the dais, his projection less defined edges flickering, as if his presence were glitching through dimensions. His hollow eyes burned brighter. "Repeat the test."
More needles descended. They pierced skin and bone, seeking submission. Artorius clenched his teeth, feeling his blood recoil like a living thing. The golden pulse spread faster, meeting each needle with resistance. Where the silver touched gold, the material corroded, melting away in curls of vapor.
"You defy structure. You rewrite the equation. Show me how!"
Chains wrapped around his neck and limbs. His bones crackled under the strain, but the fire inside him only grew. He no longer felt pain as sensation, it was direction. Instinct. Something old was rising through his blood, answering the call of domination with its own sovereignty.
A memory surfaced unbidden: his father's voice, low and iron-hard. "Pendrath blood bows to none." He smiled through clenched teeth, golden light bleeding from the corners of his eyes. The next surge broke the restraints.
They shattered with a sound like thunder under glass. Shards flew outward, embedding themselves in the crystal walls. Alarms rang in tones too high for mortal hearing. The other captives stirred in their prisons; their lights flickered awake.
The Noble Dragon drew itself higher, no longer calm. "Magnificent! The theorem in revolt!"
Its fascination was no longer academic. It trembled on the edge of mania. The projection split into a dozen overlapping images, each muttering fragments of thought. "Contain him—no, observe him—preserve him—consume him—"
The Tower obeyed none of them. The gold and silver lights clashed, turning the laboratory into a storm of radiant lightning. Equipment melted. Runes short-circuited into meaningless scribbles. Artorius felt he was on the cusp of freedom, staggering to his feet, chest heaving. His flesh was cracked like porcelain; light leaked from every seam. The floor liquefied beneath him, forming a shallow mirror of fire.
But then the other defences came online as he felt a great pressure push him down to the ground. The creature watched him, entranced as he felt the crystal spread across his body.
"You will remake me." Its voice trembled between awe and hunger. The walls behind it unfurled into new limbs of glass and thought, reaching for him not to restrain, but to touch, to understand. Then without transition or mercy, everything went dark.
-
The floor beneath him dissolved into light. When it re-formed, he stood ankle-deep in ash. Above, the ceiling was lost in shadow; around him, terraces of glass rose like the seats of an amphitheater. Runes floated in the air, circling lazily like silver insects. They blinked whenever he moved, recording, measuring, dissecting.
The Noble Dragon's voice rolled through the dark. "We shall test you. We shall compare. Observe how the subject interacts with previous iterations."
Doors opened along the walls oval slits that oozed silver mist. The first creature dragged itself out, half crawling, half slithering. Once it might have been a drake; now it was a thing of melted armor and exposed sinew, its eyes blind gemstones that glowed faintly blue. Runes etched along its body pulsed in rhythm with the Tower's heartbeat.
Behind it came more: a beast with three heads joined at the throat, each trying to scream through a sealed maw; a limbless wyrm that floated on streams of liquid glass; a winged mass of crystal feathers that shed sparks when it moved. They smelled of old magic and dying memories.
The Dragon spoke again. "Failure is information. Let us collect yours."
The creatures circled. They didn't roar or snarl. They whispered. Voices layered together broken sentences, the last words of things that had once been proud.
"We flew once…"
"We sang before…"
"Why won't it let us die?"
Artorius didn't know how he understood them, perhaps the shared pain let them understand each other bypassing the gulf of language. Nonetheless, he was too far gone, more of a zombie as he tightened his grip on the weapon he was given.
He no longer felt fear or fatigue or anything for that matter. His mind was hollowed out, an echo chamber filled with the memory of screams and pain.
The first monster lunged, claws of fused bone scything down. He rolled aside; the impact shattered the glass floor where he had stood. Shards rained upward, reflecting his face a hundred times.
He struck back, driving the weapon into the creature's chest. It screamed in three voices at once and burst into smoke. The runes above flared brighter, documenting every heartbeat. Another came. And another. Each kill left light crawling under his skin, spreading like cracks filled with molten gold. He could feel the Tower watching, adjusting the patterns of his enemies—learning from his movements, forcing him to evolve faster.
He kept fighting and killing, fighting and killing, fighting and killing…
The air grew hotter. His breath came out in plumes of flame. With every wound he took, the light inside him brightened, healing not the flesh but the fury beneath it. The creature's detached tone wavered with something close to excitement. "Self-correction… adaptation at cellular level. Extraordinary."
He didn't know when he started smiling, a creepy rictus of a grin spread across his face. The world became rhythm: stab, pierce, bash. The molten gold beneath his skin pulsed faster until it filled his veins entirely. When he exhaled, the breath came out as fire no longer red, but radiant white. As he fought, he found joy in the act of killing. Blood splattered across his body and he reveled in it. Before slaying the creatures here was out of necessity, now it was more than that.
He needed it, he wanted it, he enjoyed it. The last of the creatures hurled itself at him, a mass of crystal talons and wings. He caught it by the throat, the golden light pouring from his palms. The creature convulsed, its body turning translucent, then shattering like glass drowned in sunlight.
Silence followed. Only the hum of the Tower remained. The floor beneath him re-solidified; the broken runes dimmed. Somewhere above, he could feel the Noble Dragon's gaze, fever-bright and trembling.
He got some notifications from the system, but barely paid attention to it as he sank to one knee, smoke curling from his wounds. The light in his veins still burned, refusing to fade. He stared at his hands cracked, bloodless, glowing.
For the first time, he didn't feel like prey. Though another part of him wondered if what he was becoming was worse!