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Chapter 1: The Tower That Shouldn't Exist
Rain poured in relentless sheets, drowning the night in a ceaseless roar. Thunder cracked like the heavens were splitting apart, sending tremors through the thick canopy above. The forest was alive with movement—shifting shadows, rustling leaves, the distant howl of something not entirely human. But Kael Drayven had no time to wonder what lurked beyond the trees.
He ran.
His boots sank into the mud with every desperate step, his breath a ragged, uneven rasp in the cold night air. His once-pristine cloak hung from his shoulders in tatters, torn by branches that had clawed at him as he fled. His muscles burned, his vision blurred, but still, he pushed forward. There was no destination, no safe haven waiting for him—only the primal urge to keep moving.
He had no choice.
The voices still echoed in his mind, their judgment heavier than the storm pressing down on him.
Traitor. Murderer. Exile.
They had not listened. Not the council, not the nobles, not even his so-called brothers-in-arms. The moment his father—the mighty Dragon King—had fallen, the blame had been thrust upon him without hesitation. A convenient scapegoat. A son left defenseless against the weight of a shattered throne.
There had been no trial. No chance to speak. His fate had been decided before he had even opened his mouth.
Execution or exile.
Those had been his only choices.
Kael had chosen exile, but even that had been a lie. The moment he had stepped beyond the city walls, he knew the truth. They hadn't spared his life out of mercy. They had let him go only so they wouldn't have to dirty their hands with his blood themselves. He knew how exile ended for fallen royalty. The assassins would come. The whispers would follow. A poisoned meal. A dagger in the dark.
He clutched his side, where fresh blood seeped through his tunic. One of the guards had ensured he wouldn't leave unscathed. The wound burned with every movement, pain blooming with each step, but pain meant he was still alive.
Lightning split the sky, illuminating the world in a stark flash of white.
That was when he saw it.
A shadow against the storm-lit horizon.
Kael stumbled to a halt, his pulse pounding in his ears as his tired mind struggled to process what lay before him.
A tower.
No—the tower.
It rose from the valley like a monolith of shadow, impossibly large, stretching so high beyond the clouds that even the lightning failed to reveal its peak. No windows, no banners, no signs of life. Just an endless spiral of black stone, covered in ancient runes that pulsed faintly in the darkness, like a heartbeat.
A name formed in his mind, unbidden, whispered in stories meant to scare children into obedience.
The Forgotten Tower.
Kael's stomach twisted. Every kingdom knew the legend. A cursed prison that existed outside time, a place that only appeared to those who had been erased from history. The lost. The forsaken. The damned.
It was a myth. It had to be.
Yet it stood before him now, undeniable in its terrible presence.
His breath came fast, unsteady. The storm had begun to slow, the rain falling in lighter drizzles, almost as if the heavens themselves hesitated in the tower's presence. The air felt different here—thicker, charged with something unseen. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
He took an uncertain step forward.
The ground trembled beneath his feet.
A voice, hollow and ancient, whispered through the storm.
"You are not supposed to be here, lost one."
Kael froze.
It was not the wind. Not the distant rumble of thunder. This voice was something else, something old. It slithered into his mind like fingers tracing the edges of his thoughts, and for the first time since his escape, fear settled deep in his bones.
Before his eyes, the smooth, seamless stone of the tower began to shift.
A massive door formed where there had been none, its outline traced in silver light. It did not creak or groan as it appeared. It simply was.
An invitation.
Or a warning.
Kael looked over his shoulder.
The forest stretched endlessly behind him, dark and unwelcoming. The kingdom that had once been his was lost to him now. He had no home. No allies. No future.
He turned back to the tower.
What choice did he have?
Swallowing his fear, he took a slow, measured breath, steadied his shaking hands, and stepped forward.
The moment his boots crossed the threshold, the door slammed shut behind him with the force of a thunderclap.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
And the tower welcomed him home.
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