The tower loomed above the village like a silent god.
Eren had grown up beneath its shadow, where dawn never touched the ground without first casting long, jagged silhouettes across the stone fields. The Spire of Eternity—it had no beginning, no end. From the base, it stretched upward beyond the clouds, as if piercing the sky itself. No villager knew how high it truly went. No one ever returned to say.
But today, it wasn't just a monument of fear. It was a beacon.
Dozens of banners fluttered in the morning wind. The King's colors—crimson and gold—draped from supply wagons and armored warhorses. Knights, adventurers, mercenaries, and scavengers gathered outside the great iron gates that marked the Spire's entrance, their faces hardened by greed, hope, or desperation.
The royal decree had spread like wildfire across the kingdom:
"To any soul who ascends the tower and rescues Princess Alinor from the clutches of the Black Dragon, the King shall grant nobility, gold beyond measure, and lands to rival lords."
A fool's promise, most said. But it was enough.
Eren shouldered a sack nearly half his weight and trudged after the other porters. He was just a boy from the village of Harth's Edge, called upon to carry crates of salted meat and iron-tipped spears for the Royal Guard. He wasn't here for riches or glory. He didn't even carry a weapon.
"Keep up, rat," barked Captain Rorik, the Royal Guard's expedition commander. His armor gleamed like polished silver, but his eyes were cold stone. "We move at first bell."
The massive gates groaned open. Eren flinched as a gust of stale air swept over them, carrying the scent of mold, rust, and something faintly rotten. The first floor yawned ahead—stone corridors wide enough for giants, walls etched with symbols older than any language Eren knew.
Torches were lit. Shields raised. The Royal Guard marched forward in disciplined lines. Behind them, the hired blades strutted with overconfidence, laughing and joking. The porters followed in silence.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the air changed. It was colder, thicker—like stepping into a tomb that had never been disturbed.
Eren glanced up at the stone ceiling high above, where ancient metal pipes snaked like vines. Strange lights flickered behind broken glass domes. The ground beneath his boots trembled faintly, as if something deeper inside the tower had stirred at their arrival.
He tightened his grip on the sack. Just carry supplies. Stay out of the way. Go home when it's over.
But then the doors slammed shut behind them.
Metal. Stone. Magic.
The tower did not welcome intruders.
...
They made camp on Floor 1 by a dry fountain shaped like a serpent devouring its tail. The knights posted guards. The mercenaries rolled dice. Eren helped distribute rations from the wagons and fed the fire with splintered planks.
Night came fast inside the tower. There was no sun here—only darkness that pooled in the corners, watching.
That was when the screaming started.
It came from the eastern tunnel—a cry sharp and panicked, cut off too quickly. Weapons were drawn. Rorik barked orders. A squad was dispatched.
They returned bloodied, one man missing. No monster. No tracks. Just claw marks on the walls and a severed hand left behind.
Rorik called it a fluke. A lone creature. Nothing the Guard couldn't handle.
But Eren noticed the way the veterans glanced at the shadows after that, and how no one strayed far from the fires. Even the mercenaries stopped laughing.
That night, Eren dreamed of black wings and burning eyes, watching him from above as the tower twisted into something alive.
...
When he awoke, the second floor awaited them.
And the tower... was only just beginning.