My name is Bastion Ward.

I am, as you might guess, dead.

My last Earth memory was sitting in my car. The wipers were going back and forth across my windscreen. The rain was pelting down and water was rushing through the door.

I couldn't move. My car was floating, and I was running late for work.

For all my life, family, doctors and co-workers told me to ignore the voices. Ignore Simon.

"He's just a delusion, he's not real," they would say. "It's part of the condition. It's not your fault."

Simon, the voice in my head, the delusion. Whatever he was, he had warned me not to go to work that day.

I should have listened.

As my lungs filled with water and I felt the icy cold of the Thames, I saw Simon sitting beside me, his yellow umbrella folded across his lap.

"Goodbye," he said. "It's been fun."

***

My soul drifted for some time in the void, and in that mass of emptiness I understood how it all worked. I understood why people were reborn, and what waited for them in the dark between the stars.

My mental illness as they doctors called it was actually a misdiagnosis, which explained why the medication never worked. What I actually had, was enough power to sense the ethereal, but not enough to do anything about it. The voices were other people's souls, lost and searching for a way out. Simon was a neighbor who had drowned in his swimming pool when I was five— he’d been my best friend, right to the end.

And like a moth drawn to the flame, my soul was drawn to the Tower of Ascension. I had no choice in the matter. My small measure of power made me a candidate and my fate was decided.

I was there in the Tower, a soul without form, waiting for a body.

In those moments, I knew everything there was to know. I knew the purpose of the Tower. I knew why it was designed to help the strong become stronger. I knew what it was protecting and who it was protecting it from.

The moment my soul found a compatible body and took my first breath, the infinite knowledge vanished. The Tower's secrets were gone. My mind, which had been a cauldron of the entire universe, was reduced to the size and shape of a newborn’s. But where others had forgotten their previous life, I remembered the twenty-one years of my time on Earth.

As I grew older, I came to believe that remembering my past was a punishment. I was different to everyone else, and it was the Tower's way of reminding me of that.

My mother, father and I lived in Misty Hollow, a small village on the genesis floor of the Tower. It was the only village I'd ever known, the place I spent my childhood.

My father taught me how to hunt, and my mother taught me how to weave. My ideas from Earth didn't fit with this new world. I realized very quickly that everything I knew before had no bearing here. This was a new world, with no technology. There was no internet or phone networks, no electric lights or computers.

This was a place of swords and spell cards. This was a world where the monsters were real, and the heroes were not.

I learned to love my new family, and my memories of Earth were put aside as the demands of this new world occupied every part of my life. I lived like a child and thought like a child and for years my family and our village prospered, but then one day, everything changed…

***

It started when a comet appeared in the sky.

At first people thought nothing of it, but the next morning, most of the crops had withered and died. A few days later, the hunters went out into the woods to hunt, but when they returned they brought nothing but empty sacks.

It was the worst year any of us could remember. Many went hungry, and those who were lucky enough to find food had little to spare.

Our village and many others on the genesis floor were forced to make a decision.

Either, we starved together or our best warriors could challenge the Tower in hopes of reaching the top and receiving the wish card— it was the only way to change our fate.

I was six years old when my father and one hundred of the strongest warriors of the genesis floor left Misty Hollow and began their ascent.

Months went by and we waited.

And waited.

All we had was hope, and that faded with every passing day.

***

A week before my seventh birthday, I sat by my window, studying my status screen.

The screen was nothing special. Everyone had one, it seemed the Tower was run on gaming logic, or maybe gaming logic was based on the Tower. I often pondered these things, but never came up with any real answers. The few people I had questioned on the subject didn't understand the question, so I had stopped asking.

Name: Bastion Ward

Rank: Porcelain-1

Class: None

Title: None

Foundation Card: None

Primary Affinity: None

Secondary Affinities: None

Deck Size: [0/2]

Relic Weapon: None

Etherix: None

Strength: [1]

Stamina: [1]

Speed: [1]

Agility: [1]

Power: [0]

Card Essence : [0]

Unspent Points: [0]

My stats were pitiful, I was weaker and slower than a large rat. Even with the knowledge I had from Earth, I was powerless. Sure, I could change a lightbulb, if this world had any. And I could make one hell of a sandwich, if we had bread to spare. But in this world, those things didn't matter. All that mattered was your rank, your affinities, and the power of your deck. I was weak, and in a world as dangerous as this one, weakness was death.

Drunken laughter drifted on the wind, distracting me from my thoughts. I blinked away the status screen and looked out my window. In the street, a crowd had gathered. Men were shouting and cheering, and women were huddled close together, watching in silence.

It was Witherveil, the festival of rebirth, and the village was celebrating. The air was electric with anticipation, and the streets were packed with farmers, fishermen and merchants coming up from the south.

I was not in the mood for celebrating.

Behind me, footsteps softly padded across the wooden floor of the house, accompanied by the mingling fragrances of wine and perfume.

"Bastion, you should be in bed?" my mother said as she sat down beside me.

I looked up at her and her face softened when she saw the tears in my eyes.

She mistook my tears for longing and held me tight.

The truth was far different. I didn't cry because my father was gone, or even because I missed him. I cried because I was powerless to change our fate.

I looked into her eyes and tried to imagine a world where we didn't have to go hungry, where my mother didn't have to cry herself to sleep each night.

If only I was stronger...

"Do you think dad has reached the top yet?" I asked.

She looked out the window and a smile lit up her face.

"Your father is a hero. He will climb the Tower and make the world a better place for all of us. Then he will come home and tell you all about it."

It was the answer she always gave, but it still brought me some comfort.

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I looked out the window. In the distance, the comet was still visible.

"Flint and I have been training," I said. "When I get my spell cards, I will find dad and bring him home."

My mother’s eyes widened at that, "Bastion, you're just six years old," she said, "don't be in a hurry to grow up and miss out on your childhood."

"But..."

"But nothing, your father will return when he is ready, and I will not have my son going off on some reckless adventure, not as long as I draw breath."

I opened my mouth to argue, but a yawn came out instead.

"It's your birthday next week," she said, laying me down in the bed. "Is there anything you want?"

I looked at her through heavy lidded eyes.

"A foundation card, like father has."

"That will have to wait," she said, smiling. "But I have been saving something special just for you."

"Can I have it now?"

She smiled, "You really are your father's son, he’s never had much patience either."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small coin purse.

When she saw my eyes light up, she quickly added, "It's not a spell card, you are too young for that."

She untied the purse and drew out a silver hexagon the size of a pebble.

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at it.

"What is that?" I asked, reaching for it.

She smiled, "Card essence, your father gave it to me before he left."

Card essence, it was a word from my status screen, and it sounded magical to my ears.

"What does it do?"

She leaned back against the wall and looked out the window.

"Your father said that there is an essence altar in Caldera," she said, her voice sounding distant. "It's on the second floor and is home to many different races and strange magic. I’ve heard that if you place enough essence on the altar, you can craft your very own card."

"Any card I want?" I asked as I studied the hexagon, tracing my fingers over the smooth surface.

"Not any card," she said. "It will give you a mystery card, which makes it even more exciting. It could be one that turns bread into cake, or maybe one that helps you finish all your chores on time."

I chuckled, and my mother squeezed me tight, tickling me all over.

"Let's get some sleep," she said, kissing me on the forehead, "we need to be up early for the cleansing ritual, and you know how Father Baragad gets when we’re late."

***

I don't remember the dreams I had that night, but I know that after that day, my dreams were never the same.

I woke up with a start. It was the middle of the night and the room was pitch black. I heard a door slam shut downstairs and far in the distance the screams of a woman.

Heavy boots echoed across the cobblestone street outside my window.

The sounds grew louder, closer, then stopped suddenly.

Something was wrong.

My heart pounded in my chest as I jumped out of bed and ran to my mother's room.

The door was open.

My heart sank, and a chill ran down my spine.

"Mom!"

There was no reply.

"Mom, are you in here?"

I peered inside the empty room and frowned.

"Mom," I whispered, feeling tears well up in my eyes.

"Mom, where are you? This isn't funny anymore,"

No one replied.

I heard footsteps coming from downstairs.

A moment later, a loud crash sounded— like plates smashing to the floor, followed by more shouts.

I couldn't take it anymore.

My six-year-old mind wanted to run back to bed and hide under my blankets, but the part of my brain that was still the twenty-one-year-old graphic designer wanted to find out what was happening.

The graphic designer won.

I grabbed the candlestick holder to use as a weapon and crept down the stairs towards the sound.

Halfway down, I heard my mother gasp.

I didn't hesitate, I rushed past the dining room down the hall.

As I drew closer, I heard my mother speaking, her voice low.

"You need to leave, right now," she said.

A deep, muffled voice replied, "I can't just leave. Something was unleashed up there, it's inside of us."

I slowed down at the sound of their voices, unsure what to do.

There was another loud crash and I almost tripped over a fallen chair.

"We don't have much time," my mother said, her voice strained.

I peered into the dark kitchen.

A figure was slumped against the wall, blood soaking the front of his shirt.

When I saw the blood, instinct took over.

I raised the candleholder and charged towards the figure. I swung my candlestick holder at the man's legs as hard as my six-year-old arms could.

But the man was too fast, he batted the weapon aside easily, as if it were nothing more than a child's toy.

I was about to run when the man grabbed my arm, his grip strong and unyielding.

His eyes glowed like sapphires.

"Let me go," I said, kicking and squirming, trying to free myself.

"Bastion!" he said sharply.

The candlestick holder fell from my hand and clanged to the stone floor, echoing in the silence of the kitchen.

"F-father," I said, throwing my arms around him, "You came back."

"Of course, I did. Did you ever doubt me?"

He looked different from the man who left several months ago. His eyes shone an unnatural bright blue and his skin had turned translucent like over cooked pasta.

"What happened?" I asked, clutching his hand in mine.

He coughed and blood trickled from his mouth.

My mother pulled me away from my father. "Back to bed," she said in a stern tone.

"But mom," I moaned, my voice trembling. "Dad, what's wrong?"

"Do as your mother says," my dad said, and for the first time in my life I saw fear in his eyes.

My mother helped my father stand. He clutched her arm tight with one hand while the other gripped his chest.

He looked down at me. "Don't worry," he said. "Everything will be ok."

I could tell he was lying.

I didn't move. I wanted to stay there and help, but my mother gave me a look and I knew there was no arguing.

A single knock on the door broke the quiet.

My father's eyes widened in panic, and my mother's face drained of all color.

Mother spoke quietly, her voice shaky, "We need to hide. Upstairs, both of you."

I nodded, but before I could take a step, I heard a crackle followed by an explosion, and something slammed into me.

There was no pain, just darkness.

The world became hazy.

When my eyes opened again, I saw that the door and half of the wall were gone. The shape of a man stood in the doorway. A woman appeared beside him, her face obscured in shadows.

My father spoke a word of command and his spell card took effect. A gust of wind blew through the room, and a barrier of swirling air formed between us and the intruders.

A loud roar filled the kitchen, followed by a burst of light and a deafening explosion.

When the dust settled, the barrier was gone and the intruders stepped inside.

They were dressed in white robes with hoods covering their faces.

One of them stepped forward and drew his sword.

The stranger raised the blade, pointing it at my father.

"No!" Mother screamed.

"You lay a hand on my family," my father said, rising to his feet. "And I will incinerate you where you stand."

"You will come with us, Barnabas Ward," the female intruder said, her voice a command. "I am sorry, but for the good of us all, this outbreak must be contained."

The intruders stepped towards my father.

My mother moved in front of him and her hand shot out, striking the female intruder.

It was a bad move.

The woman's spell card activated, and blinding light slammed into my mother. Her body lifted from the ground, and she flew back, crashing into the wall.

I screamed as she slid down, unmoving.

I crouched down beside her, holding her tight, watching as the color faded from her green eyes and turned a milky white.

The intruders walked past us and surrounded my father.

"Mom," I said, shaking her. "Mom, wake up, please."

I could feel her heart beating, but it was slowing, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

My father's words rang through the house, "Bastion, Run!"

But I couldn't, not this time.

I was sick of being powerless.

The two intruders raised their hands and my father screamed as arcane energies coiled around his body.

I felt a rush of emotions, a tidal wave of memories that flooded my mind.

I remembered my dad reading to me, my mom cooking in the kitchen. The taste of her bread, and the smell of her perfume.

And at that moment, I made a choice.

I charged at the woman, swinging my tiny fist at her legs.

My punch didn't land, the woman spun around, catching me off guard.

She stared down at me, and for the first time I saw her face. Scales covered her skin, and her eyes were yellow like a snake's.

The woman hissed and raised her glowing blade above her head.

A voice called out from behind me.

"Stay away from my son."

My father raised his hands and tiny flames danced along his fingertips.

The serpent woman pressed the tip of her sword to my throat.

"Come willingly," she said, "and their lives will be spared."

My father's shoulders dropped, and the fire around his fingers winked out.

"You promise to let them live?"

"Your sacrifice will not be forgotten," the woman replied.

Father knelt down in front of me and touched my face, a single tear running down his cheek.

"I am sorry, Bastion. This was the only way."

I threw myself into his arms and hugged him tight.

"No, please don't go."

My father hugged me back, his arms strong and comforting.

"Take care of your mother for me."

"No," I said, "you can't, I can't."

"You have to," he whispered, "promise me."

And then they were dragging him away, his hands bound behind his back, his body weak.

My heart pounded and tears flowed freely down my cheeks.

I watched as my father was led from the house, helpless to do anything.

A part of me wanted to run after them and set my father free, but I couldn't leave my mother’s side, not now.

I stumbled outside and watched him go, knowing I would never see him again.

As I stood there weeping, I saw my village in chaos.

Brightly colored spells arced across the sky like fireworks, and the ground shook as powerful spell cards were unleashed.

Blue-eyed men and women fled down the road past our house, heading into the wilds, with strangers in white pursuing them on horseback.

All around me, people screamed and cried as our village burnt to the ground.

***