"Good luck climbing the tower, Argul."

The sailor left with those parting words, swaggering into the nearest bar. The wooden craft could hardly be called seaworthy after their last escapade, the wood fractured and breaking apart in several sections. Occasionally the hull would creak as if it were an injured animal. The youth collapsed onto the ground, his clothes drenched in seawater, bones aching, and a chill permeating his very soul.

'Damn old man. It's Argo.'

The youth, Argo, reluctantly climbed to his feet before adjusting his backpack, and sword. As he headed into town, the waterlogged backpack and sword seemed to become heavier. Argo had to muster all of his strength to keep moving. Despite his struggles, he couldn't help but recall the previous days of his journey across the sea.

The sailor was an old drunkard called Helkon, who frequented his home village. He was a true sailor, a nomad who wandered the sea in hopes of securing treasure or fortune. He would drop by the village once in a while to sponge off drinks while sharing his adventures.

While the village elders and its inhabitants usually had an aversion to outsiders, they welcomed him with open arms due to his straightforward nature and Rank.

He talked about ghost ships that roamed the Seven Seas manned by vengeful specters and wraiths, a sunken city inhabited by the souls of the damned filled to the brim with treasures, and sea monsters that could devour pirate ships whole. Rambling on about holy swords, mysterious individuals with flowing swords, and beautiful ladies that would swoon over him.

Argo didn't believe his tales, but found them interesting nonetheless. The only reason he would ever interact with the old man was to find safe passage to Halcyon. Despite his outward appearance of an amicable drunkard, his maritime skills were nothing to scoff at.

He was Rank 1, surpassing any individual in Argo's village and also meaning he cleared the first floor of the Tower. With a majority of humanity between the Ranks of 1 and 2, it was still a testament to his experience and strength.

As Argo made his way through the town, he passed by a bustling marketplace filled to the brim with people. Despite it being nighttime, it was packed with people; exuding a vibrant and jubilant air.

Most likely capitalizing on fishermen returning from a hard day's work. Vendors sported a multitude of goods from around the world. Halcyon was a major hub of trade and exchange, commodities from all four corners of the world passing through. He could smell the aroma of grilled fish in the air, combined with the salty but fresh smell of oysters, lobster, and other marine life.

Blacksmiths hollered about the quality of their wares, and merchants peddled their mystical concoctions to create a discordant symphony. Adventurers and regular people mingled, some having loud price negotiations while others gazed at wares with interest. It was one of Argo's first times being outside of the village, and in such a crowded place he was amazed by the scenery around him.

His eyes would glaze over when watching fresh fish get grilled over hot coals, or fresh oysters getting shucked. He could hear the drunken shouts of sailors and their exaggerated exploits, followed by the laughter of fellow compatriots. His stomach was grumbling, in turmoil from the tumultuous journey.

Argo had to give up and eat the rations in his backpack. He had used most of his meager savings paying Helkon to take him here, and he would still need to get a room for the night.

Taking out a piece of dried meat and taking a bite, Argo steeled himself for finding an inn for the night- a cheap one preferably. Looking at his torn jacket and shirt that was drenched in sea water, he could only hope they didn't turn him away for looking homeless.

After spending the whole day finding a suitable inn, he still couldn't sleep. Despite being bone-tired, his soul was restless. He barely managed to convince the receptionist to give him a room with what meager currency he had left.

The room was tiny, barely enough room to fit a bed and small nightstand. The wood groaned beneath his feet, holes covered the walls, and cobwebs hung from the ceiling.

He had strived single-mindedly with the goal of attempting the Tower. Originally, he believed the horrors the Tower held was too dangerous for the likes of him.

What he desired was a simple life, one where he could live in peace. Maybe explore the world, embark on a journey to discover the majestic lands the books he read told him about. If he could find a way to regain his memories, that would be an added bonus.

He was sort of indifferent to figuring out his past, focused entirely on maintaining his monotonous life. With a fully belly, warm home, and cozy bed what else could he ask for? Seeking out answers he didn't really care about only seemed to be a headache for him.

Argo's expression hardened, recalling the exact moment he had discarded such notions. It was like any other night, but the malevolent flames not only burned any semblances of life, but it incinerated Argo's dreams of a peaceful life.

***

A village bathed in the moonlight, nestled under the colossal shadow of a nearby mountain. Fireflies would move through the air, illuminating their movements in vibrant green hues. With a nearby stream bubbling with life, and sprawling meadows, the village was surrounded with an air of natural beauty.

Rustic wooden huts constructed of cobblestone and wood populated the hillsides. A paved dirt path seamlessly connected buildings together, illuminated under the many torches that bathed the city in a warm glow. Encircled with a wooden barrier, the city also served as a lone bastion against the darkness.

Argo had displayed a maturity unbefitting of his peers, allowing him to take on jobs previously inaccessible to him. He would relent, as they would compensate him accordingly. After all, he desired to pay back the people that had treated him with kindness.

He was busily scarfing down a scrumptious dinner, nearly late for his shift at the watch tower. Miss Amber watched him with incredulous expression, but it contained a hint of pride. While he wasn't her flesh and blood, he was nevertheless her son. Her husband, Mister George watched the young man eat like a hungry wolf, grinning.

"You're close to becoming a man Argo." He remarked, with a touch of pride.

"You think so?" Argo replied half-heartedly. He was only sixteen years old- a far cry from what should be considered mature. Other boys his age were pulling pranks, and avoiding work. Argo felt such things were pointless, and sought out work to repay his benefactors.

"Getting a job, and contributing to the village is a pretty big step." Mister George replied matter-of-factly, slipping into a fatherly lecture. "It's a man's duty to provide for his family, and contribute to society."

Argo half-listened, engrossed in his food. Mister George tended to habitually lecture him on various topics; his own way of showing love. He didn't express his love as openly as his wife, but Argo knew he was like a son to him.

"It's just a guard job, nothing much." He had shown enough promise to the village elder to be appointed to a guard shift. Tasked with manning the gate's tower during the late nights, when most of the village was sleeping. He was more of a night owl, staying up late not much of an issue for him.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"I know, I just wanted you to know I'm proud of you."

"Yeah, I know dad." Argo had tossed out the last part unknowingly. It surprised him, usually he simply referred to his foster parents with honorifics. Despite living with them for so long, he tried to maintain a fair amount of distance.

Argo sensed the slight change in Mister George's expression. He couldn't tell it clearly, trying to ignore the embarrassment creeping up on him. Mister George seemed to have understood his feelings, attempting to alleviate his awkwardness.

"Alright, kiddo. You should probably get going, it wouldn't be good if you were late for your first shift." With a warm smile, he scooped up Argo's empty dish. As he headed toward the sink, he tossed over his shoulder. "Try not to fall asleep! We have more training tomorrow!"

Mister George was an experienced craftsmen, specializing in crafting accessories. From intricate jewelry to simple talismans, he was well-respected by the village. While lacking a mana core, he was still able to imbue his creations with minor enchantments. While they lacked significant potency, it greatly helped the rural village.

With his father's parting words, Argo left the embrace of his warm home. His father was undoubtedly right, it wouldn't be good if he was late. The village elder held great respect for Mister George, but was known for having a short temper. If Argo got on his bad side, he would never hear the end of it.

He rubbed his hands together, breathing into them. He still couldn't disperse the chilling air that would come with the wind, the cold seeping into his soul. Within a couple of minutes, he arrived at the designated tower. Climbing up with ease, he quickly wrapped a blanket around himself before finding a seat.

With an unfocused gaze, Argo had his legs propped up on a table while leaning back on his chair. Not many people would visit the village during such a late hour, making his shift pretty uneventful. On rare occasions a corrupted monster would make its way close to the gate, but the patrols would dispatch it with relative ease.

"Hey! Anyone there?"

Startled, Argo jumped to his feet before approaching the rails.

A beautiful lady with white hair weaved of moonlight leaned against the gate wall. Like a silver waterfall, it cascaded over her shoulders emitting a faint light.

'How did I not hear her approach?'

He was a little stunned, the strange women had somehow managed to reach the gate without encountering the nighttime patrols, while simultaneously eluding the gazes of other watch towers.

As Argo met the lady's gaze, he felt the air shift. His heart quickened, like he was being scrutinized by a wild beast. His palms sweated profusely, blood running cold as he felt himself balancing on a razor's edge.

Miniature suns blazed from her eye sockets, stripping his soul bare and revealing all of his secrets to her. Separated by a tall wall, he could still feel the intense gaze as if she was standing in front of him.

Dangerous flaming eyes paired with ivory hair almost made Argo believe she was an angel. The malevolent energy spewing from her body quickly betrayed his thoughts.

"Open the gate."

His mind emptied, clearing away to resemble a blank canvas. Following the ironclad order, he pulled the lever responsible for lifting the gate. He was in grave danger, but his body wouldn't respond to his commands-- only moving at the whims of the woman.

Before his terror could reach a tipping point, he was met with darkness.

Terrified screams, panicked shouts, bloodcurdling cries. They filled the air in a demonic symphony, overshadowed by the roaring of beastly flames. The temperature around him soared, and the crackling of burning wood woke Argo up.

Inhaling a mouthful of smoke he coughed, dizziness pouring into his body. Before the smoke could completely deprive him of air, he made a split second decision to jump from the top of the watch tower. It was about fifteen meters give or take, and something would definitely break.

CRUNCH!

Blinded, Argo slammed into the dirt. He felt a piercing pain from his left arm, sending stars into his vision. He nearly blacked out from the pain, quickly getting to his feet. He managed to avoid the embers that sparked from the burning watchtower.

As his eyes refocused, Argo couldn't believe the scene depicted before his eyes.

'This is a nightmare, right?'

His mind was crumbling in on itself. His breathing came in short pants, tears leaked from his eyes. His surroundings were bathed in a crimson conflagration. Yellow-orange flames tinted with violet exuded an aura of madness, rampaging across the once pristine landscape.

Houses whose owners Argo knew were ablaze in a crimson inferno. Bodies littered the streets; from young to old no one was spared. Some were burnt to charred husks, while what remained of others were a black, human-shaped scorch mark.

Argo became convinced he had somehow fell into the deepest pit of hell.

Limping forwards, sobs crept into his throat with tears falling from his eyes. These people had treated him like he was their own family, the village a place filled with vibrant memories. If living in the village forever meant he would never regain his memories, Argo would happily remain here.

But all that remained of the people that had loved him were ashes, and soot.

He unconsciously made his way home, taking the familiar dirt path. But what should've been a cozy bakery standing atop a hill was now a blazing inferno. Argo felt the barriers separating himself from his emotions crack, a distinct tremor running through his body.

Argo walked past a blackened corpse, the only tell-tale sign of the individual's identity was a small band of silver around her ring finger. Looking up at what should've been the familiar sight of a bakery was a burning pile of lumber.

'Miss Amber...'

The village's only bakery ran by a women who would berate Argo for his laziness. Despite her strict attitude, he knew she deeply cared for him. Without any parents to provide for him, she would give him free meals and a place to stay.

Her husband, Mister George saw him as his own son. Training him the intricacies of accessory making with gleaming eyes, he would tell about how someday he'd make Argo a ring for his lover.

His beloved home, along with the rest of the village was burnt to nothingness. For what purpose?

Argo pushed himself past his former home, toward the village square. He still remembered the enigmatic women from the gate. Hair weaved from white light, with miniature suns for eyes. An angelic disposition betrayed by an unquenchable thirst for madness. Something that didn't deserve to exist.

What replaced an emptying sadness was a burning rage.

Argo didn't have any burning words or frustrations to unleash, just a flat desire to kill.

Clutching his arm, Argo limped into what remained of the town square. The once elaborate cobblestone platform was shattered, like a giant had stomped on it. Only cinders remained of the vibrant flowers and foliage, resembling a desolate wasteland.

Standing in front of the dried up fountain, the women held her arms in the air as if she was trying to praise the sky.

"I'LL KILL YOU!"

His childish demeanor contrasted the demonic declaration that erupted from his throat. Overflowing with sadness, anger, and fear Argo could feel his mind succumbing to an empty abyss of nothingness. The only thing keeping him upright was the existence standing in front of him.

A sob racked his throat, as images of Miss Amber, and Mister George bubbled to the surface of his mind. He knew he should've ran, saved himself. That's what they most likely have wanted. Even as his emotions raged in a furious storm, he knew the yellow and violet flames around him possessed an aura of chaos. They messing with his already fragile psyche, pushing him forward.

The women turned to him, the folds of her dress dancing with the hot air. Unlike before, the suns within the depths of her eyes had dimmed. Contrary to the flames that ravaged her surroundings, her expression remained indifferent.

"Accept the grace of my Lord, they were all lambs sacrificed to reach his divine kingdom. The fire cleanses, and burns all to ash. They once again enter a cycle of rebirth under his watch, truly a beautiful spectacle."

Expressing a devout, fervent expression her voice increased by an octave. "Ahhh! May chaos sweep the lands!"

His eyes burned with a rage that seemed to dwarf the inferno around him/ Argo hobbled toward her. Concealed by his broken arm, he wielded a hunting knife. Swiped from an unknown corpse, their death would not be for naught.

'I'll take her down with one strike!'

Her fanatic expression quickly cleared, replaced with a warm smile. But it only appeared that way, contained within was a sickening fire of madness. A crucible of disgusting lunacy.

"I left you alive, as is the will of my Lord. While I am jealous of the attention placed upon you, I am merely one cog in a much larger machine. Otherwise, I would've taken those beautiful eyes of yours."

Ignoring her words, Argo moved with stunning swiftness. The women was not definitely not right in the head. Neither was he, but he didn't much care. Either she didn't see through his ploy, or didn't care about her well-being, he struck.

His blade pierced into her heart, crimson blood leaking out of the wound. It felt too easy.

'Did I do it?'

Before he could back off, he was gripped in an iron embrace. His face pressed into the women's body that smelled of ash and blood. It was repulsive, and disgusting. Before Argo could fully grasp what was happening, he was unable to move by a powerful force.

'Huh?!'

Argo desperately struggled, clawing at her in desperate move to free himself.

'If you seek to take vengeance on me, enter the Tower. My Lord and I shall await you."

With those enigmatic words, Argo's vision was filled with yellow-orange light. His surroundings became engulfed in an inferno of violet tinted flames, a sea of fire rolling across the surroundings.

When he had came to, the sun had just peaked over the horizon drowning the land in hues of pink. He lay alone on the cold cobblestone of the village square. The women was gone, and smoke filled the air.