Bob woke with a sharp gasp, his body jerking upright before pain and exhaustion pressed him back against the pillows. He squinted against the sterile white light pouring in from the overhead fixtures. The clean, clinical smell of antiseptic filled his nostrils, a far cry from the acrid stench of brimstone and blood he'd grown accustomed to in the Abyssal Depths.

A faint hum filled the room, accompanied by the soft beeping of a heart monitor. Bob’s bleary eyes adjusted slowly, sweeping over the unfamiliar space. It looked like a hospital room, though there were strange, intricate symbols etched into the walls that pulsed faintly with golden light. His gaze drifted to the figure seated beside the bed.

The man was clad in flowing robes of ivory and gold, his presence radiating an ethereal calm that seemed to dull the lingering aches in Bob’s battered body. Long silver hair cascaded down his shoulders, and his piercing eyes shimmered with an almost otherworldly glow. Bob didn’t need to ask who he was.

“Caretaker,” Bob croaked, his voice raspy and dry.

The Caretaker turned, his serene expression softening into a warm smile. “You’re awake. That is good.”

Bob blinked, trying to push aside the fog clouding his thoughts. As his vision cleared, he noticed something strange—a network of golden threads extended from the Caretaker, weaving and undulating like strands of living light. They connected to Bob, anchoring into his chest, arms, and even his forehead, and stretched outward to touch every corner of the room. The energy pulsing through them hummed in rhythm with the symbols on the walls.

“What… what is this?” Bob asked, staring at the glowing threads in awe.

The Caretaker leaned forward, resting a hand gently on Bob’s shoulder. “The realm is healing, Bob. Thanks to you.”

Bob’s heart skipped a beat. The memories rushed back—the endless hordes, the labyrinthine tunnels, the ancient evil that had nearly devoured him whole. He had faced death countless times, pushing forward even when his body screamed for rest. He had reached the core of the Abyss and struck down the source of the corruption.

“Did I do it?” Bob asked, his voice trembling. “Did I actually stop it?”

The Caretaker nodded. “You did more than stop it. You severed its hold on this world, allowing me to begin the restoration process. The Abyssal Depths are no longer a festering wound. The energy you see now is the lifeblood of this realm, flowing freely once more.”

Bob let out a shaky breath and slumped back against the pillows. Relief flooded through him, but it was tinged with a lingering question. “And what about me?” He turned his gaze back to the Caretaker. “When will I be recovered enough to ascend to the top of the Tower of Trials? I need to collect my reward and go home.”

The Caretaker’s smile faltered, though his eyes remained kind. “Rest a little while longer, Bob. Your body and soul endured unspeakable strain. You are nearly recovered, but not yet whole. When the realm is fully healed and my work is complete, you will ascend to the top of the Tower and claim what you have earned.”

Bob frowned, frustration bubbling up despite his exhaustion. “You promised I’d get to go home. I’ve held up my end of the deal.”

“And I will honor my promise,” the Caretaker said firmly. “But you must be patient a little longer. The threads binding you to this realm are not yet ready to release you. Trust me when I say that severing them too soon would be disastrous—for both you and this world.”

Bob exhaled slowly, forcing himself to relax. The Caretaker had never lied to him before. If he said Bob needed more time, then there was no point in arguing.

“Fine,” Bob muttered. “But don’t make me wait too long. I didn’t survive the Abyss just to waste away in a hospital bed.”

The Caretaker chuckled softly. “You will not waste away. You’ve already proven your strength and resolve. What you need now is rest. Allow yourself this moment of peace.”

Bob’s eyelids grew heavy as the golden threads around him pulsed with a soothing rhythm. He felt their warmth seeping into his skin, mending invisible wounds he hadn’t even realized were there. As he drifted back toward sleep, his gaze lingered on the Caretaker.

The golden threads extended from the man like roots of an ancient tree, piercing every corner of the room and beyond. Bob could almost feel them stretching outward, weaving through the walls and into the earth, spreading healing energy throughout the entire realm. The sight filled him with awe and a strange sense of comfort.

The Caretaker’s voice followed him into sleep. “You did well, Bob. I cannot thank you enough.”

Bob surrendered to the pull of slumber, his last thought a quiet hope that when he next awoke, he would be well enough to finally finish the Tower of Trials.

Bob lay back against the soft pillows of the recovery bed, the faint hum of medical devices in the hospital room lulling him toward rest. The Caretaker had insisted he remain there to heal after his ordeal, and though his body still ached, the sterile scent of the room and the comforting weight of the blankets soothed him. His eyes fluttered shut, and before long, sleep embraced him.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

In his dreams, he was back on his farm. The golden sunlight spilled over rolling fields of wheat, swaying gently in the breeze. The scent of freshly tilled soil filled the air, rich and earthy, and the sound of birds chirping overhead brought a calmness he hadn't felt in what seemed like an eternity. Bob stood at the edge of his pasture, leaning against the wooden fence he had built with his own hands, watching his livestock graze peacefully.

Snowball, his Frost Hound companion, bounded toward him. The massive, white-furred beast exuded an aura of cool air that made the summer day pleasant instead of oppressive. Snowball barked once, a deep, resonating sound, before nudging Bob with his nose, urging him to run. Bob laughed, the sound light and carefree, and he broke into a sprint, Snowball racing alongside him. They chased each other through the fields, the Frost Hound kicking up little flurries of frost that sparkled in the sunlight.

For a while, the world felt right. No monsters. No darkness. No unrelenting pressure of survival. Just Bob, Snowball, and the farm.

Bob spent the day tending his crops, mending fences, and sharing quiet moments with Snowball resting at his feet. The simple rhythm of life filled him with a peace that felt eternal. Evening fell, painting the sky in hues of gold and purple as Bob sat on the porch, sipping cool water from a jar and listening to the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind.

He smiled, leaning back in his chair, content to let time slip by unnoticed. Snowball lay beside him, tail wagging lightly in its sleep, the picture of serenity.

But as his dream began to fade, the faint beeping of monitors and the distant murmur of a voice in the hospital filtered back into his mind. The comforting visions of home slipped away, leaving Bob to stir in his bed, his fingers twitching as if reaching for something just out of grasp.

The journey wasn’t over yet. And Bob desperately wanted to return home to live out his fantasy.

Bob stirred awake, the sterile scent of antiseptic filling his nose again as his eyes fluttered open. The soft hum of medical equipment faded as he sat up, rubbing his temples. The room was pristine, its white walls giving off a faint glow, and the bed he lay upon felt softer than any surface he had rested on in years. Sitting in a chair next to the bed, The Caretaker waited patiently, his expression calm yet commanding.

"Good morning, Bob," The Caretaker said with a gentle nod. "You've fully recovered. Your wounds, fatigue, and any residual effects from your quest to the Abyssal Depths have been treated. You're now ready to leave and finish the Tower of Trials, and claim your reward."

Bob blinked, his mind still reeling from the wonderful dream he had been having, him and Snowball on his farm. But The Caretaker's words quickly snapped him back to reality.

"So, it's finally time?" Bob asked, swinging his legs off the bed and testing his balance. His muscles no longer ached, and his head felt clear for the first time in what seemed like weeks.

"Indeed. Exit through that door," The Caretaker said, gesturing to a doorway on the far side of the room. Bob was certain it hadn't been there before. "But first, grab a quick bite to eat at McTowers. Feed yourself, relax a moment with me while we eat, and then I'll take you through that elevator to the top of the Tower of Trials."

Bob followed The Caretaker's gaze to the door, curiosity simmering in his thoughts. He stood and noticed the neat outfit folded on the small table beside the bed—a crisp shirt, comfortable pants, and sturdy boots. Dressing quickly, Bob called out to his companion.

"Snowball?"

From under the bed, a soft growl and a flash of white fur signaled Snowball's presence. The oversized and fluffy wolf-like creature padded out, stretching before sitting obediently at Bob's side. Bob scratched behind its ears and smiled.

"Let’s go," he said.

They stepped through the mysterious doorway and into what felt like an entirely different space. The bright lights and warm, inviting smell of food greeted them. The McTower's dining area was empty as usual. But Bob didn't really question it. He had learned pretty early on that scrutinizing things too closely inside the Tower of Trials was futile.

The Caretaker led them to an empty table near the corner, and within seconds, a waitress appeared. She was a cheerful elf with a notepad in hand, her hair tied back in a tight bun. "Welcome to McTower's! What can I get for you today?"

Bob opened the menu and immediately felt overwhelmed. The choices were endless—stacked burgers, triple-decker sandwiches, and meals big enough to feed a small army. Snowball whined softly, already eyeing the list of meats on the back page.

"I'll take the McTitan Platter," Bob said, deciding on the largest meal available. "And twelve of the McBeast Burgers for Snowball. Oh, and a large coffee for me."

Snowball rumbled with appreciation as a little bit of drool hit the floor.

"I'll have an order of McTower Cakes with a side of bacon and eggs, and a large Orange Juice. Please and Thank you!" replied the Caretaker.

"Coming right up!" The waitress gave a quick nod and disappeared.

Bob leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting around the empty restaurant and then back to the Caretaker.

The Caretaker watched him closely. "Nervous?"

Bob shrugged. "Not nervous, exactly. Just... ready to get this over with, and return home."

"Good," The Caretaker said. "Because the final floor awaits you with your prize."

Their food arrived shortly after, and the sheer size of the plates made Bob and Snowball perk up. They both dug in with abandon. Bob savored every bite of the perfectly cooked meat and seasoned fries, and Snowball tore through his burgers like a starved beast.

They ate in silence, the kind shared by companions who had been through too much together to need words. The meal vanished quickly, leaving Bob feeling satisfied and re-energized.

Wiping his mouth, Bob glanced up and froze. An elevator door had materialized on the far wall, sleek and metallic, glowing faintly with runic symbols etched into its surface.

"It's time," The Caretaker said, standing and motioning toward the door.

Bob stood as well, patting Snowball's head before they approached the elevator. The Caretaker pressed a glowing button, and the doors slid open with a soft chime.

Bob stepped inside, Snowball padding in beside him. The Caretaker followed, his expression still calm but tinged with something Bob couldn't quite place—anticipation? Pride?

As the doors began to close, Bob exhaled and smiled. Whatever awaited them at the top of the Tower, he sure was ready.