When Tyler awoke, his entire body ached. Cuts and bruises covered his skin, and his head throbbed with pain. He lay on the cold, hard floor of a dimly lit cell. The smell of damp stone and unwashed bodies filled the air. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noticed he wasn’t alone. Around him were other prisoners, all looking just as lost and broken as he felt.

Groaning, Tyler sat up, wincing from the pain. He glanced around, trying to get his bearings. A few of the others were awake, he counted five people all wearing a dull uniform with a white armband, staring blankly at the cell door. One older man with a weathered face and kind eyes sat silently against the wall, his gaze distant. The walls of the cell were rough-hewn stone, damp and cold to the touch, with a small, barred window letting in just enough light to cast eerie shadows. The cell was cramped, about ten feet by ten feet, with straw strewn across the floor serving as makeshift bedding.

Tyler noticed a solitary figure sitting in the corner, staring at the wall. He shuffled over, trying to engage him. “Hey, you alright? Name’s Tyler.”

The man didn’t respond, his eyes hollow and distant. Tyler tried again. “Tough day, huh? What’s your name?”

The man continued to ignore him, lost in his own world. Tyler was about to give up when Marcus, the older man with a weathered face, spoke up from across the cell. “He won’t talk to you. He’s a ghost.”

Tyler raised an eyebrow. “A ghost? Seriously?”

Marcus nodded. “Yeah. We call him the Ghost. He’s been here longer than anyone can remember. Just sits there every day, sulking. No one knows who he is or how he ended up here. He’s just... there.”

Tyler, unfazed, ran his hand through the figure. To his surprise, his hand passed through the man’s form, meeting little resistance. The man was slightly transparent, his edges blurry. Tyler blinked, finally grasping the situation. “Huh. Well, that’s new.”

He moved back to Marcus, who watched him with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Told you. Wasting your time trying to talk to him.”

Tyler shrugged. “Worth a shot. My name's Tyler, nice to meet you." he said as he stuk out his hand.

Markus ignored Tylers outstretched hand. "Markus... "

So, Marcus, what's the deal with this place? Is this where the cool kids hang out?”

Marcus glanced at him, clearly unamused. “This is Lord Varon’s slave camp. We’re the latest batch of prisoners. They’ll train us to be gladiators. If we survive the pits, we might get a chance to climb the tower. It’s dangerous, but it’s better than the pits. You get treated like shit, but at least you get a few perks—like a decent bed and meat in your meals.”

“Sounds like a blast,” Tyler said dryly. He looked around the cell again, taking in the hopeless expressions of the other prisoners. They were a mix of ages and backgrounds, all united by their shared despair.

“So, how long have you been here?”

Marcus was silent for a moment before answering. “Too long. Used to be a farmer. Got caught up in a rebellion. Now I’m here, just waiting for my time to join my family in the afterlife.”

Tyler studied Marcus, noticing the fatigue and resignation in his eyes. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose everything and end up in a place like this. “Rebellion? What happened?”

Marcus took a deep breath, the pain of the memories evident in his eyes. “My family... My wife and daughter. We lived peacefully on our farm until a noble’s son came through. He wanted our land for some pet project, a grand hunting lodge. When I refused to sell, he ordered his men to burn down our farm. My family was trapped, and they killed my wife and daughter. The empire doesn’t care about common folk like us, only their precious citizens.”

Marcus dropped his head, bitterness creeping into his voice. “We rebelled, but we didn’t stand a chance against the empire’s forces.”

Tyler clenched his fists, feeling the injustice deeply. “That’s messed up. No wonder you’re here.”

Marcus nodded. “Yeah. And now I’m just waiting. At least while I’m still alive there’s always a small hope, perhaps a last opportunity to avenge them.”

Tyler leaned back against the wall, staring out at the training yard where other slaves were sparring. The overseers barked orders, and the sound of clashing wood filled the air. “So, magic, huh? How does it work?”

Marcus seemed reluctant to answer, but Tyler’s curiosity was infectious. “Don’t think I’ve met anyone who doesn’t know how magic works.” He looked Tyler up and down, shook his head and continued, “Magic comes from mana cores. Most creatures have them, but humans don’t. At least, that’s what the nobles say. They use these cores to power enchanted items. The runes you see on weapons and armor, they channel the mana from the core to create different effects.”

Tyler’s interest was piqued. “So, if someone got their hands on a mana core, they could use magic?”

“Supposedly,” Marcus replied. “But you would need to know how runes worked. And you won’t find a mana core strong enough to power anything worthwhile around here. Only the strongest mana beasts and magical creatures have usable cores. Smaller cores can be combined to create larger cores, which is why they are sometimes used as currency, but you would need thousands of small cores to create a single core worth a damn.”

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Tyler blinked in surprise. “Wait, so people can’t use mana naturally?”

Marcus looked at him oddly. “No, they can’t. It’s always been that way.”

Tyler filed this information away, his mind racing. “What about the tower? Why do people climb it?”

Marcus sighed. “The tower is a mystery. It’s said to be filled with ancient relics and powerful magic. Nobles send their children to climb it for prestige and power. Adventurers seek fame and fortune by retrieving magical items that aren’t just enchanted, but inherently magical. The higher you go, the greater the rewards and the more powerful the items. But it’s dangerous. Many don’t make it back.”

As Marcus spoke, a sudden tear in the fabric of space opened up in the middle of the cell, right in front of Tyler. A book fell through the tear and landed on the floor with a thud. Tyler blinked, staring at the book in disbelief. The tear closed as quickly as it had appeared, leaving no trace behind. Tyler glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed, but the other prisoners, including Marcus, seemed oblivious to the event.

The Ghost, however, sprang to his feet, his eyes wide with hope and relief, as if he believed he was finally going home. He reached out toward the tear, but it closed before he could move. His face fell, and he collapsed to his knees in despair, curling into a fetal position.

Marcus, noticing the Ghost's reaction, raised an eyebrow. "I've never seen him move before. Guess even ghosts can have their spirits broken."

Tyler hesitated, then picked up the book. It had a note attached that read: "This was expensive, we hope it helps! [Redacted..] " Everything else on the note was redacted. Tyler's heart raced as he read the title of the book: "Rune Inscription and Enchanting for Dummies."

He tried to show the book to Marcus. “Hey, look at this! Can you see this book?”

Marcus glanced at the spot where Tyler was pointing, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What book? There’s nothing there.”

Tyler turned the book around, flipping through the pages. “You really can’t see this? It’s right here.”

Marcus shook his head. “You’re seeing things, kid. There’s nothing there.”

Tyler frowned, realizing that only he could see the book. He looked back at the cover, curiosity and excitement bubbling up inside him. This book could be his ticket to understanding and using magic.

As he pondered this, Elric approached, a wiry man with sharp eyes. He crouched down and began drawing symbols in the dirt. “You want to know about magic?” he asked quietly. “Name’s Elric. I used to be an apprentice to an enchanter.”

Tyler quickly kept flipping through the book while focusing on Elric’s drawings. “Yeah, definitely. Show me what you know.”

Elric sketched out a series of runes. “These are the basics,” Elric explained. “Runes channel the mana from a core into specific effects. This one here,” he pointed to a rune, “is for light. And this one, for strength.”

“So, if you had a core, you could use these runes to do magic?” Tyler asked, fascinated.

Elric nodded. “In theory. But without a core, these runes are just symbols. They need a source of mana to work.”

Marcus glanced around nervously. “Careful, Elric. The guards don’t like us talking about magic. They don’t want us getting any ideas.”

Elric shrugged. “What’s the harm in a little knowledge? Besides, it might come in handy.” He glanced at Tyler. “If you ever make it to the tower, knowing a bit about runes could save your life. The lower floors are filled with traps and puzzles that use these symbols.”

Tyler turned to Elric again. “You mentioned something about the tower. Why are slaves used to farm the lower levels?”

Elric looked around cautiously before answering. “The tower is dangerous. Every fifth floor has a powerful boss that must be defeated to move to the next set of floors. Adventurers and nobles are the ones who go for the higher floors because they have the resources and power to deal with the bosses. But the lower floors, up to the fourth, are still dangerous but manageable. Slaves are sent to farm these floors because they can gather valuable items, herbs, and minor relics without the high risk associated with the boss floors.”

Marcus chimed in. “Once you reach the fifth floor, you can’t go back to the lower floors. It’s a one-way trip. The tower has a system that teleports you to the next floor you haven’t cleared if you try to re-enter. That’s why slaves are used repeatedly for the first four floors.”

Elric continued, “The floors are filled with puzzles, traps, and creatures. Each floor gets progressively harder. If slaves survive and find valuable items, they’re brought back before they reach the fifth floor. The nobles summon them out to prevent them from progressing further. The rewards on the higher floors are much greater, but the risk is exponentially higher too.”

Tyler nodded, absorbing the information. “So, what happens when they bring us back?”

“They strip search us for any valuable items,” Marcus said. “We’re given basic medical treatment if we’re injured, fed, and then sent back in. It’s a brutal cycle. But it’s a way for the nobles to get rich without risking their own necks.”

Tyler leaned back against the wall, deep in thought. “Sounds like fun,” he said with a smirk.

Marcus shook his head. “You won’t be going in there anytime soon. First, you have to survive the fighting pits. Only the strongest fighters get the resources to farm the lower floors. It’s not just about the danger; the nobles don’t like sharing their exclusive tower with slaves. There’s a limit on how many slaves each noble can send into the tower each week.”

Tyler’s smirk faded. “Fighting pits?”

Marcus nodded grimly. “Yes, the fighting pits. That’s where we prove our worth. If we survive, we might get the chance to climb the tower. But don’t think it’s a luxury. It’s still extremely dangerous, and we’re treated like dirt, just with a few more perks. At least in the tower, you get a decent bed and some meat in your meals. But it’s still hell.”

The cell door creaked open, and another guard entered, this one with a scar running down his cheek. He glared at the prisoners. “You, the new one,” he barked, pointing directly at Tyler. “The warden wants a word with you. Remove your clothes and come with me. Move it.”

Tyler stood up, removed his clothes while exchanging a quick glance with Marcus, who gave him a slight nod. He followed the guard out of the cell, the harsh sunlight making him squint as they stepped into the yard. The sprawling, dusty area was surrounded by high walls and patrolled by guards. In the center, a group of older slaves was sparring under the watchful eyes of several overseers.

As Tyler was led through the yard, he felt the eyes of the other prisoners on him, their expressions a mix of curiosity and resignation. The guard pushed him forward, and they made their way toward a large, imposing building at the edge of the yard.

It seems they had to make a quick detour as they stopped near the blacksmith workshop. Before Tyler realized, a searing pain shot through his shoulder as he was branded with a hot iron.

“Holy mother of!” Tyler exclaimed as his flesh seemed to sizzle. They were on the move again. Tyler’s heart pounded as he was led down the dimly lit corridor. The walls were lined with torches that cast flickering shadows, giving the place an eerie, almost haunted feel. The guard shoved a slave uniform into his hands before he was ushered through a heavy wooden door into a large office.