The walk back toward the central column was quieter.

  Floor Five’s forest slowly thinned behind them, giving way to open plains that curved gently with the geometry of the Tower. Every level was built the same way — a vast circular world wrapped around the central elevator shaft. Above them, the ceiling shimmered like a painted sky, clouds drifting lazily across artificial blue. At the edges of the world, distant landscapes blurred into convincing horizons, as if the terrain continued endlessly beyond sight.

  But they all knew better.

  “It still messes with my head,” Sonia murmured, glancing at the false skyline. “It feels real.”

  “It’s designed to,” Louis replied. “Environmental immersion increases engagement.”

  Jacques yawned. “Or it’s just creepy.”

  Alex walked a few steps ahead, hands in his pockets. “Saturday and Sunday are rest days anyway. No monster spawns. No dungeons.”

  “And no getting stabbed,” Jacques added.

  “That’s my favorite part,” Louis said dryly.

  They had learned the Tower’s rhythm quickly. Weekends were safe — almost peaceful. Players could stay on any floor they wanted, but progression paused. And every four months, the fifth month became a full rest period: events, trading festivals, system announcements. The Tower itself closed — except for the ground floor.

  At least, that’s what they had been told.

  When they were first abducted and brought into the Tower, the system’s cold instructional message had outlined the rules. But it had only been two months since then.

  Since it was Friday afternoon, the decision had been easy.

  “We’ve got enough,” Alex said. “No point pushing our luck.”

  Louis checked his interface. “After today’s run? Yeah. We’re solid.”

  The currency dropped by monsters and dungeon clears was universal. It didn’t matter if you earned it on Floor One or Floor Fifty — it was the same money used on the ground floor. Food, gear, services, room upgrades.

  Jacques grinned lazily. “You realize we might actually afford a room size extension now?”

  Sonia’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

  “Probably,” Louis said. “If we pool some of it.”

  Each player had their own personal room on the ground floor — a private safe space linked to their wrist device. The default size had been… modest.

  “I wouldn’t mind something bigger than a glorified dorm closet,” Jacques muttered.

  “You just want space to sleep more comfortably,” Sonia teased.

  “That too.”

  Alex smiled faintly. For once, it felt like progress wasn’t just numbers.

  They crested a small ridge.

  The central elevator column rose ahead of them — a massive cylindrical structure piercing the artificial sky. Smooth metal, ancient and seamless, humming faintly with restrained power.

  And someone was waiting.

  Leaning casually against a large rock near the base of the structure stood a man in full black armor.

  Not iron.

  Not steel.

  Something darker.

  The armor absorbed light rather than reflecting it, plates layered with clean, angular precision. A massive sword rested point-down beside him, its blade nearly as tall as Sonia.

  He wasn’t tense.

  He was waiting.

  Beside him stood something even stranger.

  A humanoid construct made of matte black material, joints moving with mechanical precision. It carried several packed crates and weapon cases effortlessly. No visible face. No visible eyes.

  A robot.

  Or something close to it.

  Louis slowed first. “That’s new.”

  Jacques’ posture subtly shifted — not aggressive, but ready.

  Sonia instinctively moved slightly behind him.

  Alex studied the man carefully.

  High-level.

  You could feel it.

  Not through a visible interface — just instinct. Presence.

  The armored man lifted his head slightly as they approached.

  The helmet’s visor was dark, concealing his face.

  The construct adjusted the crates in its grip with a soft mechanical whir.

  None of them had ever seen technology like that inside the Tower.

  Not from players.

  Not from the system.

  The man shifted slightly, armored boots scraping against stone.

  Then he spoke.

  “Is that how you greet an old friend?”

  The voice froze them in place.

  Familiar.

  Calm. Amused.

  The black-armored knight reached up and unclasped his helmet. With a smooth motion, he pulled it free.

  Dark hair, slightly longer than before. Same sharp green eyes.

  Jacques blinked.

  “No way…”

  Sonia gasped. “Anon?!”

  Alex stared for half a second longer — then exhaled a short, disbelieving laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Anon smirked.

  “Miss me?”

  Louis adjusted his glasses. “We thought you were dead.”

  “Or hiding in your room for two months,” Jacques added.

  Anon rolled his neck casually. “Wow. I disappear for a bit and that’s the confidence level?”

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Sonia stepped forward first. “We were worried.”

  For a moment, something softer passed through Anon’s expression.

  “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

  Behind him, the matte black-purple construct shifted its weight, crates clicking softly against one another.

  Alex narrowed his eyes. “The orb.”

  Anon’s smirk widened.

  “Oh. You saw that?”

  From behind one of the crates, the small floating sphere drifted upward — the same metallic orb that had observed them earlier. It hovered lazily near Anon’s shoulder.

  “Mine,” he said casually. “Recon drone. You guys were putting on quite a show.”

  Louis folded his arms. “You were spying on us?”

  “Monitoring,” Anon corrected. “And I’ve got to admit…”

  He looked directly at Alex.

  “…I was impressed.”

  Alex raised a brow.

  “You nearly burned down the entire forest, though. Subtlety isn’t your thing, huh?”

  Jacques barked a laugh.

  Sonia crossed her arms. “You could have helped.”

  “Could’ve,” Anon admitted easily. “Didn’t need to. You handled it.”

  Alex studied him more carefully now.

  “You’ve been climbing.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What floor?”

  Anon rested his massive sword against his shoulder as if it weighed nothing.

  “Seven.”

  Silence.

  Even the wind seemed to pause.

  Louis’ voice dropped a notch. “Level Seven? Already?”

  Rumors from the ground floor said the strongest coordinated groups had only just begun pushing into it.

  Jacques whistled softly. “That’s… not beginner pace.”

  Anon shrugged. “Split off early. Found a few good opportunities. Tower rewards initiative.”

  “You vanished after the first week,” Sonia said. “No message. Nothing.”

  “I needed space,” he replied. “Also there is no coms between levels”

  Blunt.

  But not hostile.

  Alex nodded slowly. “Fair.”

  For a moment, they just stood there — five friends reunited in front of the central elevator, the artificial sky stretching endlessly above them.

  Then Jacques stepped forward and punched Anon lightly in the shoulder.

  “You idiot.”

  Anon grinned. “Missed you too.”

  Even Louis allowed a faint smile.

  After the brief tension faded, Anon’s posture shifted.

  The casual tone remained — but something deliberate settled behind his eyes.

  “I didn’t just come down to say hi.”

  Alex tilted his head slightly. “No?”

  Anon gestured vaguely between them.

  “I’ve been watching the way you move. The coordination. The growth curve. You’re not flailing around like most of the groups down there.”

  He glanced at the central elevator column.

  “And this Tower doesn’t reward small teams forever.”

  The drone hovered silently at his side.

  “So,” Anon continued, resting his massive sword against the ground, “I’ve got a proposal.”

  A faint smile.

  “Let’s make it official.”

  He looked at each of them in turn.

  “Let’s form a guild.”

  Jacques was the first to react.

  “That’s insane.”

  Louis didn’t even hesitate. “Do you know how much it costs to register a guild? We barely scraped enough for a room extension.”

  Sonia nodded. “We were literally talking about finally upgrading our personal spaces.”

  Anon didn’t flinch.

  “I know exactly how much it costs.”

  He tapped one of the crates carried by the black-purple construct. The metal thudded heavily.

  “I’ve been farming like crazy on Floors Six and Seven. Rare spawns. Escort contracts. Resource runs. I didn’t just disappear.”

  Louis narrowed his eyes. “Even so, guild registration is absurdly expensive.”

  “Alone?” Anon replied. “Yeah. But not alone.”

  His gaze swept across them.

  “You’ve been farming too. I saw the clear times. The drop density. You’re not struggling.”

  Jacques crossed his arms. “We want that money.”

  “For a bigger bedroom?” Anon shot back.

  “It’s not just a bedroom,” Sonia protested. “It’s the only private space we have.”

  Anon’s voice softened slightly.

  “And a guild can have its own private quarters.”

  That made them pause.

  “Shared storage. Private training rooms. Strategy halls. Crafting bonuses. Negotiation leverage. Safety in numbers.”

  He stepped forward slightly.

  “You’re thinking small.”

  Alex stayed quiet, listening.

  Anon continued.

  “The floors are getting bigger.”

  He pointed upward, though there was no visible ceiling beyond the artificial sky.

  “You noticed it too. Floor Five is already larger than Floor Two. Monster density increases. Travel distance increases. Dungeon scaling increases.”

  Louis slowly nodded.

  “And requirements to unlock the next level get stricter,” Anon added. “Boss thresholds. Clear quotas. Timed objectives.”

  He looked directly at Alex.

  “At Level Seven, I found a ten-man dungeon.”

  Silence fell again.

  “Ten?” Sonia repeated.

  “Not mandatory,” Anon clarified, “but the system throws up a warning that your survival odds drop sharply without ten registered participants — and unlike smaller dungeons, this one caps entry at ten.”

  Jacques whistled. “So solo climbing hits a wall.”

  “Not immediately,” Anon replied. “But soon.”

  He let that sink in.

  “And I’ve heard things.”

  Louis raised a brow. “Rumors?”

  “Confirmed enough,” Anon said. “Other groups are almost ready to register their guilds.”

  He glanced toward the horizon — toward the lower floors below them.

  “The Americans already have one in preparation.”

  When they were abducted, over three thousand students had awakened on the Tower’s ground floor — confused, stripped of memory of how they got there.

  Three colleges.

  The regular French College of Coeurderoy.

  The prestigious American academy — Westbridge Institute, known for upper-class elites, celebrity students, and legacy names.

  And the elite Japanese university — Seishin Advanced Academy, an institution reserved for the most gifted and disciplined.

  Three ecosystems thrown into one Tower.

  Jacques scratched the back of his neck. “So we’re supposed to compete with rich prodigies and hyper-disciplined geniuses.”

  Anon’s green eyes sharpened.

  “Yes.”

  A faint smile curved his lips.

  “And why not?”

  He looked at each of them in turn.

  “You think Coeurderoy doesn’t have talent? You think this Tower only rewards prestige?”

  His gaze landed on Alex.

  “You’ve already proven it doesn’t.”

  Alex felt the weight of that.

  Fire magic. Tactical coordination. Rapid growth.

  The Tower did seem to reward synergy.

  Team play.

  Calculated risk.

  Alex finally spoke.

  “He’s right.”

  All eyes turned to him.

  “The Tower is structured around cooperation. Party scaling bonuses. Shared quests. Complementary roles.”

  He glanced at Jacques, Sonia, Louis — then back at Anon.

  “If ten-man content starts at Seven, it won’t be optional for long.”

  Louis exhaled slowly. “So we either build now… or scramble later.”

  “Exactly,” Anon said.

  Sonia hesitated only a second longer. “If we do this… we’re committing.”

  Jacques grinned lazily. “Guess I’ll sleep in the guild hall instead.”

  Louis adjusted his glasses. “Financially reckless.”

  Pause.

  “…But strategically sound.”

  Alex extended his hand.

  Anon took it.

  “Alright,” Alex said. “We build.”

  A faint system shimmer pulsed briefly in the air — as if the Tower itself approved of the direction.

  After that, the tension eased into lighter chatter.

  Logistics. Roles. Recruitment criteria. Minimum standards.

  Eventually, Jacques smirked.

  “So.”

  He looked around at the group.

  “What are we calling this thing?”

  They began throwing ideas around.

  Some serious.

  Some ridiculous.

  Some that made Sonia threaten violence.

  But in the end, as the artificial sky slowly shifted toward evening, they settled on one.

  A name that felt right.

  Anon Moreau — 21 years old

  Fairly tall, with brown hair and sharp green eyes, Anon has a reserved presence that can feel distant at first. Introverted and never particularly athletic, he wasn’t a standout in sports or campus life, nor was he a model student in most subjects.

  What set him apart was programming. He discovered an early passion for it, and that focus earned him strong grades and a respectable class ranking despite his otherwise average academic profile. Still, he remained mostly unnoticed — not unpopular, just invisible.

  The Tower, to him, isn’t just a survival challenge. It’s an opportunity — a place where skill, strategy, and results matter more than social status. A chance to redefine himself.