The Tower of Eternity was an ancient structure that had stood for eons, reaching beyond the skies and into the realms of gods. Legends said that anyone who reached the summit would be granted any wish they desired. But the Tower was no simple structure; it was a labyrinth filled with monstrous creatures, deadly traps, and trials that tested the very essence of one's soul. 
Among those who dared to ascend, one name was whispered in both awe and fear—Viole Grace, the strongest climber to ever attempt the Tower. With unmatched strength, he had scaled the Tower faster than anyone before him, battling monstrous foes and overcoming insurmountable odds. Yet, despite his might, Viole climbed not for fame or glory, but for a single wish—a wish that no one but he knew.
Viole stood atop the 99th floor of the Tower, his piercing violet eyes scanning the desolate landscape. His companions, a group of skilled warriors he had met during the climb, stood beside him. They had fought countless battles together, their bond forged in the heat of combat and the chill of near-death experiences. 
But as they reached the final stretch of their journey, something had changed. Viole could feel the tension in the air, a creeping unease that gnawed at the edges of his mind. He dismissed it as nerves—after all, they were about to face the Tower's final trial, the guardian of the 100th floor.
The battle was fierce. The guardian was a monstrous being, a colossal entity made of shadows and flame, its presence alone enough to make the bravest of souls tremble. But Viole was unfazed. With every strike, every swing of his sword, he pushed the guardian back, his companions lending their strength to the fight. Victory seemed within their grasp.
And then, in the moment of triumph, it happened.
A sharp pain lanced through Viole’s back. His vision blurred as he stumbled forward, barely managing to parry the guardian’s next blow. He turned, his eyes widening in shock and betrayal. There, behind him, stood his companions, their weapons drawn, their faces twisted with guilt and determination.
“We’re sorry, Viole,” one of them said, her voice trembling. “You’re too strong. If you reach the top, you’ll take the wish for yourself. We can’t let that happen.”
Viole’s heart sank. He had trusted these people with his life, shared his victories and losses with them. But now, in the final moments, they had turned on him. 
With a roar of fury and pain, Viole unleashed his power, the ground beneath them shaking as he pushed the guardian back once more. But his strength was waning, the wounds from his companions sapping his energy. He fought with everything he had, but he was outnumbered, his former allies attacking him from all sides.
As the battle raged on, Viole knew he was losing. The guardian, sensing his weakness, renewed its assault, and his companions pressed their advantage. Bloodied and battered, Viole fell to one knee, his breath coming in ragged gasps. 
But even in the face of death, he refused to give up. With a final, desperate surge of energy, Viole activated his most powerful technique, one that he had never used before. The air around him crackled with energy as he gathered all his remaining strength, his eyes glowing with an otherworldly light.
“This is not the end,” he whispered, his voice echoing through the chamber. “I will return.”
And with that, Viole unleashed his final technique. The world around him shattered like glass, the fragments swirling around him as time itself bent to his will. He felt his body being pulled backward, the pain and exhaustion fading as he was enveloped in a blinding light.
When Viole opened his eyes, he found himself standing at the base of the Tower, the massive structure looming above him like a dark sentinel. He looked down at his hands, unscathed and full of strength, and realized what had happened.
Viole stood at the base of the Tower of Eternity, his chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. The memory of his final moments on the 99th floor was fresh in his mind, like a deep wound that refused to heal. His hands were trembling slightly as he clenched them into fists, feeling the pulse of life in his veins. He was alive. The world around him was vibrant and clear, the sky a brilliant blue above, the Tower’s dark stone an imposing contrast. He had been brought back—time rewound, or perhaps he had never left.
It was hard to comprehend, but the Tower had given him a second chance.
"Why...?" Viole muttered to himself, his voice a rough whisper. His violet eyes, still glowing faintly from the power he had unleashed, scanned the massive entrance to the Tower. He should have been dead, his body a broken heap at the feet of the guardian and his traitorous companions. Yet here he was, standing at the very beginning once again.
A second chance.
"Was it part of the wish?" Viole wondered aloud. He knew not the full extent of the Tower's mysteries, but he had heard rumors of its twisted sense of justice. The Tower rewarded the strong, but it also punished the unworthy in ways beyond death. Perhaps this was its way of giving him one last trial.
He felt no joy, no relief—only a grim determination. The betrayal of his companions still cut deep, but he could not afford to dwell on it. He had come too far, fought too many battles, and sacrificed too much to let his emotions get the better of him now.
"Focus," Viole told himself, his voice steadying as he pushed the memories aside. "This time, I won't make the same mistakes."
He turned toward the entrance, the massive double doors towering over him. They creaked open as if sensing his presence, revealing the dark, foreboding interior of the Tower. He had walked this path once before, and yet it felt different now—as if the Tower itself was watching him, waiting to see how he would fare this time.
As he stepped inside, the heavy doors closed behind him with a resonating thud, sealing him within the Tower's depths once more. The air was thick with the scent of ancient stone and something else—something that felt alive, almost sentient.
Viole took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. "The first trial," he murmured, recalling the memories of his previous climb. "A trial of resolve."
The chamber he entered was vast, the ceiling lost in darkness far above. The floor was made of polished stone, and in the center of the room stood a large, ornately carved pedestal. Upon the pedestal was a single object—a crystalline sphere, shimmering with a soft, ethereal light.
Viole approached the pedestal cautiously, his instincts on high alert. He remembered this trial. It seemed simple on the surface—a test of one's resolve, of their desire to climb the Tower. The sphere was said to contain one's deepest fears, pulling them into an illusion so real it could shatter the minds of the weak.
But Viole was no ordinary climber. He had faced this trial before, conquered his fears, and moved on. This time, he knew what to expect. Yet there was an unease within him, a nagging doubt that the Tower would not let him pass so easily a second time.
As he reached out to touch the sphere, he hesitated. The glow of the crystal intensified as his hand hovered over it, casting his face in a pale light.
"Face your fears," he whispered, then steeled himself and placed his hand on the sphere.
In an instant, the world around him dissolved into a cascade of colors and sounds. The chamber disappeared, replaced by a cold, empty void. Viole felt himself falling through endless darkness, the sensation both familiar and terrifying. He knew this was an illusion, a construct of the Tower meant to break him—but it was so real, so visceral.
And then, the darkness parted, and he was no longer in the void.
Viole found himself standing in a small, dimly lit room. The walls were close, oppressive, and the air was thick with a sense of dread. He recognized this place—it was a memory from his past, one he had tried to bury deep within his mind. His childhood home, long since abandoned.
"No," Viole muttered, his voice shaking as the scene played out before him.
The room was filled with the sounds of quiet sobs. In the corner, huddled against the wall, was a young boy—Viole himself, no more than eight years old. His small body was bruised and battered, his face streaked with tears. Standing over him was a figure—a towering man with a cruel smile, his hand raised to strike the boy again.
"Please," the boy whimpered, his voice barely a whisper. "Please, stop."
The man laughed, a harsh, mocking sound that echoed through the small room. "You're weak," he sneered. "Pathetic. You'll never amount to anything. You can't even defend yourself."
The boy curled into a ball, trying to make himself as small as possible, but the blows kept coming. Each strike was filled with malice, with a hatred that made Viole's blood run cold. He could feel every impact as if it were happening to him now, the pain, the fear—it was overwhelming.
Viole wanted to look away, to close his eyes and shut out the scene before him, but he couldn't. This was his trial, his burden to bear. He had faced this fear once before, but it was no less painful the second time.
"Get up," Viole whispered to his younger self, his voice trembling with emotion. "Fight back."
But the boy remained on the ground, too scared, too broken to resist. The man continued to beat him, his laughter growing louder, more cruel with each strike. 
"You're worthless," the man spat. "A waste of space. I should have left you to die."
Something inside Viole snapped. The old wounds, the buried trauma—it all came rushing back, threatening to consume him. But he wouldn't let it. Not this time. Not ever again.
"No," Viole growled, his voice gaining strength. He took a step forward, his hands clenched into fists. "You won't break me."
The man paused, his hand frozen mid-strike. Slowly, he turned to face Viole, his eyes filled with a malevolent gleam.
"Ah, the real Viole," the man said, his voice dripping with mockery. "Come to save your pathetic younger self? How noble."
Viole glared at the man, his violet eyes burning with intensity. "You're just an illusion," he said, his voice steady. "A twisted memory. You have no power over me."
The man sneered, his form beginning to shift and warp. "Are you so sure?" he asked, his voice echoing unnaturally. The room around them began to change, the walls closing in, the darkness deepening. "You couldn't save yourself back then. What makes you think you can save anyone now?"
Viole felt the weight of those words, the doubt creeping into his mind. He had failed before, failed to protect himself, failed to protect those he cared about. But that was the past, and he was no longer that scared little boy.
"I am Viole Grace," he said, his voice strong and resolute. "I have climbed the Tower, faced countless trials, and I will not be broken by a memory."
The man laughed, a chilling sound that sent shivers down Viole's spine. "We'll see about that."
With a sudden burst of speed, the man lunged at Viole, his form twisting into something monstrous. His hands became claws, his teeth sharp as daggers. But Viole was ready. He had faced this nightmare before, and he would face it again.
As the creature charged, Viole drew his sword, the blade gleaming with a brilliant light. With a single, powerful swing, he cut through the illusion, the force of his strike shattering the nightmare like glass.
The room exploded into a shower of light, the walls crumbling away into nothingness. The cries of the young boy faded into silence, and the oppressive darkness was replaced by the familiar sight of the Tower's chamber.
Viole stood alone in the center of the room, the crystalline sphere now dim and lifeless on the pedestal before him. He was breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest, but he felt an overwhelming sense of relief.
"I did it," he whispered to himself, sheathing his sword. "I conquered it... again."
But the victory felt hollow. He had passed the first trial once more, but it had taken everything he had to do so. And this was only the beginning. The Tower would not make it easy for him—it would throw every fear, every doubt, every weakness he had back in his face.
But Viole was determined. He had a wish to fulfill, a destiny to claim. No matter what the Tower threw at him, he would keep climbing. He would face every trial, overcome every obstacle, and reach the summit.
With renewed resolve, Viole turned and walked toward the chamber's exit. The doors opened before him, revealing the path to the next floor. He knew what lay ahead—more trials, more battles—but he was ready.
This time, he would climb the Tower alone. No companions, no trust—only his strength, his will, and the fire that burned within him. The Tower would test him, break him down, but he would rise again and again.
And when he reached the top, he would make his wish. A wish that would change everything.
Viole stepped through the doors, the path ahead dark and foreboding. The silence of the Tower was thick, almost suffocating, broken only by the faint echo of his footsteps as he ascended to the next floor. Viole's mind raced with thoughts of what lay ahead, but he forced himself to focus. He had to be prepared for anything—the Tower would test him in ways he couldn’t yet imagine.
As he reached the landing of the second floor, the air grew colder, and a dim light flickered ahead. Viole slowed his pace, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He knew this floor well—it was where the Tower began to test not just physical strength, but the strength of one’s will.
“Welcome, Viole Grace.”
The voice was deep and resonant, filling the entire chamber. Viole’s eyes narrowed as he stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the figure that emerged from the shadows.
Standing in the center of the room was a man clad in dark, intricately designed armor. His face was obscured by a helmet, save for a pair of glowing red eyes that stared directly at Viole. In his hand, the man held a large sword, its blade black as night and etched with runes that pulsed with a faint crimson light.
"Another illusion?" Viole muttered, tightening his grip on his weapon. "Or are you something more?"
The armored figure chuckled, a low, menacing sound. "I am no mere illusion, Viole. I am the Guardian of this floor. But you may call me Amon."
Viole’s eyes narrowed. The name Amon wasn’t one he recognized from his previous climb. This was new—different. The Tower was changing the trials, adapting to his presence. He couldn’t afford to underestimate it.
“What do you want, Amon?” Viole asked, his voice calm but edged with steel. “I’ve already faced the first trial. If you think you can intimidate me, you’re mistaken.”
Amon raised his sword, pointing it directly at Viole. "Intimidation is not my goal. You seek to climb the Tower, to reach the summit and claim your wish. But before you can move forward, you must prove yourself worthy."
Viole smirked, his confidence unwavering. "Worthy? I've already climbed higher than anyone before me. I’ve defeated countless enemies, faced trials that would have broken anyone else. What makes you think I’m not worthy?"
The Guardian’s eyes glowed brighter, his voice echoing with a power that made the air around them tremble. "You may have climbed far, Viole Grace, but you are not the same man who first entered this Tower. You carry the weight of betrayal, the scars of failure. Your resolve has been shaken, and your heart is burdened with doubt. To continue, you must face that doubt—conquer it."
Viole’s smirk faltered for a brief moment, the Guardian’s words hitting closer to home than he would have liked. He knew Amon was right. The betrayal of his companions, the pain of being stabbed in the back by those he trusted—it had left a mark. But he wouldn’t let it stop him.
“I don’t need to prove myself to you,” Viole said, his voice hardening. “I’ll face whatever trial the Tower throws at me and crush it underfoot.”
Amon tilted his head slightly, his stance shifting as he prepared for battle. “Then let us see if your strength is as unshakable as your words.”
Without warning, Amon lunged forward, his sword cleaving through the air with terrifying speed. Viole reacted instantly, drawing his own blade and parrying the strike with a loud clash of metal. The force of the blow sent a shockwave through the chamber, but Viole held his ground, pushing back with all his might.
"Impressive," Amon said, his voice devoid of emotion as he pulled back and swung again. "But strength alone will not see you through."
Viole dodged the next strike, his movements fluid and precise. "I’ve beaten stronger enemies than you, Guardian," he said, slashing at Amon’s side. The blade struck the armor, but it didn’t even leave a scratch.
Amon retaliated with a series of powerful swings, each one forcing Viole back. “This isn’t just a test of strength,” Amon said, his voice calm yet firm. “This is a test of your will—your ability to endure the pain of your past without succumbing to it.”
As Amon spoke, the chamber around them began to change. The walls faded away, replaced by scenes from Viole’s past—moments of pain, loss, and betrayal. The faces of his former companions appeared, their eyes filled with the same guilt and determination they had shown on the 99th floor. 
Viole’s breath caught in his throat as he saw them, the memories flooding back with brutal intensity. He could hear their voices, feel the sting of their betrayal as if it were happening all over again.
“Viole,” Amon’s voice cut through the haze, “these are the burdens you carry. The Tower knows your heart—knows that you have yet to let go of the pain that festers within you. If you cannot overcome this, you will fail, as you did before.”
“Shut up!” Viole roared, charging at Amon with renewed fury. He swung his sword with all his might, aiming for the Guardian’s head. But Amon blocked the attack effortlessly, his strength unyielding.
“Your anger only weakens you,” Amon said, pushing Viole back once more. “You cannot fight your way through this trial with brute force alone. You must face your pain, accept it, and move forward—only then will you have the strength to continue.”
Viole gritted his teeth, his mind racing. He knew Amon was right, but the pain—the betrayal—it was too fresh, too raw. He had trusted his companions, relied on them, and they had turned on him when he needed them most. The anger, the sorrow, it was all-consuming.
But deep down, Viole knew that if he didn’t confront these emotions, they would consume him. The Tower was showing him his greatest weakness, and if he couldn’t overcome it, he would never reach the summit.
Taking a deep breath, Viole closed his eyes, forcing himself to focus. He let the memories wash over him, feeling every ounce of pain, every stab of betrayal. It was overwhelming, but he didn’t push it away. He embraced it, let it fill him until there was nothing left to feel.
When he opened his eyes again, he felt different—lighter, somehow. The scenes of his past still surrounded him, but they no longer held the same power over him. He had faced the pain, accepted it for what it was—a part of his journey, but not the end of it.
“I understand now,” Viole said, his voice steady as he met Amon’s gaze. “The pain, the betrayal—it’s all part of what made me who I am. But it doesn’t define me. I won’t let it hold me back.”
Amon studied Viole for a moment, then slowly lowered his sword. “You’ve passed this trial,” he said, his voice no longer echoing with power. “You have proven that your will is stronger than your pain. You may proceed.”
Viole exhaled, relief washing over him. The chamber began to return to normal, the visions of his past fading away as the walls reformed around them. Amon stepped back, his form beginning to dissolve into the shadows.
“Remember, Viole Grace,” Amon said as he faded away, “the Tower will continue to test you in ways you cannot predict. But if you hold onto the strength of your will, you will reach the summit.”
And with that, the Guardian was gone, leaving Viole alone in the chamber. He sheathed his sword, his heart still heavy but his resolve stronger than ever. He had faced one of his greatest fears and emerged victorious.
But this was only the beginning. There were many more trials ahead, and he couldn’t afford to falter now.
Viole turned to the exit, the path to the next floor now open before him. With a final, determined glance back at the chamber, he stepped forward, ready to face whatever the Tower had in store for him next.
He would climb higher, fight harder, and overcome every obstacle. And when he reached the summit, he would make his wish—whatever the cost.