TOWER OF THE EXILED GOD

Chapter 1: The Traitor’s March

The crowd roared for blood, and Kaelen Veyr kept his head high as shackles bit into his wrists, the iron cutting his skin raw. The sun beat down on the capital’s marble streets, but the air was cold with judgment. 

He walked barefoot on the burning stones, a soldier paraded like a trophy, while nobles watched from shaded balconies and peasants spat curses from the road. 

“Traitor,” someone hissed. 

“Coward,” another sneered, hurling a rotten fruit that splattered against his shoulder. 

Kaelen ignored them all. He had endured worse than this on battlefields, where arrows blackened the sky and screams drowned thought. 

The insults were nothing compared to the sting of betrayal that coiled like a knife in his chest. 

He could still see his commander’s face, General Voren, the man Kaelen had trusted like a brother, when the accusations came: treason, sabotage, conspiring with the enemy. Lies, every word of it, but Voren hadn’t even blinked as he signed Kaelen’s execution order. 

Now, the execution was too merciful. 

Kaelen was not to be hanged, nor beheaded. He was chosen for the Ascension Trials. 

The towering spire loomed ahead, piercing the heavens like a black spear. Even from this distance, the Tower of the Gods dwarfed the imperial palace beside it. Its surface was smooth and rune-carved, glowing faintly as if the stone itself breathed. 

For centuries, it had been silent, its gates sealed except for this yearly spectacle, when condemned souls were cast inside, none had ever returned. 

The people believed the tower was a holy place where the gods judged mortals. Kaelen knew better. The gods had abandoned them long ago, yet men still worshiped the ruins of their prisons. 

Chains rattled as armored guards pushed forward, Kaelen. His once-proud uniform was gone, replaced by torn gray rags. 

The sword that had made him a decorated captain was gone, too. He had nothing but a dull dagger belted loosely at his waist—a death sentence, wrapped in ceremony.

The courtyard at the tower’s base was vast, lined with statues of forgotten deities, their faces eroded by time. At the center was the gate: a circular stone archway large enough to swallow a fortress. Its surface shimmered faintly, like a veil of water. 

Kaelen’s group of “volunteers” waited there, about a dozen prisoners in chains, gaunt and hollow-eyed. Some wept openly, some muttered prayers, others just stared at the ground, resigned. Kaelen met their gaze briefly and looked away. They weren’t soldiers but were meat. 

A herald in gold-trimmed robes stepped forward and unfurled a scroll. His voice rang across the courtyard: 

“Kaelen Veyr, former captain of the Third Legion, traitor to the Empire of Veythar, condemned to the Ascension Trials. May the gods judge you as they see fit.” 

The crowd cheered. 

Kaelen’s lips curled into a bitter smile. Let them cheer. The empire had made him a villain; he’d play the part. 

The guards unchained him, shoving him toward the gate. The shimmering surface rippled at his approach. The air was thick with magic, ancient, oppressive, like a thousand unseen eyes staring down at him. Kaelen’s instincts screamed at him to run, but he squared his shoulders. 

There was no way back. Without a word, he stepped through. 

The world changed. 

One moment, he was in sunlight, the next, he stood in a vast hall of darkness. The gate behind him flickered faintly, but there was no sign of the courtyard or the crowd. The air smelled of damp stone and decay. 

Kaelen’s boots, bare feet, he reminded himself bitterly, splashed in shallow water as he moved forward. The hall was impossibly large, its ceiling lost in shadow. Runes glimmered faintly along the walls, their light cold and blue, illuminating shattered statues and broken pillars. 

He wasn’t alone. 

The other prisoners stumbled through the gate one by one, their faces pale in the eerie glow. A man vomited as the portal sealed behind them, cutting off the last glimpse of sunlight. 

“Gods help us,” someone whispered. 

Kaelen scanned the chamber. The architecture was ancient, nothing like the empire’s marble cities. The walls seemed alive, pulsing faintly as if the stone itself was breathing. Ahead, a massive staircase spiraled upward, vanishing into darkness. 

A sound broke the silence, and it was a low growl.

Kaelen spun, dagger raised, his soldier’s instincts flaring. From the shadows at the far end of the hall, glowing eyes blinked open, dozens of them. The prisoners froze. A wet, guttural hiss echoed through the chamber, followed by the scrape of claws against stone. 

“Run,” Kaelen ordered sharply, his voice cutting through their panic. “Move!” It was too late, then the beast came. 

They were things of nightmares, hulking, wolf-like creatures with bone spikes jutting from their spines, their jaws splitting wider than a predator’s shoulder. One pounced on a screaming prisoner, tearing him apart in seconds. Chaos erupted as the rest charged. 

Kaelen darted aside, narrowly avoiding a lunging creature. His dagger slashed across its neck, barely scratching its hide. These things weren’t normal animals; they were creations of divine magic, meant to kill intruders. 

Another beast barreled toward him. Kaelen rolled under its leap, grabbing a broken spear from the ground. He drove it into the creature’s side, feeling the crunch of bone. It howled but didn’t fall. 

A prisoner tried to run for the staircase. A beast caught him mid-stride, dragging him into the shadows. Blood pooled on the cracked floor. 

Kaelen’s heart pounded. He’d fought wars, but this was different. This was a slaughterhouse. 

He ducked behind a fallen pillar, scanning for an escape route. The staircase was their only way forward, but the beasts guarded it like sentinels. He cursed under his breath. He needed a distraction. 

A scream echoed behind him. He turned in time to see one of the prisoners, a young boy barely eighteen, pinned under a beast, its jaws closing around his throat. Without thinking, Kaelen lunged, driving the spear into its skull. The creature convulsed and collapsed, its body steaming as black ichor seeped from its wounds. 

The boy scrambled away, terrified. “T-Thank you…” 

“Run,” Kaelen snapped, shoving him toward the staircase. “Don’t stop.” 

The boy obeyed, sprinting past the other beasts as Kaelen followed. He weaved through snapping jaws and slashing claws, every muscle burning. A beast lunged for his leg; he stabbed its eye and didn’t stop moving. 

They reached the first steps, and Kaelen turned to cover the boy’s retreat. A beast leaped, jaws wide.. 

And pain exploded in Kaelen’s chest.

He hit the ground hard, gasping. The creature pinned him, its rancid breath hot on his face. He jammed the dagger into its throat, but it wasn’t enough. Its jaws descended. 

Then everything stopped. 

The runes on the walls flared bright red. A voice, cold, mocking, and ancient, whispered in his mind. 

“You bleed well, mortal.” 

Kaelen froze. The voice wasn’t human; it wasn’t even alive. 

“Another worm thrown into my cage,” it purred. “How many centuries since I tasted a warrior’s soul?” 

The beast above him jerked, snarling. Its body convulsed, then crumbled into ash, vanishing into the air. 

Kaelen gasped for breath, clutching his chest. The voice chuckled. 

“Do you want to live, mortal?” 

His head spun. He didn’t answer. 

“Swear to me,” the voice whispered, each word a caress of fire in his skull. “Swear, and I will make you more than they ever dreamed. I will give you the strength to tear this tower apart.” 

Kaelen glanced around wildly. The beasts circled, their glowing eyes fixed on him, but none advanced. The boy was gone. He was alone, surrounded, bleeding out. 

“I swear,” Kaelen rasped. “I’ll take your damn deal.” 

The voice laughed, a sound like shattering glass. 

The runes blazed white-hot. Pain ripped through Kaelen’s body as crimson marks burned across his arms and chest. 

His vision blurred, and for a heartbeat, he wasn’t in the tower anymore. He stood in a desolate world of ash and broken stars, staring at a colossal figure chained to a black throne. 

Its skin was gray and cracked like stone, its eyes glowing like molten steel. Chains of light bound its limbs, yet its smile was sharp as a blade. 

“Good,” the Exiled God whispered. “Let us begin.” 

Kaelen’s body ignited with power. The beasts roared and leaped at him, but this time, he was ready.

He moved like a storm. The dagger in his hand seared with divine fire as he slashed, cutting through hide and bone like paper. The creatures fell one by one, their screams echoing through the chamber. 

When it was over, Kaelen stood alone, blood dripping from his blade, his chest heaving. His wounds were gone. His body hummed with alien strength. 

The voice purred in his mind. “Climb, mortal, floor by floor, chain by chain… free me.” Kaelen glanced up at the spiraling staircase. The tower seemed to pulse, alive, watching him. For the first time, a spark of grim determination lit his eyes. 

They’d sent him here to die. Instead, he would climb. 

And he’d make the empire regret ever betraying him.