Altair’s hooves crunched on the loose gravel as he approached the ancient tower alongside Fetch who had joined him for this mission. It jutted out of the dungeon floor like a jagged tooth, partially collapsed, the stone weathered and crumbling. He could feel the weight of time pressing down on it, as though the tower had been forgotten by the world above, left to rot in this forsaken place. And yet, something about it called to him, a strange pull in his chest that urged him closer.

The tower seemed to rise endlessly, spiraling upwards, its top barely visible in the dim light of the dungeon. Altair’s sharp eyes scanned the structure, noting the decay and instability of the stone. The staircase within, though perilous, was still intact—just enough to make the climb possible, but by no means easy.

With a deep breath, he began his ascent. The air inside the tower was thick with dust, and each step sent small pebbles tumbling down the stairwell. The walls, once grand and intricately carved, were now barely recognizable, worn down by the passage of time. Sections of the spiral staircase had crumbled away, forcing Altair to leap across gaps or balance precariously on narrow ledges.

The climb was exhausting, and the sense of danger heightened with every step. He felt the tower groaning under his weight, as though it might collapse at any moment. But he pressed on, driven by a mix of curiosity and determination. Altair had been through worse; he’d survived the depths of the dungeon, faced monsters, traps, and trials. This tower, though treacherous, was just another obstacle in his path.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he reached the top. The stone steps led to a small, weathered parapet, barely wide enough to stand on. Altair pulled himself up onto the roof, his muscles aching from the climb, and took a moment to steady his breath.

Then, he looked over the edge of the parapet.

What he saw stole the air from his lungs.

Stretching out before him was a battlefield—an endless sea of wreckage and ruin. The entire landscape was scarred, a desolate wasteland of shattered stone and twisted metal. Broken weapons and shattered armor littered the ground, and the skeletal remains of Coursers and creatures alike were scattered across the field. Craters pockmarked the earth, evidence of some long-forgotten war, and the land seemed to ripple with the aftermath of violence.

There was no patch of land untouched by destruction. No corner of the battlefield that hadn’t been ravaged by the chaos of battle.

Altair stood frozen, his eyes wide as he took in the full scope of the devastation. He had seen destruction before. The dungeon was a place of constant danger, filled with death and decay. But this… this was something different. The sheer scale of it was overwhelming. It wasn’t just the aftermath of a single battle—it was the remnants of a war that had raged for ages, a war that had left nothing behind but ruin.

His heart clenched in his chest. For all his bravado, for all the battles he had fought and won, Altair had never truly considered the broader consequences of war. In the heat of combat, it was easy to forget that every swing of the sword, every spell cast, left a mark not just on the opponent, but on the world itself. This battlefield was proof of that—a reminder that war was not just a series of victories and losses, but a force of destruction that consumed everything in its path.

Altair’s thoughts drifted to his own journey, the battles he had fought, the enemies he had vanquished. How many times had he focused solely on the immediate threat, blind to the larger picture? How many times had he charged into battle without considering the cost?

A chill ran down his spine as he realized that this battlefield could easily be the future of any place, any world. If conflict continued unchecked, if those who fought for power and glory did so without regard for the consequences, then this wasteland was the inevitable result. The dungeon itself was a testament to that—a place of ancient power and knowledge, now reduced to little more than a dangerous labyrinth of forgotten history and endless ruin.

Altair’s gaze fell on a cluster of broken banners, their once-bright colors now faded and tattered. He couldn’t make out the symbols on them, but they represented something—an army, a cause, a nation. And now, they were nothing more than remnants of a past that no longer mattered.

He clenched his jaw, feeling a mix of anger and sorrow well up inside him. What had all this destruction been for? Had it been worth it? Whatever cause had driven these armies to war, whatever they had been fighting for, it was lost now, buried beneath the rubble of their own making.

For a moment, Altair felt small, insignificant in the face of such overwhelming devastation. The battles he had fought, the victories he had won—they seemed meaningless in the shadow of this wasteland. What was the point of it all, if this was the end result? Was he doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past, to fight and kill, only to leave behind a legacy of ruin?

He shook his head, trying to dispel the dark thoughts. Altair wasn’t one to dwell on the past or the future. He lived in the present, focused on the task at hand. But standing here, atop this tower, looking out over the endless destruction, it was impossible not to question everything.

His gaze lingered on the far horizon, where the battlefield seemed to stretch on forever. There was no end to the ruin, no hope of recovery. And yet, somewhere deep inside him, a spark of determination flared.

Altair wasn’t like the armies that had fought and died here. He wasn’t driven by greed or a lust for power. He fought because he had to—because the dungeon demanded it, because survival required it. But he wasn’t blind to the consequences anymore. He understood, now more than ever, that every battle, every decision, left a mark.

The destruction he saw before him was a warning, a reminder of what could happen if he wasn’t careful. But it was also a challenge. Altair wasn’t one to back down from a fight, even if that fight was against the mistakes of the past.

He took one last look at the battlefield, then turned away, his jaw set with renewed purpose. The climb back down the tower would be just as treacherous as the ascent, but Altair didn’t care. He had seen what he needed to see, and the weight of that knowledge would stay with him as he continued his journey through the dungeon.

No matter what lay ahead, he would face it with clear eyes, knowing that every step he took, every battle he fought, mattered. And he would make sure that the ruin he had witnessed here would not be the legacy he left behind.