Narration POV
The sun shone brightly over the tower, its golden rays casting a monolithic shadow that eclipsed all the men gathered below like some ancient finger of the gods pointing down at mortal ambition. The structure itself defied comprehension—smooth silver stone walls which stretched impossibly high into the azure sky until its peak disappeared into wisps of cloud.
At its base, Commander Dragul stood rigid among his assembled forces, his green hair swaying lightly from the wind.
Two soldiers approached Dragul from behind, their footsteps crisp against the hard-packed earth. One carried a parchment scroll, its edges fluttering in the breeze.
"Are you done with the role call?" Dragul's voice was small in comparison to the Tower behind him.
"Yes, sir," the first soldier replied, snapping to attention. "But there's one that didn't show up."
The second soldier consulted his parchment, running a calloused finger down the list of names. "Sinbad of Tyson village is not here, Commander."
"Sinbad?" Dragul's head snapped back to meet the guard's gaze, a flicker of recognition passing through his expression. The boy with the defiant eyes and bloodied palm flashed through his memory.
"That one, huh." Dragul fell into contemplative silence, his jaw working as he processed this information. Around him, his soldiers waited with practiced patience, though several exchanged glances. They all knew what happened to deserters, what happened to villages that harbored them. "It's fine," he finally decided with a dismissive wave. "It's no big deal being short an awakened or two, especially a kid."
The words had barely left his lips when a voice rang out across the assembled army, clear and strong and utterly free.
"Kid? You're a kid too, aren't you?"
Every head turned upward toward the source of the voice. There, silhouetted against the tower's dark surface like some mythic figure, stood Sinbad. His purple hair tied in a pony tail hair whipped in the unnatural wind that surrounded the structure, pale gold eyes and a smile resolute. The bandages around his palm were stark white against his tanned skin, and a simple blade hang at his waist.
"You—" Dragul began, his voice catching slightly as surprise and something that might have been admiration warred in his expression.
"Listen up," Sinbad interrupted, his voice carrying clearly across the distance between them. "I'm going to get whatever is in this Tower. I'll never let you take it. Not you guys that do nothing but torture this country... not ever."
The declaration hung in the air like a challenge thrown at the feet of gods and kings alike. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then Sinbad turned and began running toward the steps that led up to the tower's opened entrance, where blue light filtered through like water from another realm.
There, waiting at the base of those smooth stone steps and sitting with the casual ease of someone who had been expecting this moment, was a familiar traveler in green.
"Yunan," Sinbad called out as the traveler rose to his feet.
"Well then, Sinbad, I guess this is goodbye. At least for now," Yunan said a small smile gracing his face.
"Thanks for everything, Yunan."
With those parting words, Sinbad began to run up the steps toward the open Tower, each footfall echoing strangely in the air. He was so close to entering the tower and in that moment he remembered his mother and the last conversation he had had with her
-------------Flashback---------------------
"Sinbad, come over here," his mother called from her bed, her voice weaker than it had been even the day before. Esra sat propped against worn pillows, a scabbard cradled carefully in her trembling hands. Despite her illness, despite the pain that had become her constant companion, she wore a smile, like she always did.
"Take this with you," she said, extending the blade toward her son with hands that shook only slightly.
Sinbad's throat tightened as he looked at the weapon. "That's Dad's keepsake."
"I've been putting a burden on you," Esra continued, her amber eyes never leaving his face. "But you've found your calling, haven't you? I can see it in your eyes." Her voice grew stronger with each word, as if speaking her truth was lending her strength. "Do what you have to do. Your dad would want that too. It's all going to be fine—you won't have to worry about me anymore. So you go ahead."
Sinbad felt his composure cracking- His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he fought back the tears that threatened to overwhelm him.
"Thank you, mom," he managed, his voice thick with emotion as he accepted the blade and then immediately set it aside. What mattered more than any weapon was this moment, this final goodbye. He wrapped his arms around his mother's frail form, holding her gently as if she might break, feeling the bird-like fragility of her bones beneath skin that had grown translucent with illness.
Esra returned the embrace with what strength remained to her, her cheek resting against his face and shoulder, her breathing shallow but peaceful. "My brave boy," she whispered, so softly he almost missed it. "Make the world better than we found it."
Her breathing slowed, became fainter, until finally it stopped altogether. Sinbad held her for a long time after that, memorizing the weight of her in his arms, the scent of her hair, the smile on her face, one of peace, one of love.
When he finally laid her to rest in the bed they had shared for so many years, he found that his tears had dried.
----------------Flashback--End-----------------------
'Thank you, mom,' was all Sinbad could think as he ran into the blinding light of the opened gates, his father's blade a reassuring weight at his side. The light seemed to welcome him.
Once he reached the top of the steps, he paused and looked back down at Yunan one final time.
"Yunan," Sinbad called out, his voice carrying clearly in the charged air. Yunan's face rose to meet his eyes. "Until we see each other again."
Yunan smiled at those words.
'Sinbad,' he thought. 'You're a miracle child who has the great ability to change the world. Once you obtain what you seek, what will you become? I'm looking forward to it, but I'm also afraid of it.'
He pushed his doubts aside and raised his voice to carry across the distance between them. "Go forth, Sinbad!"
At his words, Dragul's military training snapped back into focus. "Charge!" he bellowed to his soldiers, and all the men who had been waiting at the bottom of the tower began their desperate rush up the steps, their boots thundering against stone as they sought to claim whatever prize awaited within.
But they were too late. Sinbad had already crossed the threshold.
Sinbad POV
I seemed to be in an endless black void illuminated by a myriad of stars. Between those stars, countless strings of silver light were woven into a beautiful and inconceivably complex net, forming various nexuses and constellations. It was... breathtaking.
"What is that?" I whispered into the void, my voice somehow carrying despite the absence of air. "It feels like I can reach it."
My hand stretched out of its own accord, fingers grasping toward the nearest strand of silver light. For a moment, I thought I could almost touch it. But before my fingertips could make contact, something began to pull at me.
My eyes closed involuntarily, and when I managed to force them open again, everything had changed.
I was lying on cold stone in a chamber that defied architectural logic. Massive pillars stretched upward into shadows too deep for even my awakened vision to penetrate, their surfaces carved with symbols that seemed to shift and writhe when I wasn't looking directly at them. The air tasted of copper and ozone, charged with the same energy I had felt outside the tower but magnified a thousandfold.
Above my head, words were inscribed in the ceiling that seemed to have been burnt into the stone.
First Testing Grounds of the Spell
"Spell? What is that?" I asked aloud, my voice echoing strangely in the small chamber. The word felt significant, weighted with power and purpose, but its meaning eluded me like water through cupped hands.
It was then that I realized something that sent ice through my veins, the familiar warmth in my chest, the constant presence that had been with me since my awakening, was gone. I pressed my hand to my sternum, searching desperately for the core that had defined my existence as an awakened being.
Nothing.
I was no longer awakened.
My core was gone.