The door sighed open, and the wind went quiet, as if it had finished leading him here and now wished to listen.
The space around him was bare and vast, yet the place felt inhabited by something divine. It was not quite a hall, more a suggestion of a room—a floating circular platform anchored in the open sky. Golden rays streamed down from a break in the clouds above and pooled on a pedestal at the center. Mist drifted along the edges and kept its distance, as if the circle were a boundary even vapor respected.
Though simple, the scene stole his breath. He stood in a place no human should have entered—a space that defied both architecture and gravity, as if carved from Heaven itself.
His eyes locked at the center of the room, where a small pedestal stood still. Unlike the one in the maze, this one was anything but ordinary. It did not glow, yet its white color shone like a marble. Its base was decorated with golden lines while its body was engraved with etchings of letters he did not recognize. But as impressive as it was, it was nothing compared to what truly drew his attention. For silently suspended above the pedestal, hovered a sword seemingly untouched by weight.
Its blade was long and narrow, its edges pale as morning. A narrow fuller ran the length of the blade, with etchings that pulsed softly. Inlaid along its spine were thin lines of gold, as if veins of divinity ran through the steel. The grip was wrapped in indigo leather, holding a simple mark that echoed the guard. Even from the other side of the room, Shin could feel the air itself shimmering under its pressure.
Shin crossed the floor with measured steps. On one hand, he felt that he had finally reached the top, but after everything he had experienced, he was no longer sure what to expect. He stopped within reach and waited. Nothing happened. The sword emitted no malice, yet everything felt primed—like a storm about to break.
The moment his fingers inched closer, a sharp wind howled. A sudden spiral of air formed—a tight current spinning like a miniature tornado around the pedestal. He halted, his hand suspended mid-reach.
A voice gathered in the tempest—not a shout, not even a command, but its sheer presence made Shin freeze.
"Before you stands a great power. But are you worthy to obtain it?"
Shin blinked, his breath caught. The presence became sharper. Its voice was emotionless and ancient. "You are slightly different from the others," it said coldly. The gale coiled around Shin, brushing his skin, rustling his hair. He never felt so seen. So... measured.
"Tell me," the voice said, now clearer, as if forming words with effort. "Do you seek to change the world?"
Shin hesitated, his brain still fiercely trying to grasp the situation. But before he could even finish organizing his thoughts, he closed his eyes and exhaled. He relaxed his mind and answered with a clear voice that even he did not know. "Change it?" He stepped closer, drawn to the steel as if gravity had learned a new job. "No."
But if given the chance," he said, "I'd try to rule it."
The wind pulsed—not with rage, but with tired amusement. For a moment, even Shin was surprised by his own answer. But he didn't take it back.
"You have ambition," the voice said. "But to obtain power, you first must prove you deserve it."
The presence flew upward, as if preparing a stage. "The wind is the fastest and the sharpest," the voice announced. "To claim it, one must captur—
Shin moved before the sentence could finish. There was no hesitation as his hand closed on the grip with the ease of a word finally spoken. The moment skin met steel, the world exploded with motion. Air surged outward in perfectly ordered layers, then drew tightly around him and lifted him into a slow, upward spiral.
From that spiral, a form condensed. The figure was mostly pressure and light, like bipedal by choice rather than necessity. Veiled where a face would be by a crown of moving air.
At first, it didn't speak, only studied him. Then, at last, it spoke. "You are not the strongest I've seen," it said calmly, " nor the wisest." Its voice was deep, echoing through the chamber like thunder without a storm.
Shin stood with the sword in his hand and let the silence weigh him. The being circled him slowly, bending the air with each shift. "Your method was impatient, but instinct is what this trial measures—and you proved yours before it began."
The spiral loosened. The figure inclined its head, not a bow so much as acknowledgment.
"You may call me Wind—the first of the elementals. I created this tower to seek out a worthy vessel. To find one that resonates with my essence."
Shin narrowed his eyes. "What exactly are you? Why bring us here? Why do you need a vessel?" The wind stirred but didn't answer immediately. "Some truths are not mine to share. But know this: our arrival is not without reason. Nor without cost."
Shin tilted his head, weighing his words carefully. "You asked if I seek to change the world, right? What exactly do you try to change?"
The currents stirred, then stilled. "We are not here to destroy, nor to save. We are here to choose."
Another cryptic line that didn't help much, but it raised another question. Shin raised the sword. "Interesting. And you chose me?"
"You chose me first," Wind replied. "Now we are bound."
The moment the words were made, the sword reacted as if in cue. Steel became light, as if remembering an earlier state. It sank through Shin's palm and into his chest without pain, leaving behind an invisible weight like standing in a river's strongest line. The mark settled within, invisible yet as familiar as his own breath.
Wind turned. "Since this tower has served its purpose, it will disappear."
"But what it holds will answer to you."
Shin felt something shift. He reached out, with a thought more than a motion. The chamber responded the way air does when a window opens: unseen doors unlatched; distant vaults exhaled. Gold, relics, instruments of strange alloy and older intent slid from hidden recesses and gathered on the floor with quiet obedience, as if relieved to have a direction again.
Wind began to fade, becoming more mist than form.
"Wait," Shin said. "I have questions."
"Ask."
"Are there more towers like this?"
"Yes. Some raised by the lesser spirits. Three more by my kind."
"Your kind?"
"Fire. Water. Earth."
Shin hesitated. The figure made of lightning he saw before flashed in his memory. "Only them? What about the figure made of lightning?"
The currents paused. Interest pricked the air. The being before him hovered silently before speaking again, perhaps considering what to say. "Few remember, and even fewer ask. Lightning is one of us," Wind paused. "But he is also different. Only those who hear the sky's pulse may find him."
"But I saw something before. A flash or maybe a presence. I'm sure it was related."
"Then you saw the truth. Lightning does not appear by chance."
"How do I find him then?"
"Greed is rarely a strength," The voice sank half a tone. "Few will survive another."
Shin's mouth tilted. "Well, I am greedy by nature," he said. "If power can be taken, I will do everything I can to take it."
Wind laughed—no cruelty, only curiosity moving through the old halls. He gave no answer, and the sound faded into pressure.
"A word of caution, son of man," he then warned, "The artifacts in the towers are tools of immense power. Some were made, while others, born. Be careful, for they offer great power, but are often misused."
Shin listened, absorbing every word. He felt the shift in the air as Wind finished his warning. Light opened beside him, drawing lines across the floor until a glowing circle completed itself. A circle made of a pattern of symbols—a geometry so grand it felt inevitable.
"Focus now. The tower will carry you to where your heart desires."
Shin closed his eyes. He didn't know how it functioned, but it didn't matter much anyway. He pictured his apartment's sofa and the stain on the pale ceiling. The circle drew breath. Light gathered, closed around him, and the chamber let him go.
When it released him, the world resumed.
The tower was gone. Fluorescent bulbs hummed. The supermarket reassembled itself with the graceless certainty of ordinary life, and the people who had hidden—the ones who had survived by instinct or sheer luck—blinked back into the brightness, ringed by fallen shelving and streaks of blood across the tiles.
Sirens found the street. Tape went up. Clipboards appeared. In less than three hours, the reports multiplied.
A phenomenon. A mass hallucination. A 'spatial anomaly.'
No one could explain it. Footage contradicted memory. Testimony collapsed into stammers and metaphors. The only thing that held was the silence they remembered just before the air had moved.
But this case was just the beginning. The world began to change.
Elsewhere, a seam opened in a mall atrium and closed like a mouth. In the shadow of a mountain, stone parted to reveal a room that did not belong. In the hush of a metro station at dawn, a stair that had never existed rose from polished concrete and waited.
More towers appeared—everywhere. Some were small, single chambers that deceived or punished, puzzles that cut, doors that led nowhere. A few, a precious few, were like Wind's. Grand. Divine. And scaled to something larger than everyone could understand.
The race for glory and fortune began. Nations scrambled for control. Private armies hired and rebranded, while syndicates woke old networks in their quest for power. Before noon, most maps around the world went out of date.
And in a small apartment, oblivious to the change of his world, a young man stood ankle-deep in treasure.
Gold bars leaned in bad stacks beside a couch. Stones with unfamiliar lines rested against a coffee table scarred by their weight. Jewelry caught the room's pale light and answered in colors that didn't quite exist. Half of it lay in a glittered drift across the floor; the rest had colonized the kitchen table. A goblet rolled in a slow arc and disappeared beneath the fridge.
Shin stared at the mess. Where the hell was he supposed to put all this?
He sighed, rubbing his temple. "And it's not like I can just walk into a bank and exchange some holy relics for cash." The logistics alone made his head spin. But beneath the annoyance, excitement still surged.
Following a strange impulse, he imagined the sword from the tower, a small flash sparked in the air, and it appeared—its narrow blade shining with unfamiliar runes. He held it to the light, and the sword shimmered faintly in response to his breath.
Magic.
It was real and undeniable, humming in his bones like a swarm of bees stirring beneath his skin.
He sat cross-legged on the floor, closing his eyes, letting the wind spiral gently around him. And from its hush a whisper rose, faintly threading through the air. A secret, or perhaps an announcement:
"Others will come. The world is waking."
Shin opened his eyes.
"Let them."