Shin boarded the train before sunrise.
No mask this time. No cloak or effort to conceal. Just a black coat, a gray backpack, and an unbothered expression. He moved like a commuter. Like someone whose name didn't matter.
Because right now, it didn't.
He slid into a window seat, set down his bag, and pulled out a thin black tablet. The train pulled away from the platform with a soft mechanical groan.
The journey to Portugal would take the better part of the day.
Time to read.
The first headline blinked across his screen:
Four-Tier Dajin Danger Classification Reaches Global Adoption
He tapped it.
A short article unfolded. Clean fonts. Subtle urgency.
Category 1: Supernatural
Individuals who have cleared a tower but show no combat training. Considered low-risk unless provoked.
Category 2: Ascendant
Formally trained vessels capable of actively manipulating their dajin's power. Considered stable. Often recruited by private guilds or defense contracts.
Category 3: Destructive
Vessels with large-scale damage capacity. Often require elite teams to confront. Few exist. Even fewer are public.
Category 4: Tactical (Unconfirmed)
Rumored class. Said to hold battlefield-level influence—comparable to mobile war assets—no official documentation. Witnesses reported anomalies. Most did not survive.
Shin tilted his head slightly.
So they've started to rank power. Good. But they're still guessing. It's still a far cry from my measuring compatibility system.
Next page.
Ascendant Guilds Legalized in Over 20 Countries:
'We can't regulate power that won't ask permission,' said India's High Minister during a press statement following the Guild Recognition Act...
He scrolled slowly.
The map showed clusters: Nigeria, Brazil, South Korea, Malaysia. Nations that chose adaptation over containment.
In contrast, the EU and North America had doubled down on oversight, building entire tower-survey departments and "Ascendant Compliance Units"—soft names for militarized agencies.
Shin marked the names mentally.
Some adopt the new world, while others still think they can control it.
Another swipe.
Dajin Tower Materials Fuel Scientific Breakthroughs:
A single shard from a cleared tower enabled superconductivity tests at room temperature. Botanists report that fruit from Tower-growth soil carries regenerative stem behavior.
Multiple governments have launched tower-biotech fusion divisions, though complete research remains classified.
A small image: a gnarled orange fruit with a bioluminescent peel, tagged "T-1218 specimen."
Shin exhaled softly through his nose.
Even without bonding… the towers give. No wonder everyone's rushing.
He scrolled to a larger headline.
Tower Types Categorized: Echoes, Beasts, and Spirits
Shin paused.
This was new.
Of the 412 confirmed cleared towers, nearly 300 involved humanoid dajins.
Dubbed "Echoes," these entities speak, reason, and often present psychological or moral challenges rather than combat.
Beasts are rarer, but more violent—appearing as lions, wolves, or mythical hybrids. Their towers are full of monsters and beasts. You must either hide or kill to survive.
Spirits are the most difficult. Seemed to be element-based. Rarely speaks. Their trials are cryptic and often lethal.
A chart followed: 3 columns, each with stats and tower outcomes.
Shin studied it in silence.
NEW: Tower Difficulty Ratings Reach 5-Tier Consensus Model
E-Rank: Can be cleared by normal civilians
D to B: Varying risks and dajin complexity
A-Rank: Catastrophic potential. Nine confirmed. Only two cleared—over 700 casualties.
He looked at the following articles.
Religion in Crisis: Are the Dajin Divine?
Polls show rising belief in a 'Tower Pantheon.' Meanwhile, traditional faith leaders caution: 'Power does not equal purpose.'
Vessel Theory Gaining Traction: Are We Sharing Space with Gods?
An anonymous user posted what appears to be footage of a Dajin speaking in ancient Greek—scholars are calling it 'a myth given mouth.'
He sighed and set the tablet down for a moment.
Outside the window, the landscape slid by—green hills turning gold. The sun had risen, casting pale warmth across the fields.
Inside the train, voices grew louder. A child laughing. Someone arguing over seating.
Shin closed his eyes briefly.
Then pulled a pair of small earbuds from his coat pocket and slid them in.
A soft audio cue chimed.
"You're listening to The Obelisk—bringing you truth from beyond the towers."
The voice was male, fast-talking. Confident. Over-produced.
"Our top story today: Five vessels seen in Cairo's Red Sector—no IDs, no affiliations. One eyewitness claims they broke through a rank-C tower without triggering a single environmental collapse. Are they guild-trained? Rogue? Military? We don't know. But someone's building power off-grid."
"Also today: New leaked photos from a Venezuelan cleanup site suggest tower residue might be chemically reactive. Are we talking weapon potential? Or biological fusion? Either way, the landscape is shifting—and not subtly."
"And finally—who's number one on the Obelisk leaderboard this week? Spoiler: It's not the golden boy from Seoul."
Shin tapped once, skipping ahead.
The voice continued—smooth, amused.
"...More people are clearing towers. But here's the thing: not all towers are equal. The Echoes? Easiest. They talk. They play games. You pass their trials with a riddle and a smile."
"The beasts fight. You need power."
"But the spirits? The ones who don't talk? Who tests your soul in silence?"
"Those… are either ghosts or gods. And there aren't many who can survive and climb them."
Shin's fingers drummed lightly against his seat's armrest.
He looked out again—not at the world, but through it.
They're learning. Slowly. But they're still wrong.
The danger isn't what the towers give.
The danger is the secrets they hide behind.
The voice in his ear kept talking—still polished, still curious.
"...But as always, the Obelisk ranks shift. And if you're out there—climbing towers, taking names—we're watching. Even if the gods aren't."
A small pause.
"Stay sharp, Ascendants. Or don't stay at all."
The recording ended. Shin pulled out the earbuds.
The train had slowed.
Sunlight streamed through the wide glass, tinged with coastal humidity. The overhead display blinked in three languages.
→ Porto, Portugal
He stood, stepped off the train, and walked calmly through the station without glancing back.
An hour later, he stood on a quiet street overlooking a residential block tucked into the hills. Warm brick. Hanging laundry. The faint sound of music was echoing from an open window nearby.
Shin stepped onto cracked pavement in a quiet coastal town. Portugal's air smelled of sun-warmed concrete and slow salt.
He already knew where to find him.
People like Thommo left impressions behind them—enough to follow.
Shin leaned against a low wall, eyes calm, watching the street.
Then—a figure rounded the corner.
Broad-shouldered. Easy posture. A bag of groceries in one hand. Humming.
"It's been a while," Shin said, voice quiet.
Thommo froze mid-step.
Then grinned.
"You're the Wind guy, yeah? Figured you'd show up eventually."
Thommo led the way up a narrow road into the modest house at the outskirts of the village. Ceiling fan. Two rooms. A fridge that hummed like it had opinions.
Shin stepped inside without comment.
Thommo dropped his grocery bag on the table. "Want something? I got juice. Sort of."
Shin shook his head.
"Didn't think so." Thommo scratched his neck and leaned against the counter. "So. You tracked me down. I assume this ain't social?"
Shin studied him.
His build hadn't changed much. Still thick-boned, solid—like a man who worked hard, even when he didn't know why. The hammer vessel was strapped to the wall. Wrapped loosely in cloth, but unmistakable. The divine pressure around it pulsed faintly—stable, but firm.
"You've cleared a tower," Shin said quietly.
"Yeah."
"Do you know what kind?"
Thommo shrugged. "It talked. I fought stuff. I got out. Hammer's been with me since."
Shin stepped closer. "Did the dajin speak with a name? A title?"
"It called itself Earth." Thommo frowned. "Said it was one of the four old ones."
So it was the grand Earth dajin after all.
Shin tilted his head. "Do you feel stronger now?"
Thommo blinked. "I mean, yeah. I don't lift buildings or anything, but… I'm better. Faster. Still don't really know how it works though."
Shin nodded. "Most don't."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small sealed vial. The liquid inside was translucent with a slight gold shimmer—faint, unthreatening.
Thommo stared at it. "That... looks expensive."
"It's not for sale," Shin replied. "I need to test something. You're strong enough to survive it, and grounded enough not to overreact."
"Overreact to what?"
Shin didn't answer. He handed the vial over.
Thommo held it, studied the way it caught the light. "What is it?"
"Elixir. Divine energy suspended in fluid. Unrefined."
Thommo's brow creased. "Unrefined?"
"Raw power," Shin said. "Crude. Pure. Dangerous in high doses."
"And you want me to drink it?"
"A sip."
A long pause.
Thommo considered. Then popped the cap and downed a mouthful.
He winced.
Shin stepped back slightly, watching closely.
Thommo grunted, hand on the counter.
His skin flushed faintly. The divine pressure around him pulsed once—sharper now. More present. The hammer on the wall buzzed quietly.
"...Huh."
Shin raised an eyebrow. "Well?"
"I feel…" Thommo flexed his hand. "Warm. Kinda sharp, like my bones got cleaned. Like I slept for ten hours and ran five miles simultaneously."
Shin made a note in his mind:
Low rejection. No overflow. Moderate resonance. Compatible with bonded vessels.
Thommo blinked a few times. "That stuff's legal?"
"No," Shin said.
"Thought so."
Another pause.
Thommo set the vial down gently. "You're always this quiet, or is it just with me?"
"Both."
Thommo laughed once, then crossed his arms. "Alright. I took your mystery drink. You gonna tell me why you're here?"
Shin met his gaze directly. "Because I'm building something. I need someone I can test things on. Someone with power. Someone I can trust not to sell what he doesn't understand."
"You trust me?"
"No," Shin said. "But I trust your limits,"
Thommo grunted. "That's fair."
"When I walked with Anna," Shin added, "she mentioned your grandfather knew someone who worked at auctions."
Thommo's eyes narrowed. "That's why you really came?"
"Both reasons matter. I have rare materials to offload. Safely. Quietly. Before governments realize what they're worth."
"You planning to start a business or a war?"
"Yes."
Thommo blinked. "Which one?"
Shin didn't answer.
But his eyes were calm. Certain.
"I'll help," Thommo said finally, exhaling. "But you owe me more of that shiny stuff. It makes my headaches go away."
Shin allowed himself the faintest smile.
"Deal."
Shin glanced at the vial one last time.
The formula was still unstable. The plan was still a sketch.
But for now, he had a test subject. And soon, he'd have a way in.
All according to plan.