Eryon walked in silence through the city streets, blending into the constant flow of people rushing back and forth—some driven by hope, others by desperation.
The city did not rest upon a natural continent.
That entire place was part of an artificial continent, a vast mass of land created solely to envelop the Tower. Around it, multiple cities, fortresses, and Alliance headquarters had been erected, all orbiting that impossible colossus that rose at the center of the world like a divine scar.
From almost anywhere, the Tower was visible.
Imposing.Silent.Eternal.
Eryon did not lift his gaze to look at it.
His thoughts were anchored to a past that seemed determined not to let him go.
His mother had died on the day his sister was born. There had been no epic tragedy, no monsters involved—just one life fading away as another began. Since then, his home had been small, quiet… incomplete.
His father, an Awakened warrior, had been the pillar that held everything together for years. A combatant who entered the Tower again and again, not for glory, but out of necessity.
Until, a few years ago, he did not return.
With his death, what he left behind was neither honor nor recognition.
It was an unpayable debt.
As if that were not enough, his sister fell ill soon after. A persistent, cruel condition that could not be cured with simple, common medicine. Every hospital visit drained the few savings they had left, and every medication purchased was a reminder of how fragile their situation truly was.
When the last line of credit ran dry, Eryon made a decision.
He invested everything that remained into the Awakening process.
Not out of ambition.
Not out of dreams of greatness.
But because he had no other choice.
That was why, despite being only seventeen years old—an age when he should have been attending school, worrying about exams, or thinking about a distant future—he was now walking toward something very different.
Toward a path that, without exaggeration, could kill him.
Eryon tightened his grip slightly on the token in his hand as he walked.
He did not know if his choice would save his sister.
He did not know if he would survive long enough to repay the debt.
But one thing was certain.
Stopping… had never been an option.
As Eryon moved forward, the urban landscape began to change noticeably.
The streets, once crowded with ordinary people, grew wider and quieter. Passersby no longer wore simple clothing nor carried distracted expressions; instead, figures with visible equipment predominated—partial armor, reinforced cloaks, and sheathed weapons worn openly without the slightest attempt at concealment.
The buildings changed as well.
They were fewer in number but far larger—massive constructions of stone and metal, designed more to withstand impact than to please the eye. Among them stood several specialized shops. Through their windows, Eryon caught glimpses of swords of various sizes, spears with glowing cores, rune-covered armor, and objects whose purpose he could not guess.
Weapons… armor…
Everything needed to enter the Tower.
From time to time, he saw Awakened entering and leaving those shops. Some walked with confidence, others with fresh wounds, visible bandages, or weary eyes. No one spoke much.
In that district, life and death seemed to coexist naturally.
After several minutes, Eryon stopped in front of a building that surpassed the rest in size and presence. Its façade was imposing and austere, free of unnecessary ornamentation, and above the main entrance were engraved metallic letters:
ALLIANCE MAIN HEADQUARTERSNORTH CITY
Eryon took a deep breath and crossed the doors.
The interior was crowded. Awakened of various ranks formed lines, argued with officials, or reviewed documents. Some looked like newcomers; others gave the impression of having repeated the same process for years.
The atmosphere was efficient, almost military.
Eryon advanced cautiously, observing his surroundings. After scanning the area for a few seconds, he finally found what he was looking for: a clearly marked zone designated for newly Awakened.
He adjusted his grip on the token in his hand and headed toward it.
He took his place at the end of the line, alongside other Awakened waiting in silence. Some nervously checked their documents, others spoke in low voices, and a few simply stared ahead with impassive expressions.
Time passed slowly.
Far too slowly.
His legs began to ache as the line advanced only a few steps at a time, and the constant murmur of the place eventually faded into a monotonous background noise. Even so, no one complained. Everyone knew the process was inevitable.
Finally, after what felt like hours, it was his turn.
Behind the counter sat a middle-aged man with slightly graying hair and a tired but efficient expression. He did not look up immediately.
"Token," he said curtly.
Eryon handed him the small metal plate he had been given after his Awakening.
The man took it, placed it on a reader, and began typing rapidly. There were no additional questions, no curious glances, no unnecessary comments. The entire process was surprisingly fast.
A few minutes later, the official pulled an identification card from a side tray and extended it to him.
It was made of a strange material. At first glance it looked metallic, but to the touch it felt warmer and more flexible than expected, as if it combined metal with some kind of unknown crystal. Numerous pieces of information were engraved on its surface with impeccable precision.
Eryon lowered his gaze and read.
His name.Date of birth.Blood type.Awakened rank.Class.Registered ability.
Almost everything was there.
"This is your Awakened ID," the man finally said, lifting his gaze. "Don't lose it. Without this, you can't enter the Tower or accept official assignments."
Then he took a thin object and handed it to him along with the credential.
It was some kind of pamphlet.
"Here's everything you need to know before attempting to enter the Tower," he added. "Rules, warnings, permitted zones, and emergency procedures. Read it carefully."
The man was already extending his hand toward the next person in line.
Eryon carefully stored the ID and the pamphlet and left the building.
Eryon was now sitting on one of the benches in a small park, surrounded by artificial trees and smooth stone pathways. The distant noise of the city barely reached him there, muffled by the murmur of the wind and the occasional passing Awakened.
In one hand, he held the pamphlet he had received at headquarters. In the other, a cold drink he had bought from a vending machine, whose taste he barely registered as he read.
The document was packed with information.
Warnings, regulations, diagrams, safety notes.
Too much.
However, amid all that content, the most important point was clear from the very first pages:
Before entering the Tower, preparation was mandatory.
It wasn't just about strength or talent. One had to know the environment, the registered zones, the safe routes, and the withdrawal points.
Eryon turned the page and stopped at the map.
Apparently, the Tower was not composed solely of simple, enclosed floors, as many imagined—at least not on the lower levels.
From Floor 1 to 20, the pamphlet described a vast central city, a massive urban core contained within the Tower, from which a unique ecosystem expanded. Streets, districts, creatures adapted to the environment, and zones in constant flux.
From Floor 20 to 50, the information was more concise but clear:
Bases established by the Alliance—rest points, supply stations, and control zones.
Beyond that…
Nothing.
The remaining floors did not appear in the pamphlet at all.
Not because they didn't exist, but because there was no reliable or authorized information to disclose.
Eryon closed the pamphlet for a moment and took a sip of his drink.
Then he continued reading.
To enter the Tower, only two things were required:
First, an Awakened ID.
He already had that.
The second… credits to pay the entry fee.
Eryon pressed his lips together slightly.
According to the costs detailed in the pamphlet, the money he had left was barely enough for a single entry. There was no margin for error. No immediate second chances.
Worse still, the regulations stated that the maximum allowed stay before being forced to exit was one month.
Thirty days.
Thirty days to survive.
Thirty days to earn enough.
Thirty days not to die.
Eryon lowered his gaze to the pamphlet once more.
"One single chance…" he murmured.
He finished his drink, set it aside, and stood up.
He put the pamphlet away, adjusted the ID inside his clothing, and began walking toward where the entrance to the Tower in North City was supposed to be.
With every step, the atmosphere changed.
The streets grew even wider, and the military presence became impossible to ignore. Soldiers in full armor patrolled in precise formations, their gazes sharp, their hands always close to their weapons. Alliance banners waved atop fortified structures that looked more like part of a battlefield than a city.
Then he saw it.
A gigantic circular gate, embedded in a colossal structure that seemed to merge with the very base of the Tower. From a distance, it looked like a portal trying to devour the world—a swirling void surrounded by ancient runes and palpable energy.
Even from afar, Eryon felt a faint chill run through him.
To either side stood massive vehicles—something akin to tanks, but covered in magical inscriptions and glowing energy cores. Machines built for war against the impossible.
And then he saw him.
High above the rest, like a figure out of place, stood a man clad in golden armor. His presence was overwhelming even at a distance. Light seemed to reflect off him in an unnatural way, and a massive sword rested on his back as if it weighed nothing at all.
Eryon couldn't help but look.
For an instant…
just a microsecond…
their gazes met.
He felt an invisible pressure wash over his body.
Then the man looked away, as if he had assessed and dismissed him in the same instant.
Eryon exhaled slowly and continued forward.
Upon reaching the designated area, he joined what appeared to be the entry line. No one spoke. The atmosphere was solemn, almost oppressive.
When his turn came, an attendant in Alliance uniform extended his hand.
"Token."
Eryon handed it over.
The man checked it quickly and pointed to a device connected to the electronic bracelet on Eryon's wrist. A soft beep sounded as the last credits he had were transferred.
Balance: 0.
"First time entering, huh?" the attendant said, his voice neutral but not unkind.
Eryon nodded.
"Good luck."
That was all.
He took the final step toward the portal.
The instant he crossed it, the world flipped upside down.
Up and down lost all meaning.
Space twisted.
Reality spun in on itself.
The ascent had begun.