Eryon walked silently through the streets of the city, blending in with the constant flow of people moving with haste, hope, or despair.
The city was not located on a natural continent.
The entire region was part of an artificial continent: a vast stretch of land created solely to encircle the Tower. Around it, numerous cities, fortresses, and Alliance headquarters had been built, all orbiting that colossus that rose at the center of the world like a divine scar.
The Tower was visible from nearly every point, imposing, silent, and eternal, but 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 was no epic tragedy, no monsters involved; just a life fading as another began. Since then, his home had been small, quiet… incomplete.
The one who cared for them was his father, an awakened one who had been the pillar holding everything together for years, entering the Tower again and again—not for glory, but out of necessity.
Until one day he did not return, leaving behind neither honor nor recognition, only a debt impossible to repay.
As if that were not enough, his sister fell ill shortly after, stricken with a persistent and cruel disease that could not be cured with ordinary medicine; each hospital visit drained the few credits they had left, and each bottle they purchased reminded them of how fragile their situation was.
When his credits were about to run out, Eryon made a decision: everything he had left he invested in the awakening process, not out of ambition or dreams of greatness, but because he had no other choice.
That was why, although he was barely seventeen—a time when he should be going to school, arguing over exams, or dreaming of a distant future—he was now heading toward something entirely different.
Toward a path that, without exaggeration, could kill him. Eryon lightly pressed the metal token he held in his hand as he walked.
He did not know if his choice would save his sister; in fact, the idea of entering the Tower filled him with disgust, and he was not certain he would survive long enough to settle the debt.
But one thing was certain: stopping had never been an option. As he advanced, the urban landscape began to shift.
The crowded streets gave way to wide, silent avenues, and ordinary people disappeared, replaced by figures in partial armor, reinforced cloaks, and visible weapons, sheathed with no attempt to hide them.
The buildings changed as well.
Fewer in number but far larger, massive constructions of strange metals rose, designed more to withstand impacts than to beautify the cityscape.
Between them stood specialized shops, and through their windows, Eryon glimpsed swords of various sizes, spears with glowing cores, armor covered in runes, and objects whose purpose he could not guess.
From time to time, he saw people entering and leaving those shops, some walking with confidence, others with visible bandages, recent wounds, or tired expressions; almost no one spoke.
In this district, life and death coexisted naturally.
After several minutes, Eryon stopped before a building that towered above the rest, its façade imposing and austere, devoid of unnecessary ornamentation. Above the main entrance, engraved in metallic letters, he read:
HEADQUARTERS OF THE ALLIANCE, NORTH CITY
Eryon took a deep breath and stepped through the door.
Inside, the place was crowded, awakened people of various ranks forming lines, arguing with officials, or checking documents; some seemed newly arrived, while others gave the impression of having repeated the same process for years.
After observing the area for a few seconds, Eryon found a clearly designated section: Newly Awakened.
He headed there and took his place at the end of the line, while time dragged on slowly, unbearably slow.
When his turn finally came, a middle-aged man attended him from behind the counter. His hair was streaked with gray, and his expression was weary but efficient.
"Token," he said without looking up.
Eryon handed him the token, which the man placed into a reader before quickly typing away, asking no questions and offering no unnecessary comments. A few minutes later, he retrieved a card from a side tray and handed it over.
It was made of a strange material that, at first glance, appeared metallic, but to the touch was warm and flexible, as if combining metal with some unknown type of crystal.
Curious, Eryon read the engraved information:
Name: Eryon Valen
Date of Birth: 2356/07/24
Blood Type: O-
Awakening Rank: Rank B
Class: Combatant
Registered Ability: Comprehensive Physical Enhancement (B)
"This is your Awakening ID," the official said. "Without it, you cannot enter the Tower or accept official missions."
He then handed Eryon a brochure. "Everything you need to know is in here. Read it carefully," the man added. Eryon pocketed both items and stepped out of the building.
Minutes later, he found himself seated on a bench in a small park, surrounded by artificial trees and polished stone paths, where the city's noise barely reached.
The brochure was filled with warnings, rules, and diagrams—too much information—but one thing became clear immediately: before entering the Tower, preparation was mandatory.
It was not just a matter of strength or talent; one had to understand the environment, the registered zones, safe routes, and extraction points. Eryon's eyes lingered on the map.
From floors 1 to 20, the Tower housed a vast inner city—a massive urban core with districts, adapted creatures, and constantly shifting zones.
Between floors 20 and 50, the information was more limited: Alliance bases, rest points, and supply stations.
Beyond that, there was nothing. Eryon closed the brochure and took a sip from the drink in his hand. To enter the Tower, only two things were required:
First, the Awakening ID. He already had that.
Second… credits to pay for entry.
According to the listed prices, what little he had left barely covered a single admission, and worst of all, the maximum allowed stay was one month.
Thirty days to survive, thirty days to earn enough, thirty days not to die. "One opportunity…" he muttered.
He stood and began walking toward the Tower's entrance in North City.
With each step, the military presence became more pronounced: soldiers in full armor patrolled in precise formations, and Alliance banners fluttered above fortified structures.
When he reached his destination, he was struck with profound awe and respect.
A massive circular door was embedded in a colossal structure, fused with the Tower's very base. Most impressive of all was a portal that seemed to devour the world, encircled by ancient runes and tangible energy.
Even from a distance, Eryon felt a shiver run down his spine as he raised his gaze.
Far above the rest, he spotted a man clad in golden armor, his presence imposing even from afar, an enormous sword resting on his back as if it weighed nothing.
For a single instant…
Their eyes met.
An invisible pressure coursed through Eryon's body, and then the man looked away, as if he had already cataloged and dismissed him.
Eryon exhaled slowly, realizing he had begun sweating from that mere exchange. Shaking his head, he moved forward.
When he reached the entry line, an Alliance officer extended a hand. "Your official Awakening ID."
A little dazed, Eryon reached into his pocket, pulled out his Awakening card, and handed it over. A beep sounded as his remaining credits were transferred.
Balance: 0.
"First time entering, huh?" the officer asked.
Eryon nodded, still disoriented.
"Good luck," the agent said, his tone friendly.
Relaxing slightly, Eryon smiled faintly in response and 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, and reality itself spun around him.
The ascent had begun.