The sky was no longer a sky.
It was a wound — one that did not bleed, but pulsed. Time flowed differently around the Watcher's Tower — the place where the tournament had been interrupted by a sphere of white silence. Ever since Albert had returned, nothing felt in order. And yet… everything seemed clearer than ever.
Along the suspended corridors of the Central Academy, Zhelenya walked silently. She had worn many forms until now. But today, she was herself — mirror-colored eyes, hair coiled in soft spirals of silver mist. Her hands brushed the railings that still held the imprint of the moment the world had changed.
Ahead, Kaelya was waiting for her.
— Has he descended? Zhelenya asked.
— Not yet, Kaelya replied, looking toward the chamber where Albert still hadn't spoken a word.
— And yet, you feel it? Zhelenya added.
Kaelya closed her eyes. An invisible explosion of magic rippled down her spine. It wasn't pain. It was a… memory.
— I feel it, she said.
— We're no longer looking at him as a man, are we?
— No. But not as a god either, Zhelenya replied.
— Just… as something inevitable.
In the grand hall, where students were slowly being called back to continue the tournament stages, something strange was happening. Those who had once fought with pride and ambition now hesitated. A boy with fire magic had refused to cast another spell.
— I can't, he had said.
— It feels like… I'm lying to myself if I fight like this.
Another student — a girl with water magic — was crying in silence. She hadn't lost. She'd won. But something inside her was breaking.
— Why are we even fighting anymore? she asked.
— If we already know we're… in his shadow?
The living stone walls of the Tower recorded every emotion. And above them all, on the upper platform, a flame was burning. A flame that did not warm. That did not light. That did not consume.
It was there only to remind them that sometimes, a flame burns simply because it refuses to die.
Albert had not descended yet.
But with each passing moment, reality sensed he didn't need to.
Because the world… was already rising toward him.
The sounds of the tournament had been reduced to whispers.
On the suspended arena at the center of the Tower, where spells once clashed in brilliance and fury, a strange restraint now hung in the air. It was as if every student, every contender, every master judge could feel they were fighting in a story already written, decided, finished — without them.
In the council chamber of the organizers, three arch-masters debated, their voices low but tense:
— If we don't resume the original program, the world will start asking questions, one of them said, tapping a golden parchment listing the duelists.
— The world already started asking questions since the first gate opened, hissed another.
— What tournament can continue… when someone has stepped beyond reality?
— But he hasn't won. Officially, he hasn't won anything. He wasn't even on the stage.
— And yet, everyone feels he's already won everything.
In the students' quarters, one of the gold-ranked youths — Taron, a user of sound magic — sat silently on his bed, his sacred instrument resting beside him. He didn't dare touch it.
— Why don't you play? asked his colleague Arisea, who wielded dream magic.
— Because in my ears, everything has been silent since he returned.
— There's no more echo… only silence.
In the Tower's basement, in the forbidden library, Zhelenya had descended without anyone noticing. Here, between shelves that rewrote themselves in silence, a volume had opened on its own:
"On Those Who Can No Longer Be Understood."
She touched it.
On the blank page, it read:
"When he does not speak, the whole world wonders if it must be silent."
— What I fear, Zhelenya whispered with a chill,
— is not that he became something else.
— But that we remained unchanged.
At the lowest level, in the room where Albert still remained, the white flame still floated at the chamber's center. It had no source. No goal.
Albert watched it. But he did not analyze. He did not dismantle.
He contemplated.
— Not everything that exists needs meaning, he said softly, to no one.
— Sometimes… existence is the meaning.
And the flame vibrated.
Not out of fear.
But in agreement.
In a hidden alcove, three masked observers — members of a secret organization embedded within the tournament — stared in panic at glyphs that no longer functioned.
— We can't locate him. Not even his aura shows up on the network.
— The Tower itself is hiding him.
— Then what do we do?
The third looked up.
— We pray… that he does not decide we are irrelevant.
Across the entire world, on distant continents, the flames of vigil pyres lit for tournament heroes were extinguished.
Not because they were forgotten.
But because… no one dared to hope for anything specific anymore.
Everyone waited.
A word.
A step.
A gesture.
Albert, who had not descended a single step, was already reshaping the world — with nothing more than his silence.
In an isolated room at the edge of the Tower, an old professor with skin lined by time and eyes veiled in a layer of ash was meditating. His name was Master Eryos, and decades ago, he had been one of the few who came close to reaching the threshold of Level 10.
— I have seen much, he whispered. I've met gods. I've survived magical wars.
— But what is coming now… cannot be understood.
— Only accepted.
A dove made of pure fire fell asleep on his arm — a sign that even creatures born of incantation had nothing more to say.
On a suspended terrace between two assessment halls, two students sat in silence. They had been friends their whole lives. Now, one of them trembled.
— Do you think it's still worth going forward? the girl asked.
— I don't know, the boy replied. But if he's up there…
— Then everything we do is just decoration.
The girl gave a short, sad laugh.
— Maybe we're the decoration that makes him human. Or maybe he's surpassed us entirely.
Zhelenya had returned to the observers' chamber.
— Did you feel that the flower hasn't wilted? she asked, looking toward the Academic Council.
One council member — an elderly woman with hair like white mist — said:
— The flower was never alive in our sense. It was… a choice.
— And he chose silence, another member added.
— No. He chose to let us speak first.
Kaelya sat in a quiet corner, the same place where she had seen Albert vanish between worlds. In her hand, she held a note — one that had never been written, but now existed on a blank page.
— What is that? someone asked.
— A sentence he never said. But I know he would've, if it had been needed.
She read aloud:
— "It's not about how much I can do. It's about what I choose not to."
On the ceiling of the chamber where Albert sat in meditation, constellations had begun to shift.
It wasn't an illusion. The stars were reconfiguring into the shape of a flower that existed in no known realm.
Albert looked up. For a moment, he smiled.
— You've started to learn.
Then he closed his eyes again.
And in the darkness behind his eyelids, a new door was forming — not in a temple. Not in the world.
But inside him.
Somewhere behind the Tower, in a garden that had never been drawn on any academy map, there stood a circle of ancient stone. There, the earth breathed. And at the center of the circle — a bottomless well. No one approached it. No one had ever asked what it was.
But now… the well was singing.
A faint sound, like a call from the edge of an uncreated world. From the water, no ripples rose — only shadows. Some carried memories. Others… names.
And one of them was "Albert."
On the upper floor, in the room where the tournament's theoretical duels took place, a boy recited ancient magic formulas. But the words sounded hollow.
— I used to chant these with fire in my heart, he whispered.
His classmate shrugged.
— Now you're just a voice in a room without echo.
In the basement, teachers tried to keep up appearances. But even the summoned spirits for demonstrations refused to fully manifest. One of the masters sighed:
— What's the point of invoking a creature when a single glance from Albert can rewrite the nature of the summoning?
Another, younger one, stayed silent. Then said:
— Maybe this tournament isn't about who wins.
— Maybe it's about who has the courage to keep going.
At that moment, in the center of his chamber, Albert opened his eyes. It hadn't seemed like a day had passed. And yet, between the moment he closed his eyelids and now… the entire world had rewritten itself around him.
He looked at his palm. The flower was gone. But its outline remained in his skin — like a gentle wound.
He spoke, very softly:
— Those who wait for a god… will be disappointed.
— Those who wait for a man… will understand.
Then he stood up.
No step creaked beneath his feet. No sound announced his return to the main hall. But when he emerged, the flame above extinguished. And at the same time, hundreds of eyes instinctively lifted.
A seventeen-year-old boy walked through the Tower. With calm eyes. With steady steps. No proclamation. No light.
But the air around him… fell silent.
And the world understood:
He had descended.
Every corner of the Tower had become aware of his presence. Not because there was any sound. Not because anything was seen. But because all living things… no longer dared to breathe without asking the air's permission first.
Albert walked slowly. He didn't hurry. He didn't look around. But every person who glimpsed him felt a painful revelation:
the world they had lived in until now had been an illusion.
— Is he here…? asked an elderly master, leaning on his cane.
— He's more than here, replied a student nearby.
— He's… the inevitable that avoided us until today.
Zhelenya appeared from a spiral of reflections and stepped beside Kaelya, who was watching Albert from afar. The two hadn't exchanged a word in minutes.
— Did you feel it? asked Zhelenya.
— I can't not feel it, Kaelya whispered.
— When he emerged… every mirror in my academy turned to face him. Without being touched.
— Then you know what's coming, don't you?
Kaelya nodded.
— It's no longer about magic. It's no longer about power.
— What's coming… is seeing ourselves through his eyes.
Albert reached the center of the arena. The very place where the tournament had begun. Around him, the youths had stopped training, the masters had stopped preaching, and the Tower had stopped breathing.
And then, for the first time, he spoke:
— I don't ask you to understand me.
— Nor to follow me.
— Only… to choose.
He raised his hand.
— Between who you've been… and who you could become.
And at that moment, the sky opened.
Not with thunder. Not with divine trumpets.
But with a simple white light, flowing like a promise.
In a corner of the Tower, an old sage — a former champion in his youth — removed his gold medal and laid it down.
— My mission… is complete.
Beside him, a child who had just begun training looked up.
— Then… what do we begin?
And Albert smiled. Not because he was happy.
But because, for the first time, in that place, no one asked him "what are you?"
They all understood.
That it wasn't a question. But an answer.
In that moment, far away at the edge of the realm of living shadows, an ancient statue cracked in two.
And a nameless voice said:
— Now… the real trial begins.
After the Tearing of Silence
[Temple of the Nine – The Ninth, Unknown Chamber]
A space that had never been opened. No key, no name, no thought had dared to unlock it. Now, a door with no handle creaked ajar on its own.
Inside: only a table. Upon it, a shard of a mirror. And in the mirror… a single eye.
White. No iris. No life. No death.
The eyes of those who looked into the shard began to tear up without realizing it.
— He has chosen.
— He has descended.
An echo, an ancient phrase, from before magic:
— When an answer becomes too clear, the world no longer knows what question to ask.
**
[The Eternal Council – In the Shadow of the Horizon]
The ninth seat was still empty.
But now, floating before it, was a sliver of red light whose form could not be understood.
Sypherion, the one seated at the center, spoke:
— He did not speak like a god.
— He did not remain silent like a man.
— He chose to exist without asking permission.
Another member added:
— And in this existence… the first new question in the last five thousand years was born.
— A question that cannot be phrased in words.
— Which is precisely why it must be guarded.
**
[Realm of Ithrial – The Nameless Place]
A teacup steamed in absolute silence.
Ithrial did not smile. But he was not solemn either. He stared at a flower that never bloomed. In his palm, he felt the vibration of a decision only someone beyond Level 12 could perceive.
— So you've descended, he murmured.
— But you left behind an ascent even light can no longer reach.
He closed his eyes.
— When we meet again… we will be neither above nor below.
— We will be between. And there… rules no longer exist.
**
[A Forgotten Corner of the Mirror Realm – with Zhelenya]
Zhelenya stood before a mirror that refused to reflect. She knew its name. It was the last mirror no one had dared to activate.
She touched the glass.
And for a moment, she didn't see Albert's face… but her own, staring at Albert.
— I can no longer tell who is watching whom.
— And maybe that's what it means to walk a path that neither ascends nor descends.
— But simply… is.