Chapter Two: The Line to the Gate
(Year 100 of the Tower Calendar – Association No. 13)
The horizon was weighed down by a heavy silence, the sky a flat sheet of gray, as though smothered beneath ash untouched by the wind. Mist crept slowly along the towering buildings, clinging to their walls before sliding down the streets, blurring shapes until all seemed like wavering shadows.
On the northern street of City B, a long line of people stretched before a tall building lit by cold, pale lights. A silver banner fluttered above its entrance, inscribed with:
"Association 13 – First Entry Registration Unit for the Tower."
Footsteps echoed unevenly on the damp ground—some heavy, some hurried—but all leading toward the same fate.
Among the crowd stood a young man with white hair and clear blue eyes, dressed in a dark, unmarked coat. His hands were buried in his pockets, his boots crunching faintly over the wet gravel. He wasn't trying to stand out—if anything, he seemed intent on blending into the mass.
That was Iyas.
His gaze drifted over the faces around him:
To his right, a young man smirked with arrogant confidence, his hair styled so meticulously that every strand betrayed his vanity. To his left, a silent girl with pale green eyes clutched her wrists, trembling slightly as she stared down at the ground, afraid even her glance might break something fragile.
All around, dozens more—different faces, different fears. Some whispered nervously, others locked their eyes on the looming gate, their lips quivering though they tried to mask it.
But Iyas wasn't just watching. He was reading their silence, as if he could hear the pulse of their thoughts. And yet, his mind remained preoccupied with himself.
> Iyas's thoughts:
At twenty years old… that's the first time you're allowed to enter the Tower.
But not everyone is chosen. Some wait years for the invitation… some never receive it at all.
And me… mine arrived only yesterday.
He let out a quiet breath.
It was as though the Tower itself waited for the right moment in one's life… before it opened its doors.
Lifting his eyes, he fixed on the building's façade, where a glowing blue screen displayed a repeating phrase:
"Cunning and composure are the keys to ascent. Do not be just a survivor—be the master of choice."
The Tower was never just a massive structure, as people liked to imagine. It was a gate to other worlds—each floor called an Arena, each governed by its own laws and wonders. Those who returned brought back stories that inspired awe… while many vanished into silence, never to be heard from again.
Iyas had heard of the beings that dwelled within those Arenas:
Dragons walking upright, dark elves loosing arrows that curved around corners, demons with glowing eyes, and dwarves whose skin was hard as steel. Some races had even interbred, creating children with mixed, unpredictable abilities.
Yet society treated them without worship or scorn—merely as people, different only in form.
Humans were known for cunning and intellect, while other races excelled in strength. And still, there was one exception… the Tower itself. By climbing its floors, one could acquire abilities never born within them—skills belonging to other races.
Something flickered within Iyas. Not fear. Not pure excitement either. A blend of both.
He whispered to himself:
"Our ancestors were once the weakest… but something changed inside this Tower."
His thoughts shattered when a voice cut through the air:
—"Iyas! Step forward!"
He raised his head and walked steadily toward the entrance. The glass doors slid open with a hiss, revealing a vast white hall beneath a towering ceiling. At its center stretched a crystalline-blue desk. Behind it sat a bald man with a slow-turning cybernetic eye, tracking each entrant like a living lens.
—"Name?"
—"Iyas."
—"Age?"
—"Twenty."
—"Place of birth?"
—"Northern B."
A soft glow flickered from the printer, producing a luminous card etched with his name and a small Tower sigil. Beside it glimmered the words: [Qualified – Entry to First Floor].
The clerk slid a gray wristband across the desk. It seemed alive, its surface shifting faintly. The moment it touched Iyas's skin, it coiled around his wrist and tightened with a subtle pulse.
The man's voice was flat, mechanical, his gaze never lifting:
—"Never remove it. The band transmits your vitals in real time. The moment it stops… we'll know you're no longer among us."
Iyas left the hall, his footsteps echoing against the emptiness.
Ahead, the Gate loomed. Towering, dark, handleless. At its center, a red circle pulsed slowly, like a massive heart awaiting its next offering. The ground before it looked foreign, as though torn from another world.
He stood silently, the wind brushing past him.
"They say the Tower is alive… that it chooses who may enter and who is cast aside.
If you see me now… then I am ready."
He stepped toward the circle. The gray light folded around him gently, swallowing him whole in a soundless flash.
The Gate sealed shut behind him, leaving nothing.
As though he had never been there.
End of Chapter Two