The first time Evren Calden really noticed how quiet the world could be, the sun was bleeding out behind the hills. The city of Lyren shimmered in the haze, roofs catching the last gold light like coins scattered across the earth. The air smelled faintly of wet stone and jasmine — the kind of scent that stays in your memory longer than it should. It reminded him that life wasn't just about surviving. It was about moments. Small, fleeting moments like this one.
He sat at the edge of the porch, legs swinging, watching his mother move through the garden behind their house. Her hands were small and tired, but gentle. Every motion carried care, like she was healing the world one plant at a time. The flowers seemed to bloom just to please her.
"Evren," she called softly. Her voice had that warmth — sunlight through an open window. "Come help me before the sun goes."
He sighed but smiled anyway, hopping off the porch. "Yes, mother."
The garden wasn't much — just a square of soil bordered with smooth river stones. She handed him a trowel, and together they dug in silence, planting tomatoes, basil, a few sunflowers she swore would reach the clouds one day.
Evren kept glancing at her when she wasn't looking. The lines near her eyes had deepened. Her smile still shone, but something behind it had dimmed — a kind of weariness that didn't belong to her. Her coughs came more often now. Longer. He pretended not to notice, but each one hit like a small crack in his chest.
"Mother…" he whispered finally. "Are you… feeling alright?"
She looked up, smiling that same soft, stubborn smile. "I'm fine, Evren. Just tired. You know how it is. Your father would've told me to rest more, but…" She chuckled, shaking her head. "Life doesn't stop for anyone."
He wanted to believe her. He really did. But the lie was too thin.
He saw how her hand trembled when she reached for the watering can. He saw the way she paused after each breath.
She's not fine, he thought. I know she's not.
Before he could say more, she placed her hand on his shoulder. It was warm. Steady. "You have big dreams, don't you?" she said. "Always staring past the hills, past this little city. Promise me you won't lose that spark, Evren. No matter what happens."
He swallowed hard, then nodded. "I promise, Mother. I'll make everything right. I'll—"
But the words caught in his throat, breaking apart before he could finish. The evening wind took them away, scattering them into the fading light.
His mother squeezed his shoulder gently, her eyes glimmering with something he didn't yet understand. "Some promises," she said quietly, "are heavier than others. But I trust you, Evren Calden. I always will."
That night, Evren couldn't sleep. He lay staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint sound of her cough through the wall. The world he'd known — quiet, safe, small — suddenly felt fragile. Like glass. Like something that could shatter any second.
The Tower.
He'd heard the whispers for years. Rumors passed in marketplaces, in taverns, in the back corners of Lyren: A place that grants wishes, at a cost.
People called it many things — a curse, a miracle, a test. Some said it had no end. Others swore it touched the heavens. But every story agreed on one thing: once you enter, you're never the same.
He remembered his father's stories — about warriors who climbed the Tower seeking glory, about dreamers who reached for something more. About the Philosopher's Stone, said to grant any wish to the one who reached the top.
A wish… or a cure.
And that was when Evren knew.
He would climb it.
Not for fame, not for power — but for her.
---
Morning came too early, spilling pale light across the kitchen. His mother was sitting at the table, sipping tea. The smell of herbs filled the room. She looked up as he stepped in, his travel pack already slung over his shoulder.
"Evren," she said, her voice trembling just a little. "Where are you going?"
He took a breath. "To the Tower."
The cup froze in her hands. "Evren, no. That's madness. People die there. They—"
"I know," he said quickly, taking her hands in his. "But I can't stay here and do nothing while you…" His voice cracked. "While time keeps taking you away."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world seemed to hold its breath.
Finally, she exhaled. "Then go," she whispered. "But promise me something."
"Anything."
"Promise me you won't lose yourself in there. The Tower changes people. Don't let it take who you are. Or who you love."
He nodded, eyes burning. "I promise. I'll come back. I swear it."
She smiled through the tears that had begun to form. "Then may the stars guide your steps, my son."
---
He left at dawn.
The city was still half-asleep, bathed in gold mist. He passed familiar streets, old market stalls, the stream where he used to fish as a child. Every step felt heavier than the last, like the ground itself was trying to hold him back.
At the edge of Lyren, the Tower loomed — enormous, ancient, impossibly tall. Its surface shimmered faintly, as though it were made of living stone. Legends said it was built by the gods themselves. Others claimed it grew like a tree, feeding on the dreams of those who entered.
Evren paused, looking back one last time. The sun was rising behind the hills. He could almost see his mother's figure in the doorway, watching him — or maybe just imagining it.
He clenched his fists. "I'll come back," he murmured. "No matter what."
Then he stepped forward.
The Tower's gate opened with a low hum, a sound that crawled under his skin and settled in his bones. A faint voice — not heard, but felt — echoed through his mind:
> "Welcome, Evren Calden. Dream well… before you wake."
The air changed. Warmer. Denser. Alive.
The moment he crossed the threshold, the doors sealed behind him with a thunderous hiss. The light of Lyren vanished.
Only the unknown remained.
Evren closed his eyes, drew a breath, and whispered to himself,
> "For her."
Then he stepped forward into the first floor of the Tower —
and the climb began.