The first thing Petrus noticed as he stepped off the platform was the silence.
Not an empty silence — but a reverent one. As if the air itself carried weight. The Tower of Lynthar was not merely an ancient structure. It seemed… awake.
Stone columns spiraled upward around an invisible central core. Runes ran along the walls like luminous veins, pulsing in soft blue. There was iron everywhere — in the lanterns, the railings, the inner frameworks — and he felt each fragment as though connected by invisible threads to his chest.
At his side, the white-haired old man leaned calmly on his staff.
"I am Eldric, Master of the Tower," he said serenely. "And you, young man, have just been born for the second time."
Petrus took a deep breath.
"Is this… permanent?"
Eldric held his gaze.
"As far as we know, yes."
The confirmation hurt more than he expected.
Before he could form another question, small footsteps echoed across the stone.
A little girl emerged from behind a column.
She looked about five years old. Silver hair tied into two uneven braids, large attentive eyes. She wore a simple light-blue dress and held a small cloth doll.
She stopped when she saw Petrus.
Or rather — when she saw the helmet.
She partially hid behind her grandfather's leg.
"Do not be afraid, Luminelle," Eldric said with a faint smile.
Luminelle.
The name suited her.
"He looks like a headless knight…" the girl murmured, squeezing the doll.
Petrus raised a hand to his helmet and, for the first time since waking, realized how out of place he looked. He slowly removed it. His hair was messy from rain that no longer existed.
Luminelle tilted her head.
"Oh… he has a face."
"Thankfully," Petrus replied, too exhausted to suppress a smile.
Eldric led him through circular corridors into a side chamber.
"Before any deeper explanations, we must resolve something practical."
Silent and efficient tower servants brought folded clothes: a simple tunic, sturdy trousers, soft leather boots.
Petrus hesitated as he looked at his soaked clothes from another world.
"You may keep them if you wish," Eldric said. "But they will have no use here."
As he changed in a small stone room, he felt the definitive strangeness of the situation. The new clothes were light yet firm. They fit perfectly.
As if they already knew his size.
When he returned, Luminelle watched him with less fear.
"Now you look like someone from here," she declared with childish certainty.
"Is that good or bad?" he asked.
"I'm still deciding."
Eldric let out a soft laugh.
—
The first lesson took place only a few hours later.
And to Petrus' silent disappointment, it looked… like a classroom.
A dark wooden desk. A polished stone board. Books.
He had expected something more mystical. Prophecies. Cosmic revelations.
But Eldric sat before him like a patient teacher.
"Every Awakened remains one month in the Tower," he explained. "Time necessary to stabilize the magical core and understand the world."
"Magical core…" Petrus touched his chest involuntarily.
And felt it.
That second pulse.
Thum.
It was not imagination.
Eldric noticed the gesture.
"You already feel it, don't you?"
Petrus nodded slowly.
"When I crossed over… it felt like something was placed inside me."
"It was," the Master confirmed. "The Tower implants and awakens the core. Without it, you would not survive the transition between worlds."
A chill ran down his spine.
"And the language?"
He picked up one of the books on the table. The symbols were unfamiliar — yet they made sense.
He could read.
"The Tower translates," Eldric explained. "Language, writing, basic cultural understanding. Not deep knowledge. Only enough so you do not die from ignorance in the first days."
Petrus flipped through the pages, divided between fascination and frustration.
"So I truly have no choice."
Eldric did not answer immediately.
The lesson continued with explanations about the continent, the Seven Elemental Affinities — Fire, Water, Earth, Wind, Metal, Thunder, and Light — and the role of the Awakened in history.
After nearly an hour, Petrus rested his chin on his hand.
It was strange.
He had crossed dimensions.
And was back in a classroom.
"Has any Awakened ever returned?" he suddenly asked.
The silence that followed was heavier than before.
Eldric folded his hands on the table.
"I know of no confirmed case."
"Confirmed?"
"There are legends. Rumors. Tales of disappearances. But returning… no."
The answer settled like stone.
Petrus looked away.
Luminelle, sitting on the floor drawing with charcoal, looked up.
"If you left… the tower would be sad," she said naturally.
He almost laughed.
"Does the tower have feelings?"
"Not as we do," Eldric replied. "But it records. Observes. Reacts."
—
At the end of the day, Eldric showed him his quarters.
A simple room. A firm wooden bed, well-made straw mattress, small table, water basin, and a narrow window revealing part of the city in the distance.
Nothing luxurious.
Nothing miserable.
"Luminelle and I live in the adjacent house," Eldric explained. "The Tower is sacred. To dwell in it permanently would be… disrespectful."
"Sacred to whom?"
"To all who understand what it upholds."
When he was alone, Petrus sat on the bed.
The silence was different from the city's.
There were no sirens. No engines.
But there was something else.
He closed his eyes.
And felt it.
The iron in the door hinges.
The nails in the bed frame.
The distant railings on the lower levels.
It was not mere perception.
It was proximity.
As if metal were an extension of his own body.
He slowly opened his eyes.
The surname he had been given echoed in his mind.
Alvoran.
During the lesson, Eldric had explained:
The name was not symbolic.
It was record.
Created after the founding of the Empire by the First Emperor, Aranthor I. Every Awakened bore it to prevent lineage disputes and centralize their existence under imperial authority.
The towers communicated.
His name was already inscribed in the other three.
He was not anonymous.
He was known.
Officially existing.
Petrus stood and walked to the door.
He placed his hand on the hinge.
Focused.
The metal responded.
A faint creak.
Almost imperceptible.
But he had caused it.
His heart — both of them — beat in unison.
The world was not merely different.
He could touch it beyond the surface.
He could bend it.
And perhaps…
Shape it.