The world fractured overnight.
News anchors spoke in hurried tones, their faces taut with disbelief as every nation declared emergency states. Martial law swept across cities, towns, and provinces like wildfire. Streets once bustling with life emptied under the weight of curfews enforced by soldiers clad in unyielding armor and faces set like stone.
Military vehicles rumbled down avenues where civilians had moments before gathered in uneasy crowds, staring up at the impossibly tall black spires that had cleaved the sky. Protesters shouted through barricades, their voices lost beneath the roar of armored transports and the crackle of loudspeakers ordering dispersal.
In homes, offices, and shelters, countless eyes glued to screens watched footage that seemed unreal. Reports came in from every continent: the Towers had appeared simultaneously across the globe. No one knew how or why. No one knew what to do.
Radio waves fizzled; some signals disappeared altogether. Power grids faltered near the spires, flickering in waves like the heartbeat of some slumbering giant. Communication lines jammed. Satellite feeds glitched. The Towers hummed—a low, unbroken sound that stretched beyond hearing into the bones of the earth.
On social media, fear exploded alongside fascination. Conspiracy theorists declared government cover-ups. Religious leaders called the Towers signs of apocalypse or divine rebirth. Scientists scrambled to explain what defied explanation.
Amid the chaos, Kael walked the cracked sidewalks near his apartment, eyes drawn upward as if the Tower itself pulled him forward. His hands trembled with restless energy. The world was unravelling—and somewhere inside, a small voice whispered of change.
Allen stayed cautious. He monitored news feeds, cross-referencing reports, searching for patterns. His mind raced through possibilities: natural phenomena, mass hallucinations, coordinated attacks—but no theory fit. The Towers were something else entirely.
They hadn't just arrived. They had arrived to stay.
Kael and Allen exchanged messages across the distance, their words short, tense. The city groaned under curfews and uncertainty. Helicopters circled overhead. Distant shouts echoed beneath the Tower's ever-present hum.
The world held its breath.
The Towers stood, silent and indifferent.
And humanity waited—for salvation or destruction, for answers that had not yet come.
The world didn't end when the Towers appeared.
But something else did.
Kael couldn't quite name it—perhaps the illusion of control, or the shared dream that life would follow a predictable path. That died the instant the black spires tore through the sky.
At first, no one knew what to do. Panic surged across borders. Martial law locked down cities. Civilization held its breath. Kael remembered the hush of empty streets, the buzz of military patrols, and people gathering around flickering newsfeeds, whispering desperate theories.
Then, within weeks of first entry, the initial wave of climbers went in.
Most never returned. But months later on Earth, a handful staggered back—alive, but irrevocably changed. That truth unsettled everyone more than anything else. It wasn't just that they'd survived; it was that time inside the Tower obeyed its own rules.
Through interviews and piecing together fragmented logs, researchers confirmed the ratio: one day on Earth equals ten days in the Tower.
A climber could vanish for what felt like a year inside, yet an Earth calendar would mark only thirty-six days.
Conversely, an Earth week equated to seventy days under the Tower's spires.
That discrepancy rewrote every rule. What once took decades of training could now be compressed—if you dared. Overnight, the Tower became both sanctuary and prison, a realm where hours bled into months, and months could slip through in days.
Humanity adapted.
Economies collapsed and reassembled around Tower-based trade. Gold lost value; relics and Tower-born curiosities became currency. Governments fractured—some launched official climbing programs under tight regulation, while others outlawed any attempt, driving expeditions into the shadows.
At each Tower's base, sprawling settlements—Climber Rings—rose like scars on the landscape. Makeshift research labs thrived beside black-market exchanges; mercenaries patrolled alongside spiritual cults; scavengers and scientists teamed up to map ever-shifting floors that defied cartography and satellite scans.
And then came the Sigils.
Only manifesting after a climber survived their first Rite of Passage, Sigils were as varied as the people who bore them. Some glowed faintly beneath the skin; others reshaped flesh or bone; a rare few granted abilities—shaping sound, bending light, or even whispering to the Tower's silent depths. Yet every gift carried a price: phantom pains, fractured memories, shortened lifespans.
For a long time, Kael watched from the sidelines. His old life—office cubicle, routine, purpose—had vanished. But two years on, he was no longer content to observe.
Tomorrow, he and Allen would cross the threshold.
Not as victims.
But as climbers.
The air in the briefing tent was tense with anticipation. Outside, the Tower loomed—an impossible spire of darkness blotting out the stars. Its surface shimmered faintly, like it was both solid and fluid, real and unreal.
Kael sat cross-legged beside Allen, surrounded by others handpicked from across the region. All had passed the necessary screenings—background checks, psychological evaluations, and biometric clearances.
At the front, Seren Valis, an officer of the State Climber Authority, began to speak, voice clipped and unwavering.
"You've all cleared security protocols. That means you're not fugitives, terrorists, or ticking time bombs."
A few nervous chuckles rippled through the crowd.
She didn't smile.
"But from here on, you're on your own—sort of. The Tower doesn't care who you are or where you come from. It doesn't belong to any nation. It doesn't answer questions. It just… is."
She tapped a tablet, and a rotating projection of the Tower appeared above it.
"When you enter, you'll face the Rite of Passage—a Tower-initiated trial. It's different for everyone. Think of it as a test, or maybe a... welcome."
Allen leaned in slightly. Kael could feel the curiosity radiating off him.
Seren continued, "Survive it, and you'll earn access to Floor I, where the climb begins. Some of you may awaken a Sigil during the Rite—a power unique to you, shaped by... something we still don't fully understand."
She paused. "Fail, and the Tower may cast you out—or keep you."
The tent fell silent at that.
A broad-shouldered man with scars across his cheek—Torek, a veteran climber—stepped forward.
"Once you reach Floor I, you'll be under the watch of Guild-affiliated trainers, backed by international governments. You'll undergo your real orientation there: combat basics, Tower survival, group protocols."
He surveyed the crowd with a soldier's discipline.
"Refuse Guild supervision, disrupt order, or endanger others, and you're marked as a rogue. Inside the Tower, that's as good as being labeled a criminal. And there are no second chances."
Kael raised a hand. "What about the items that let people return? The ones some climbers used to come back?"
Seren nodded. "Towershards. Extremely rare. You won't receive one during the Rite. They're found in the wilds of the Tower or—occasionally—bestowed by the Tower-born."
Another murmur rippled through the recruits.
"Towershards allow temporary return to Earth. Usually two days. After that, you're forcibly recalled."
"Tower-born?" Allen asked, voice calm but intent.
"Sentient beings inside the Tower," Torek answered. "Some are hostile. Others neutral. A rare few might help you—for reasons no one understands."
Kael shifted uncomfortably. "How long have the first climbers been gone?"
"Months," Seren replied. "But due to the time dilation, they've spent years inside. The current ratio is one Earth day to ten Tower days."
That hit harder than anything else. Kael could feel Allen process it beside him, quiet as ever.
Seren stepped back. "Tomorrow, just after sunrise, you'll enter. That first step into the Tower is yours alone."
The Tower itself offered no sound, no light, no movement. Yet somehow, it felt like it was listening.
Watching.
Waiting.
The camp was quiet, settled beneath the cold hush of night. Flickering lights painted soft shadows across the tents, and beyond them, the Tower loomed—eternal, unblinking, and impossibly tall.
Kael and Allen had wandered from the cluster of others after the briefing, walking a gravel path that wound behind the hills. They didn't need to say anything at first. The Tower's presence filled the silence well enough.
Kael was the one to speak first. He always was.
"You know," he said, kicking a loose stone down the path, "I used to dream about this. Not the whole global crisis and martial law part—just… something bigger. Wild places, secret doors, hidden worlds."
Allen arched an eyebrow, his hands in his coat pockets. "You dreamed of ancient eldritch towers rewriting the rules of reality?"
Kael grinned. "Something like that."
He turned toward the Tower. "Back when we used to hike, I always hoped we'd stumble into something unreal. A lost temple. A forgotten place no one had mapped."
Allen gave a faint, thoughtful hum. "You weren't looking for landmarks. You were looking for freedom."
Kael smiled, but it was tinged with wistfulness. "Guess I never liked the idea of everything in life being planned. School. Work. Retirement. Just… boxes. One after the other."
Allen didn't answer at first. Then, quietly: "I didn't come here for freedom."
Kael turned his head. Allen's gaze hadn't shifted from the Tower.
"My sister went in," he said. "Day three, when the world was still in chaos. She slipped through a breach in the barricade during a Tower surge."
Kael froze. "...You never told me that."
"I didn't need to," Allen replied, calm as always. "It wouldn't have changed anything. You were going in no matter what."
"Still," Kael said after a moment, "it's not the kind of thing you just drop mid-conversation."
Allen gave the faintest shrug. "I've been following the reports. Tracking returned climbers. Watching the time dilation models."
"You think she's still in there?"
"I do." A pause. "I think she chose the Tower. Just like we are now."
They stopped at the edge of a cliff where the land dipped into shadow. The Tower dominated the view, a silhouette against the stars that seemed too vast for one world.
Kael sat on a flat rock, drawing his knees up. "So what are you hoping to find in there?"
Allen stayed standing. "Answers. And maybe her."
Kael nodded slowly, then looked up at the stars. "I want something real. Something that doesn't come prepackaged or handed out with a salary slip."
He glanced at Allen, a lopsided smile on his face. "So. A wanderer and a tracker."
Allen gave a rare smile. "Sounds like a bad fantasy novel."
Kael laughed softly. "The worst."
For a while, they just watched the Tower, the two of them framed by its quiet immensity. Tomorrow, everything would change.
And somewhere inside, the Tower waited.
The air felt different today.
Colder, thinner—like the Tower itself was drawing a breath.
The plaza at the base was crowded with recruits: fresh uniforms, packs slung tight, faces filled with nerves or false bravado. The wide stone archways at the base of the Tower pulsed faintly with light, like veins running through obsidian skin.
Kael stood with Allen near the outer cordon, watching the officials conduct the last security checks. Behind them, cameras clicked and drones hovered—documenting history in real time. No press allowed inside, of course. Only those willing to climb.
"Final checks complete," a voice announced over the speakers. "Team Cohort Delta, prepare for entry."
That was them.
Kael adjusted the strap of his pack, heart thumping in his chest. Around them, the other rookies tensed. Most had trained for months now. They knew the rules. The structure. The expectations.
But not what truly lay beyond those doors.
Allen stood beside him, unreadable as ever, his eyes fixed on the Tower's shimmering gateway.
Kael cleared his throat. "This it?"
Allen didn't look away. "This is where we stop guessing."
A countdown began. A low, humming chime echoed across the plaza as the entry arch lit up with cascading symbols—none of which matched any known human language.
5...
Kael swallowed hard.
4...
Allen flexed his fingers once.
3...
The air buzzed, like the pressure before a lightning strike.
2...
The Tower's gateway expanded—widening, deepening. Swallowing the light around it.
1.
And then they stepped forward, into the unknown.
The world blinked.
And everything shattered.
Kael wasn't standing anymore.
He was falling.
No—floating, suspended in a void of stars and shifting light, alone.
His limbs wouldn't respond. His thoughts felt slow, heavy.
Then a voice—ancient, distant, and layered like echoes through a canyon—whispered from the dark.
"You seek freedom… Will you pay its price?"
A second voice, colder, rasped:
"What binds you to your path, little shadow?"
Shapes formed in the distance—impossible shapes, warped reflections of Kael's own fears, memories, and desires.
The Rite of Passage had begun.
And the Tower had started asking questions.