Initiation

Earlier that day, Rachel stood in front of the school, gripping the black card in her hand. Her mind churned with uncertainty, torn between fear and resolve.

Stella is already training... and Theo... he's years ahead of us. If I want any say in my future, I need to catch up—fast.

She clenched her jaw, nodded to herself, and headed to the address written on the back of the card. Minutes later, she found herself standing in front of a weathered old bar with a faded golden sign: The Wayfarer.

"A bar?" she whispered, confused. "I must be in the wrong place."

But the card in her hand began to glow faintly, tugging her wrist toward the entrance. Rachel sighed, her gut twisting with hesitation, and stepped inside.

The moment she crossed the threshold, the bar fell silent. Conversations halted. Dozens of eyes turned to her.

"I think you've got the wrong place, little girl," a patron muttered, his voice low and gravelly.

"I came because of a recommendation," Rachel replied, holding up the card. It shimmered in her fingers, casting golden light across the dim bar.

The room's attention shifted to the man behind the counter—Chiron. He stood there polishing a glass, his crimson eyes steady as they fixed on her.

"Come here," he said calmly.

Rachel approached the bar and placed the card down. Chiron picked it up, examining it with a hum of intrigue.

"And how did you, a mortal, get a Genius-level recommendation from the young master?" His voice was mild, but his eyes burned with intensity. Rachel felt the weight of his gaze pierce through her soul, as though it were stripping her down to the bone.

"I guess we'll find out soon enough," Chiron said finally. "Enjoy your trip to the Tower. Everything out here will be handled."

He snapped his fingers.

Black mist coiled around her like smoke caught in a storm—and she vanished.

One of the patrons exhaled through his nose. "Think she'll survive?"

Chiron shrugged. "Who knows? The young master marked her Genius. That just made things harder for her. From what I can see... she's ordinary. No special aura, no hidden talent. She'll probably die. But if she doesn't... well, I'm curious to see what they make of her."

Murmurs resumed. Glasses clinked. The bar returned to its rhythm.

Rachel landed hard on her feet in a pitch-black room. A thin layer of water covered the floor, sending ripples out with every step she took. Her footsteps echoed in the silence.

"Hello?" she called. "Is anyone there?"

No answer.

She walked for what felt like half an hour—no walls, no end in sight, only the cold water and the distant sound of her steps.

Then, a voice—deep and resonant—spoke from the dark.

"Why are you here?"

Rachel froze. "What's that supposed to mean? You gave me the card."

Silence.

"Why are you here?" the voice repeated.

"I—I want to know more," she said, voice trembling. "About this world. This hidden world I could only imagine in stories."

Again, silence.

"Why are you here?"

Rachel clenched her fists. "What do you want me to say? That I want power? I do! But that's not all—I want knowledge. I want to see. To understand!"

This time, the voice replied with a different tone. Cold. Ominous.

"Be careful when looking into the abyss... for the abyss looks back at you."

Darkness surged around her. The world twisted, and Rachel was pulled down once again.

When she opened her eyes, she was in a white room. The floor was solid, the air warm. This time, she wasn't alone.

Some of the others looked like her—normal people, in street clothes, clearly confused. But scattered among them were others with strange appearances: cloaks that shimmered like galaxies, robes that looked stitched from time itself, and armor that seemed to hum.

Rachel walked up to one of the girls near her age, who wore a hoodie and sneakers. "Hey. Do you know what's going on?"

"No clue," the girl replied. "I was dropped here five minutes ago. No one explained anything. At least this place has walls. You can't just wander forever."

She glanced at the more exotic individuals and added in a hushed voice, "Don't talk to them. Someone tried. The room has a self-cleaning system... if you get my drift."

Rachel blinked, unsettled. "I see. Thanks, uh…"

"Terra," the girl replied, shaking her hand. "And you?"

"Rachel."

Before they could speak further, a door formed on one of the walls. A woman entered—tall, pale-skinned, silver hair cascading down her back, and eyes like molten rubies. Every step she took radiated power. Silence fell instantly.

"Fifteen of you," she said, voice rich and controlled. "More than I expected. A talented batch."

The comment rattled some. Rachel saw a few visibly tremble.

"I am your onboarding guide," she continued. "You won't know my name unless you pass. You will have 30 days to complete your task. Everything has been tailored to your level, so don't worry—it'll only be as hard as you are capable of."

A boy in gleaming black robes scoffed. "Why should we have to take the same test as them? We're leagues above these mortals."

The woman smiled, slow and sharp.

"What makes you better? Your Tier? Your lineage? Your training? Fine. But ask yourself: if they had your advantages... would you still be better?"

The boy fell silent.

"These tests show whether you're truly talented—or just trash with a shiny coat."

She turned and opened the door behind her. "Follow me."

They stepped through into a massive library.

Rows upon rows of books stretched beyond the horizon, stacked in spiraling towers and floating shelves.

"This," the woman said, "is the Tier 0 floor of the Organization's Library. All of you, regardless of background, will begin here."

She turned to face them one last time.

"Your mission: read what you can and write a thesis based on your understanding. You'll find your storage tools, mana, and sigils are disabled. Here, you are mortal."

Her gaze sharpened. "Here's a tip: everything is connected."

With that, she vanished. The door disappeared.

And the trial began.

Everyone in the vast white library looked around, confusion etched on their faces. No instructions. No guidance. Just endless rows of books stretching into the horizon.

Terra turned to Rachel, her voice hushed. "You've been to school, right?"

Rachel blinked. "Yeah, of course."

Terra let out a sigh of relief. "Good. That might be our advantage. Some of these people… they don't look like they've ever sat in a classroom. We've got a shot."

Rachel nodded. "I was thinking the same thing. When I saw how confident they looked in their weird gear, I thought the exams would lean toward them."

"Same here. Okay—what subjects are you good at?"

"I'm a journalist," Rachel replied, already scanning the nearest titles. "So I'm decent across the board, but I lean toward history and science."

"I'm more science and math," Terra said with a small grin. "Looks like we might make a good team."

Rachel's eyes lit up with a spark of inspiration. "Then all we need is a thesis topic. Something scientific—but in a world like this... what even is science?"

Her gaze drifted upward at the vast, swirling ceiling of moving script. "What about… mana? The guide mentioned it. And when she said we couldn't use it here, some of the others got real upset."

A voice behind them cut in.

"I wouldn't recommend it."

They turned to see one of the contestants dressed in flowing ancient robes. His posture was graceful, but his tone was cold. "Unless you're Tier 5 or above, anything you write on mana will be ignorant conjecture. It's like trying to map the ocean with a teacup."

Terra frowned. "And you know so much because…?"

The boy turned his head, silver threads of his hair falling across his cheek. "Because I have heritage. I come from a long line of practitioners. Mana is the fundamental force of our world. Its origin is unknown in the lower realms. Its nature—still elusive to even the highest scholars. My grandmother is a Tier 6 cultivator. And even she can't claim to understand it fully."

Rachel crossed her arms. "What if we work together, then? You bring the mystical background, and we bring structure. We know how to construct an argument, cite sources, explain ideas clearly. Plus… we're not limited by centuries of rigid thinking. Sometimes it takes a beginner to see what others can't."

The boy studied them for a moment, then gave a slight nod.

"I am Naemor Elaran Psychis, third in line of the Psychis family. It's a pleasure."

Rachel blinked. "I didn't expect to meet another royal so soon."

Naemor's eyes narrowed. "Another? Which family?"

Rachel spoke without hesitation. "The Orunson family."

He relaxed. "Ah. The African branch. I feared you might say the Nihelsons."

Terra raised a brow. "Why? What's wrong with them?"

Naemor's face hardened. "Because that is a family of demons. Every member grows into a reaper—or worse, a conqueror. Their hands are stained with more blood than any other line in recorded human history. Facing one of them in battle is considered a death sentence. That's why they're banned from the Tower's trials."

He glanced around, voice dropping lower.

"Long ago, when the Twilight was still young, Nihelson heirs used this place as a training ground. Back then, the survival rate for other contestants was... two percent. And that was only because they chose to spare the other royals."

Rachel exhaled sharply. "Damn. I didn't know it was that serious."

"It's worse than that," Naemor said grimly. "But you'll understand better once you read. Every family has a role in keeping the realm intact until the Resurgence. Thankfully, the Nihelsons are its guardians. They direct their bloodlust outward... for now."

"Well then," Terra said, pulling a book from the nearest shelf. "We better start reading."

They dove into the aisles, each step echoing beneath the high, vaulted ceiling. The trio read tirelessly—books on mana, its speculative physics, its cultural symbolism, and its metaphysical theory. Rachel took notes, building frameworks in her mind. Terra whispered out formulas under her breath. Naemor corrected half of what they assumed—and challenged the rest.

Occasionally, they picked up other books—on history, on theory, on forgotten gods and world-shaping wars—broadening their horizons as they worked to decode a world that had only just begun to open itself.

And with each page, each line, the Tower watched.