The morning after their conversation, Jobaer found himself sitting at the family table, the warm aroma of tea and freshly baked bread mingling in the air. Outside, the sun was beginning its ascent into the sky, casting long golden rays through the small window. The birds outside sang their usual cheerful morning songs, while the rhythmic rustle of grain in the fields added to the peaceful ambiance. Yet inside, the quiet was punctuated by his grandfather's words, which held the weight of years—decades of knowledge about a world that felt simultaneously distant and incredibly close.
"Boy," his grandfather began, his voice soft yet unwavering, "I know you've always had a hunger to understand the Tower. I can see it in your eyes every time you look at it. But before you step foot into that place, there's something you need to know about it. And that something... well, it can be the difference between life and death."
Jobaer looked up from his mug, his heart quickening with anticipation. He had heard many tales of the Tower over the years, but hearing it from his grandfather—whose calm demeanor always seemed to hold an aura of understanding—was something different. His curiosity had always driven him to ask more questions, to seek deeper answers, but there was something unspoken in his grandfather's tone that made him feel like he was on the verge of learning something monumental.
"The Tower isn't just a place. It's a system. A living thing. And to climb it… to truly ascend… you'll need to prove you're worthy. The Tower doesn't care about your past or who you were. It only cares about who you are in that moment. And your first trial, boy, it's the hardest one."
Jobaer's chest tightened as his grandfather's words sank in. He had always known that the Tower was not simply a place of power and wonder, but the idea of a test—of being judged for something he couldn't yet fully understand—was a concept he hadn't quite grasped until now.
"Before you get to any of the floors," his grandfather continued, his fingers tapping slowly on the wooden table as he spoke, "you must first pass through Floor 0. It's not like the other floors, where each level represents a different challenge or world. Floor 0 is something else entirely. It's a proving ground. A trial by fire."
Jobaer's eyes widened. He had heard of Floor 0 before, but only in passing. It was the beginning, the first obstacle anyone entering the Tower had to overcome, but the details had always been vague. His grandfather's words were the first real insight he had gotten.
"The floor itself is as large as any of the Tower's other floors, which means it's immense," his grandfather explained. "But unlike the rest of the Tower, which is divided into specific areas, Floor 0 is entirely dedicated to one thing: testing those who seek entry."
"Testing how?" Jobaer asked, his curiosity growing with every word.
"The trial has three stages," his grandfather said, his gaze growing distant as if he were recalling something ancient. "The easiest of the three is called the 'Man' trial. It's meant to test your survival instincts in a relatively controlled environment. You'll be pitted against other people—Rankers just like you. Some will try to challenge you directly, others will try to outwit you. It's about endurance, adaptability, and resourcefulness. The Man trial is the bare minimum to prove that you have the basic will to survive in the Tower's environment."
Jobaer leaned forward slightly, listening intently. He could already feel his pulse quicken, the thought of facing another Ranker both daunting and exhilarating.
"But that's just the beginning," his grandfather continued, his voice growing more somber. "Next comes the 'Earth' trial. It's harder than the first, and it's designed to test your ability to endure harsh conditions. It's not just other Rankers you'll face. The environment itself will turn against you. Whether it's the weather, dangerous creatures, or traps set by the Tower, you'll have to find a way to survive. You'll need to rely on your instincts, your talents, and your ability to think under pressure. The Earth trial is about your capacity to adapt."
The weight of his grandfather's words pressed down on Jobaer. He had heard stories of Rankers who had failed the Earth trial—some had returned broken, physically and mentally. Others had never returned at all. The challenges were clearly severe, but Jobaer felt a strange thrill at the thought of facing them. His innate talent, whatever it might be, was just waiting to be awakened. He knew that.
"And then…" his grandfather paused, casting a long glance at Jobaer, "there's the Heaven trial."
Jobaer swallowed, his throat dry as he processed the words. There was a palpable sense of dread that filled the room at the mention of the Heaven trial. Even his grandfather, who had lived through countless battles and trials of his own, seemed to hold a deep respect—no, fear—for it.
"The Heaven trial is the final test before you can proceed to the next floor," his grandfather explained quietly. "It's a trial of the soul. It's not about physical endurance or even skill. It's about your very being. It tests your morals, your sense of self, your strength of will. It's a battle that will expose everything about you—your weaknesses, your fears, your doubts. It's the hardest trial by far, and it is the one that separates those who are truly worthy of ascending the Tower from those who aren't."
Jobaer couldn't speak for a moment, the gravity of his grandfather's words hanging heavily in the air. His heart pounded in his chest as he imagined facing the Heaven trial. What if he wasn't ready? What if his fears and weaknesses were too much to overcome?
"But you'll face it," his grandfather said, his eyes locking onto Jobaer's with a deep intensity. "The Tower is where your talent will awaken. And make no mistake, boy—your talent is what will carry you through these trials. It's what will make you strong enough to survive."
Jobaer's mind raced, and his grandfather's words brought him to a deeper understanding of the Tower. Talent. The very core of his being, the force that would guide him on this journey. He had always known that he was different—that there was something inside him that set him apart from others—but hearing it put into words made everything real.
"What do you mean by talent?" Jobaer asked, trying to clarify. "Is it like magic? A special power?"
His grandfather smiled faintly. "Talent is far more than magic or power. It's something unique to each person who enters the Tower. When you pass your trials and prove your worth, your talent will be awakened. It could be anything—strength, intelligence, perception, control over an element, even things beyond our understanding. Some talents are easy to recognize. Others? Well, they're not so clear. But they're all dangerous in their own way."
Jobaer leaned back in his chair, taking it all in. This was bigger than anything he had ever imagined. A world where power could be so varied, so boundless, was both terrifying and exhilarating. And for the first time, Jobaer realized that his path wasn't going to be a simple one. He would have to prove himself. He would have to earn the right to ascend, to awaken his talent, and to claim his place among the Rankers.
"But… if I fail the trials?" Jobaer asked, the weight of the question settling into his chest.
"If you fail…" His grandfather's voice softened, "you lose everything. Your memories. Your power. Your name. The Tower will strip it all away, leaving you with nothing but your failures. Some never recover from it."
Jobaer swallowed hard, the full extent of the consequences settling over him like a storm cloud. He would have to be more than just strong. He would have to be smart, resourceful, and brave. But most of all, he would have to prove that he was worthy.
"Grandpa," Jobaer began carefully, his voice hesitant. "What about Mom and Dad? What happened to them? Why aren't they here?"
His grandfather's expression shifted, the warmth fading from his eyes for a moment as the weight of the question sank in. "Your parents…" he began, his voice quiet, almost reverential. "They were both exceptional Rankers. Your mother, especially, had an unmatched talent. But they both disappeared after they entered the Tower. They weren't the same after their trials."
Jobaer leaned in, a knot tightening in his chest. His parents had been Rankers? His mother, with a talent that had been so extraordinary? He had always known they had a special connection to the Tower, but he hadn't realized how far-reaching it was.
"They were part of the first wave to enter the Tower," his grandfather continued, his eyes clouded with memories. "Your mother was an anomaly. They said her talent could bend reality itself. But no one knew what exactly her talent was, not even her. After she and your father entered, they were gone for years. They came back… changed. They spoke little of what happened inside. But I know your mother had to confront something in her trial that shattered her. I think that's why they left, to protect you."
The silence that followed was thick, as Jobaer processed the information. His parents had been through the trials before him. And from what his grandfather said, they hadn't come out unscathed. The trials were harsh, unforgiving, and potentially dangerous not just to the body but to the very soul. His parents had faced it, and their absence—along with his memories of their distant return—now took on a new meaning.
"But they came back," Jobaer said softly, trying to piece the fragments together. "That means… they survived?"
"Not all of them, son," his grandfather replied somberly. "Your father didn't make it. The trials took him… but your mother fought her way through. What exactly happened inside, I can't say. The Tower keeps its secrets. But your mother, Jobaer, she gave everything to return. And when she did, she swore she would never set foot in that place again. Your parents, they awakened their talents, but the Tower came at a price. A price that nearly cost them everything."
Jobaer sat back in his chair, a sense of urgency building inside him. His parents had faced the trials. They had been powerful, yet the trials had broken them in ways Jobaer couldn't understand. But it also made him realize something—he wasn't just seeking the Tower for his own sake. There was a history there. His bloodline was tied to it. And no matter the cost, he had to face it. He had to awaken his talent.
"I'll make sure I succeed," Jobaer said, his voice quiet but filled with resolve. "I will find my talent, whatever it is, and prove that I'm worthy. For myself. For my parents."
His grandfather gave him a long, assessing look, and then nodded slowly, his face softening. "That's the spirit, boy. But remember… the Tower takes as much as it gives. Don't let it take more than you're willing to give."
And with that, Jobaer's path was set. The Tower loomed in the distance, its shadow casting a long, dark figure over his future. But he wasn't afraid anymore. The trials awaited. His talent awaited. And he was ready to meet them both head-on.
As the conversation between Jobaer and his grandfather lingered in the air, the warmth of the family's humble home slowly faded as the night deepened. Yet, within Jobaer's mind, the image of the Tower continued to dominate. He had long yearned to know more about the Tower, but now it felt closer—within his reach. His curiosity was no longer limited to its mysteries; it was now an understanding of what lay ahead: the trials, the awakening of his talent, and the profound legacy tied to the Tower.
The Tower, while distant from their quiet farmland, was not isolated. It was connected to every person's life, a symbol of ambition and aspiration. As the evening light dimmed and shadows stretched over the fields, Jobaer couldn't shake the thought of the journey he was about to undertake. But even though the Tower loomed in the distance, the path to it was not an immediate one. There was a place—a hub of sorts—where all who sought to enter the Tower would first gather. It was a place of immense activity, where hopes and dreams collided with reality.
And so, the next morning, after much contemplation and encouragement from his family, Jobaer made the decision to take the first step towards the Tower.
The Gateway to the Tower
Seraith, a bustling town that lay on the edge of Nelrith, was as much a symbol of hope as it was of inevitable challenge. It was a place where countless people, young and old, gathered from all over the land with a singular goal: to enter the Tower. It had become the world's de facto gateway to the greatest enigma of all—the Tower of Heaven.
From the moment Jobaer set foot in the town, the weight of history and ambition felt palpable. The town was not merely a village—it was a crossroads where the fates of those who sought to ascend the Tower were decided. Here, people prepared themselves to face the Tower's trials, each trial a step toward something greater, and for many, something irreversible. It was a world unto itself, filled with hope and anxiety in equal measure.
The moment Jobaer and his grandfather crossed into the outer limits of the village, the vastness of Seraith struck him. The landscape, initially a quiet rural stretch of farmland and rolling hills, suddenly transformed. The cobblestone streets were crowded with travelers of all sorts, a cross-section of the world. Traders with exotic goods, healers offering their services, farmers hoping to make a little extra coin, and adventurers eager for what the Tower promised: power, fame, or the unexplainable need to simply ascend.
Yet, despite the chaotic mixture of people, the focus of it all was clear. All eyes, whether hopeful or anxious, were turned toward the great archway at the center of the village. This was the entrance to the Tower, the grand "Gateway to the Tower," where the fates of thousands converged. It loomed over everything—silent, ancient, and imposing.
The gateway itself was a massive stone arch, towering at least fifty feet high, its surface weathered by centuries of rain and sun. The stones, though chipped and worn by time, had a beauty to them, their grey hue interspersed with veins of golden and emerald flecks, hinting at the mystery of the land from which they had been hewn. The archway was not simply an entrance—it was an artifact from an era long past, its origins lost in the annals of history. Some legends even suggested that the arch was once a part of the Tower itself, long before it was moved to its present position.
Carvings adorned the archway, strange symbols intertwined with depictions of great warriors and ascendants, their faces determined, their bodies strong. These were not mere representations but relics of those who had passed through the gateway before, perhaps even those who had ascended beyond the Tower's many trials. Their expressions seemed to convey both a warning and an invitation— a challenge for any who dared to pass beneath the arch.
As Jobaer approached, he could feel a tingle in the air, as if the very stones of the gateway were alive, vibrating with the energy that poured into the village from the Tower. There was something unsettling about the archway, a presence that could be felt in every breath. It wasn't just a stone structure; it was alive with power, the kind that no mortal could fully comprehend.
Before the arch, there was a large open plaza, known as the Plaza of Beginnings. It was here that most aspirants gathered before they took their first steps toward the Tower. The plaza was vast, a circular expanse surrounded by high stone walls adorned with statues of ancient Rankers—heroes who had dared the Tower and, in some cases, triumphed. Their statues were carved with great care, and each one stood proud as a testament to what was possible for those who had been worthy.
The ground of the plaza was made of smooth, polished stone, and its center was occupied by a fountain that spouted clear, cool water. The fountain was surrounded by large, colorful banners that fluttered in the breeze, each bearing the insignia of various factions and guilds that called this place home. The sound of water and the rustling of the banners created a soft hum of life in the otherwise silent plaza, as people from all walks of life paused to gather their courage.
Around the edges of the plaza, stalls were set up by vendors, offering everything from food to equipment for the journey ahead. Some merchants sold medicinal herbs, others offered enchanted trinkets said to aid in surviving the trials. There were even a few who specialized in items meant to assist in the trials themselves—enchanted cloaks that could shield against certain elements, rings that supposedly aided in focusing one's energy, and scrolls filled with maps of the Tower's first few levels.
Jobaer's eyes scanned the crowd. Here, he saw people from all corners of the world—tall, short, young, old—each with an expression that combined anticipation and uncertainty. Some had traveled for months or even years to arrive at this very place. A few were already donned in specialized gear, their bodies marked with tattoos or scars that told stories of trials endured elsewhere, though none had yet faced the Tower itself.
Among the crowd, Jobaer could see children—young, innocent, and bright-eyed—who had come with their parents, perhaps to watch the trials or learn about the Tower. They played in the fountain's mist, their laughter ringing in the air. Their innocence contrasted sharply with the older souls who stood further away, their faces lined with worry, fear, or hope.
"This place…" Jobaer said softly, "It feels alive."
His grandfather, who had been quiet for most of the journey, spoke up. "It is. The Tower has a way of attracting people from all over. But for those who come here to enter, this plaza is the last place where they can feel anything resembling peace. Once you cross through that arch, everything changes. Your trials will begin, and the world will know you only by your deeds and your will."
As they continued their journey through the Plaza of Beginnings, they encountered a group of travelers preparing to enter. A tall woman with braided hair and a cloak embroidered with symbols of the Earth element walked past, followed by two younger men with swords strapped to their backs. They were discussing their expectations of the trials, their words laced with both excitement and dread.
"We'll have to face the Earth trial first," the woman said to her companions, her voice low but confident. "It's said to be the hardest for those unprepared. But it's a good test of resilience."
Jobaer's grandfather overheard and nodded. "The Earth trial tests endurance and determination. It's a battle of attrition—survive it, and you'll prove you have the strength to continue." His gaze lingered on the trio as they passed. "But it's not the only trial you'll face. Each person who enters the Tower faces their own unique challenge."
They finally reached the foot of the great arch, its immense stone pillars towering above them. The air grew heavier here, as if the very atmosphere was charged with energy. As Jobaer stood beneath it, he felt something stir within him—a subtle pull, as though the Tower itself was calling to him. His heart beat faster, his breath quickening as he stepped forward.
The gatekeeper, an old man with a long white beard and a cloak decorated with golden insignia, stood by the archway. He gave Jobaer a brief glance, his expression unreadable, before addressing him with a voice as deep as the earth itself.
"Do you seek the Tower, young one?" he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"I do," Jobaer answered, his voice steady despite the tremor he felt in his chest. "I'm ready to prove my worth."
The gatekeeper's gaze softened, and he nodded, stepping aside. "Then enter, and let your trial begin."
With that, Jobaer crossed the threshold beneath the archway. As he did, he felt a pulse—an electric jolt—run through his body. The air seemed to shift around him, the once familiar world of Seraith falling away behind him as the path forward stretched toward an unknown future. The first step toward the Tower was complete, and now his journey—his trial—had truly begun.