The first thing Jobaer noticed as he stepped into the Trial Choosing Room was the overwhelming presence of people. It wasn't just their sheer numbers—it was the energy in the air, a mixture of anticipation, fear, and unyielding determination. The room itself was colossal, circular, and impossibly tall, with golden runes etched into the polished stone walls. Light spilled from glowing orbs that floated high above, casting an otherworldly glow on the sea of aspirants gathered below.
Hundreds of individuals, each hailing from different realms, races, and walks of life, stood in clusters, their voices echoing off the walls. Some were draped in flowing robes, their appearances regal and imposing. Others looked more like warriors, their muscles taut and their armor gleaming. Then there were those like Jobaer, dressed simply and carrying the weight of ordinary lives thrust into extraordinary circumstances.
At the center of the room stood three enormous archways, each glowing with a different hue. Above them, inscriptions in an ancient language shifted and shimmered, yet their meaning was clear to anyone who glanced at them. These were the portals to the three trial difficulties:
Man – The archway glowed a serene blue, exuding an inviting warmth.Earth – This arch burned with a fierce orange, pulsating with energy that felt like a challenge to the brave.Heaven – The final arch radiated a brilliant golden light, so intense it was almost blinding. Even standing near it, Jobaer felt the weight of its promise: immense power or devastating failure.
As Jobaer scanned the room, he saw individuals stepping toward the portals, each moment heavy with decision. For most, the choice was obvious—Man, the easiest trial, was their path. Earth was less popular, and very few dared approach Heaven.
A Tense Atmosphere
The tension in the room was palpable. Conversations buzzed around him as people debated, speculated, and worried over their decisions.
"Only fools try Earth, let alone Heaven," muttered a grizzled man leaning against a pillar, his arms crossed. "Man is the safest bet. You fail that, and you were never meant to climb the Tower anyway."
A younger man beside him, his face pale with fear, nodded quickly. "Yeah, but I heard the rewards for Earth are ten times better…"
"Ten times better, ten times more likely to die," the older man snapped. "Mark my words, kid. Play it safe."
Nearby, a woman with a scar running down her cheek laughed, her tone dripping with disdain. "Cowards, the lot of you," she said loudly, drawing the attention of those around her. "You think the Tower respects safety? It respects strength. If you can't face Earth or Heaven, don't bother climbing."
Her words sparked murmurs, some in agreement, others in anger.
"You say that," a stout dwarf with a braided beard retorted, "but let's see you walk through Heaven's gate, eh? Big words are easy when your feet stay planted."
The woman's smirk faltered, and the dwarf chuckled, turning back to his companions.
The Trial Selection Hall was a microcosm of human ambition, fear, and diversity, a swirling sea of emotions that seemed to reflect the monumental nature of the Tower itself. Jobaer remained where he was, leaning against a marble pillar at the edge of the chamber, his sharp eyes taking in everything around him. This was a moment unlike any he had ever experienced, and he wanted to absorb every detail.
The people in the hall were a kaleidoscope of backgrounds and personalities, their reactions to the looming decision offering a fascinating study of character. On one side, a young woman in a simple green tunic clutched her hands together, her lips moving as if in silent prayer. Her knuckles were white with tension, and her gaze darted repeatedly toward the obelisk. Jobaer guessed she came from a rural village, perhaps a farmer's daughter, her life and dreams pinned to this singular moment.
Not far from her, a group of three men in elaborate armor stood in a tight circle, speaking in hushed tones. Their attire was ornate, suggesting they hailed from a wealthier background or perhaps noble bloodlines. One of them, a tall man with a proud bearing, kept his chin high, his expression one of quiet confidence. The other two seemed less sure, their eyes darting nervously to the obelisk as they whispered amongst themselves.
"The tall one will pick Earth," Jobaer mused silently. "The others... Man, most likely."
His gaze shifted to the center of the room, where a young boy no older than twelve stood with his father. The boy's face was a mix of wonder and terror, his small frame trembling as he looked up at the glowing obelisk. The father knelt beside him, speaking softly, his hand resting firmly on the boy's shoulder. Whatever words he shared seemed to bring some measure of calm, as the boy straightened, his trembling subsiding.
"It's not just individuals risking everything," Jobaer thought. "Families are pinning their hopes on this too."
Across the hall, a loud voice caught his attention. A burly man with a booming laugh was speaking to a small crowd. His gestures were exaggerated, his voice carrying easily over the din.
"Man trial is for cowards!" he bellowed, his tone dripping with bravado. "If you've got the guts, you pick Earth. And if you've got death wishes, you pick Heaven!"
A few nervous chuckles rippled through his audience, but the laughter didn't reach their eyes. The burly man's posturing seemed more for show than genuine courage, and Jobaer could tell that beneath the bravado lay the same uncertainty everyone else was grappling with.
In a quieter corner of the room, a woman with silver hair and piercing blue eyes stood alone, her arms crossed. She exuded an aura of calm detachment, her gaze fixed on the obelisk with unwavering focus. Her presence was magnetic, and despite her silence, people gave her a wide berth, as if sensing an unspoken power. Jobaer couldn't help but wonder about her story—what had brought her here, and what trial would she choose?
The room itself added to the tension. The walls were not just walls; they seemed alive, shifting subtly with the light of the obelisk. The symbols carved into the stone glowed faintly, their meanings unknown but their presence deeply unsettling. It was as if the chamber itself was watching, judging, and waiting for the participants to make their choices.
Jobaer's attention was drawn to a heated exchange near the obelisk. Two men, both in their mid-twenties, were arguing loudly.
"You're crazy if you think Earth is a good idea!" one of them shouted, his face red with frustration. "Man is the only safe option."
"Safe?" the other retorted, his tone sharp. "Man is for people who want to scrape by. Earth is for those who want to thrive. Or do you plan on spending your whole life on the first five floors?"
The argument drew a small crowd, and opinions began to fly.
"He's right. Man is the best option for survival. What's the point of strength if you don't live to use it?"
"But Earth gives you a real chance to awaken something powerful. If you don't take risks now, you'll regret it later!"
"And Heaven?" someone muttered, their voice barely audible.
Silence fell for a moment as the word hung in the air. Then a young woman in a long red cloak spoke up, her voice steady but cold. "Heaven is for the desperate or the delusional. The Tower doesn't reward recklessness; it punishes it. Only fools choose Heaven."
Jobaer's gaze returned to the obelisk, the translucent structure that seemed to draw everyone's hopes and fears into its radiant glow. It pulsed softly, a silent reminder of the choices that lay ahead. The inscriptions around its base seemed to shift as he watched, their patterns mesmerizing.
"Three paths," he thought. "Three futures. And every person here is gambling everything on which one they choose."
He noticed the subtle shifts in posture, the tension in the air as people steeled themselves for the moment of decision. Some were visibly shaking, their fear palpable. Others wore masks of confidence, their resolve perhaps genuine or perhaps a facade to hide their doubts.
Jobaer's observations weren't just idle curiosity; they were preparation. He wanted to understand the people around him, to gauge their strengths and weaknesses. The Tower was not just about individual trials—it was a crucible where alliances and rivalries would be forged, where trust and betrayal would determine who rose and who fell.
"Every choice matters," he reminded himself, his jaw tightening. "Not just the trial, but how you face it. Who you face it with. And who you leave behind."
As he watched, the obelisk pulsed again, brighter this time, as if urging them all to decide.
The Trial Selection Hall was a vast chamber that hummed with the energy of countless dreams and ambitions. Its walls shimmered with a strange, otherworldly glow, adorned with runes and glyphs that pulsed softly, seemingly in rhythm with the heartbeats of those who gathered there. The chamber was circular, with a raised platform in the center where a translucent obelisk stood. This obelisk, glowing faintly, was the key to their futures—it displayed the three trials available: Man, Earth, and Heaven.
Jobaer stood at the edge of the room, taking in the chaotic scene before him. People from every walk of life filled the space—young and old, warriors and scholars, merchants and mystics—all gathered with one shared purpose: to prove their worth to the Tower. The air buzzed with nervous anticipation, punctuated by bursts of conversation, heated debates, and the occasional outburst of fear or bravado.
"Man is the safest choice," a voice nearby declared, loud and self-assured. A broad-shouldered man with a scar running across his cheek was addressing a group of younger participants. His arms were crossed, his expression one of grim certainty. "It's still dangerous, but it's manageable. You've all heard the stories—Earth and Heaven are death sentences for most."
"But the rewards," another voice countered, this one sharper and filled with ambition. The speaker was a wiry, sharp-eyed woman, her hands gesturing animatedly. "You've heard the stories too. Those who survive Earth trials awaken stronger Talents. Heaven… Heaven might be madness, but it's also the path to greatness."
The man snorted. "Greatness? Heaven is a graveyard for fools. You can't become great if you're dead."
Nearby, another group was locked in a similar debate.
"Do you think anyone actually survives Heaven?" a boy with a trembling voice asked. He looked barely old enough to be here, his youthful face pale with fear.
A taller, older participant scoffed. "Of course they do. You think all those Rankers came out of Man trials? The best of the best come from Heaven. It's rare, sure, but it happens. Why else would the Tower give us the choice?"
Jobaer listened quietly, his gaze fixed on the glowing obelisk. The trials weren't just a choice of difficulty—they were a declaration of intent, a measure of ambition and courage. Each trial offered a glimpse of what lay ahead.
The Man trial was considered the "safe" path. Challenging but within reach for the majority, it tested physical endurance, problem-solving, and basic combat. It was designed to weed out the unworthy while giving most participants a chance to prove themselves. The talents awakened through Man trials were often practical and straightforward—enhanced strength, speed, minor elemental manipulation.
The Earth trial was a significant step up in danger and complexity. It required not just strength but strategy, adaptability, and an understanding of one's own limits. Those who survived often awakened more potent and specialized talents—abilities that could shape the course of their lives and elevate them to positions of power.
And then there was Heaven. The name itself inspired awe and dread. The Heaven trial was a crucible of despair, where the Tower laid bare its full, merciless potential. Survival rates were abysmal, and those who dared to choose it were often seen as either suicidal or exceptionally gifted. But the rewards were unparalleled. Talents awakened through Heaven trials were unique, sometimes bordering on divine. Legends spoke of individuals who emerged with the ability to manipulate time, command the elements, or reshape reality itself.
As Jobaer stood there, weighing his decision, he couldn't ignore the whispers around him.
"Did you hear about that boy last year? The one who chose Earth and came out blind in one eye?"
"Blind? That's nothing. My cousin said someone from her village chose Heaven five years ago. They never came back."
"But what if—"
Jobaer tuned out the noise, his focus sharpening. The choice wasn't just about survival; it was about setting the tone for his journey. Choosing Man would be the cautious route, the path of least resistance. Earth was ambitious but still within reason. Heaven, however, was a gamble—a leap into the unknown, where failure meant death but success promised unparalleled power.
A commotion near the obelisk caught his attention. A young man with a fiery gaze had stepped forward, his voice ringing out. "I'll take Heaven," he declared, his words echoing in the hall.
The room fell silent for a moment, shock rippling through the crowd.
"You're insane," someone muttered.
"Bold, or stupid," another added.
The young man turned to face the crowd, his expression defiant. "I didn't come here to scrape by. I came here to rise. And that means taking risks. If any of you think you have what it takes, you'll choose Heaven too."
His words sparked a wave of murmurs and debates. Some looked inspired, others skeptical, but most were visibly uncomfortable.
Jobaer felt a strange sense of camaraderie with the young man. He understood that drive, that need to prove oneself. He stepped forward, his voice steady but firm. "I'll take Heaven as well."
The declaration drew a fresh wave of reactions. Gasps, whispers, and even a few incredulous laughs.
"Another fool," someone said, shaking their head.
But Jobaer didn't waver. He caught the young man's eye, and for a brief moment, there was a shared understanding—a silent acknowledgment of their shared determination.
The obelisk pulsed, responding to their choices. Symbols shifted and rearranged themselves, forming a glowing sigil that hovered in the air above them. This was their mark, their declaration to the Tower.
Others stepped forward, making their choices. Most chose Man, their faces a mix of relief and resignation. A smaller group opted for Earth, their expressions betraying a blend of fear and resolve. Only a handful dared to choose Heaven, each one met with a mix of admiration and pity from the crowd.
As the room began to empty, the weight of Jobaer's choice settled over him. The trial lay ahead, and there was no turning back. But as he glanced at the obelisk one last time, he felt a spark of excitement amid the fear. This was what he had been waiting for—a chance to prove himself, to step out of the shadow of his family's legacy and carve his own path.
The Tower had issued its challenge, and Jobaer had answered.
A Family's Shadow
The legacy of Jobaer's parents was a story woven with triumph, mystery, and heartbreak—a tale his grandfather would recount on quiet evenings when the stars seemed too distant to offer comfort. Sitting by the fire, the old man's voice would grow soft, almost reverent, as he spoke of the extraordinary pair who had dared to challenge the Tower.
His father, Ishaq Al-Fahim, had been a man of unparalleled brilliance, possessing a Talent so extraordinary that even the elders of their world had been in awe. Known as "Ethereal Convergence," his Talent allowed him to manipulate pure energy, reshaping it into weapons, shields, or devastating blasts. He could harness the latent energy in the atmosphere or even draw from the Tower's own enigmatic power, turning battles into symphonies of light and destruction. Ishaq was a strategist, a thinker, and a dreamer, always pushing boundaries. He believed that the Tower held the answers to questions that had haunted humanity for eons—questions about existence, destiny, and the origins of life itself.
Jobaer's mother, Arifa Rahman, was no less extraordinary. Her Talent, "Reality Weave," was a rare and fearsome power that bordered on godlike. With it, she could bend the very fabric of reality, altering probabilities, creating illusions that felt as real as the world itself, and even momentarily rewriting the laws of physics. The stories told of her walking through walls, turning an opponent's weapon into harmless dust, or creating landscapes that bewildered and trapped her enemies. Arifa's power was not just a tool of combat—it was an art form, a dance with the universe itself.
Their meeting had been fate, their bond forged through shared trials in the Tower. They had chosen the Earth trial, a path that was perilous but within reach of their immense potential. It was said that they had faced challenges unlike anything the lower worlds could comprehend—labyrinths filled with shifting walls, battles against phantoms of their own fears, and puzzles that tested the limits of their minds and souls. Together, they triumphed, their Talents awakening in a storm of brilliance that left those who witnessed it in awe.
But their story didn't end with their success on Floor 0. With their powers fully awakened, they ascended the Tower together, a pair of legends in the making. They reached the higher floors, earning renown and respect, carving their names into the Tower's history. And yet, their ambition came with a cost.
"They weren't just climbing for themselves," Jobaer's grandfather had once said, his voice thick with emotion. "Your father wanted answers, and your mother followed him because she believed in his vision—and in him. But the Tower isn't just a place of power. It's a test, Jobaer. It pushes everyone to their limits, and sometimes, it pushes too far."
Then came the day the family's connection to them was severed. No letters, no messengers, no whispers from the Tower's vast network of climbers. They had vanished, leaving behind only rumors and fragmented tales. Some said they had reached a floor so treacherous that even their incredible powers were not enough. Others claimed they had uncovered a secret so dangerous that the Tower itself sought to silence them.
The loss weighed heavily on the family. Jobaer's grandfather, once a man of unyielding strength, seemed diminished, his gaze often distant as he stared toward the Tower's distant form. "They climbed together," he would murmur. "And they fell together. But I refuse to believe they're gone. Not until the Tower itself tells me."
For Jobaer, the stories of his parents were both an inspiration and a burden. He admired their courage and brilliance, but their absence left a void that no tale could fill. Every step he took toward the Tower felt like a step closer to them, to their legacy, and to the answers that eluded his family for so long.
Their memory was a fire within him, a reminder of the heights he could reach—and the dangers that awaited him.
The Choice
As the minutes passed, Jobaer found himself walking, his feet carrying him forward before his mind caught up. He stopped a few feet from the golden archway, staring into its brilliant glow. The air around it was heavy, charged with an energy that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat.
"You're not really thinking of doing it, are you?" a voice asked from behind.
He turned to see Rafan, his childhood friend, looking at him with wide eyes.
"I am," Jobaer said simply.
Rafan grabbed his arm, pulling him aside. "Jobaer, no. Do you hear yourself? Heaven is suicide! People who go in there don't come out. Or if they do, they're broken."
Jobaer met his friend's gaze, his expression calm but resolute. "I know the risks, Rafan. But I also know what's at stake. If I want to uncover the truth about my parents, if I want to climb the Tower, I can't play it safe. I have to prove myself."
Rafan's grip tightened. "You don't have to do this. Man or Earth—they're enough. Don't throw your life away chasing something impossible."
Jobaer placed a hand on Rafan's shoulder. "I have to try."
With that, he turned and walked toward the golden archway. Whispers followed him, the crowd parting as he approached. He could feel their eyes on him, judging, doubting, some perhaps admiring. But their opinions didn't matter. This was his choice, his destiny.
As he stepped through the golden light, the world around him vanished in a blinding flash. The last thing he heard was Rafan's voice, calling out his name.
And then, silence.