Chapter 10: The Journey Begins

  Abel touched the pilr with trembling fingers, feeling the cold, unyielding stone beneath his skin. Time seemed to stretch and warp, each second dragging out like an eternity.

  His heart pounded in his chest, the rhythm loud in his ears, and his breath was shallow as if he were standing on the precipice of something monumental.

  The recruits around him leaned in, their anticipation evident. Eyes widened, breaths were held, everyone waiting to see if the pilr would respond, to see if Abel would be judged as Gifted.

  Abel’s mind was filled with an anxious hope, a desperate belief that he might be special, that there was some spark inside him that would awaken to the magic coursing through this ancient pce.

  But the pilr remained cold and silent. The carvings etched into its surface, those intricate, swirling symbols that had fred with vibrant colors for the others, did not react to his touch. Seconds passed, feeling like hours, and the silence became suffocating. No light, no hum, not even the faintest flicker of recognition.

  The bald, tattooed man watched with impassive eyes. His face remained emotionless, a granite mask that showed neither sympathy nor disappointment. When it became clear that nothing would happen, he spoke, his voice ft and final.

  "No affinity. Step aside," he commanded, pointing to where the other non-Gifted recruits had gathered.

  The weight of those words settled over Abel like a shroud. Nothing special. The recruits murmured amongst themselves, their gazes a mix of pity and indifference.

  Abel's face flushed with a mixture of shame and frustration as he slowly withdrew his hand from the pilr. His legs felt heavy like they were wading through water as he made his way over to where the others stood.

  His mind raced with thoughts, desperately trying to rationalize what had happened. Was the pilr wrong? Did I not focus enough? But deep down, a gnawing voice whispered the truth he didn’t want to face. You aren’t special. You were never meant to be here. This was all just a fluke, a cruel twist of fate. His hopes, so precariously banced, came crashing down, and he felt the sting of bitter disappointment.

  As the st few recruits completed their assessments, the tattooed man reached into his robe and withdrew a small, opaque bottle filled with a thick, bck liquid.

  With a flick of his wrist, he uncorked it and let the ink flow onto the grass at his feet. The liquid poured out like spilled tar, pooling in a dark, viscous puddle that bubbled and churned unnaturally.

  Then, as if commanded by an unseen force, it began to rise, forming a small, unduting mass that seemed to have a life of its own. It shifted and squirmed, taking on a semi-solid form, a strange creature made entirely of liquid, a small, slime-like entity.

  “This is an Inkling,” The faculty member announced, his voice breaking through the murmurs of the recruits. “It will guide the Gifted to the third floor. Follow it and do not stray from its path.”

  The Inkling pulsed and quivered, emitting a faint, inky mist from its body as it floated a few inches above the ground. The Gifted recruits, their expressions a mix of pride and apprehension, began to follow the creature as it slithered forward, leaving a dark, oily trail in its wake.

  Abel watched them depart, his chest tightening with a mixture of envy and longing. Ronald, among them, gnced back once, a fleeting look of pity crossing his face before he turned away.

  With the Gifted now separated, the tattooed man turned his attention to the remaining recruits, the non-Gifted, like Abel. “Listen carefully,” he began, his tone sharp and authoritative. “I am Gndel, your faculty guide. You have been deemed non-gifted by the pilr, which means your potential is limited. But do not think that your journey here is over based on that, as the world is mysterious and fate can be changed... The Stone Tower also has its rules.

  The first floor is a common ground. The second floor is restricted to non-Gifted recruits only. You will not be allowed beyond it. As for the Gifted, they will be confined to the third floor and below. Keep this hierarchy in mind.”

  He continued to walk, leading them toward a rge gate set into the stone wall of the tower.

  The door itself was massive, forged from dark iron, and adorned with more of the cryptic symbols they had seen on the pilr. It seemed to emanate a faint, otherworldly glow as if whispering promises and secrets hidden within.

  “Beyond this gate is the first floor,” Gndel expined, pausing before the entrance. “It serves as a common area for recruits, where you will find a cafeteria, library, a task office, and various other facilities. Each area has its faculty overseer, older generations of recruits who did not become Apostles but gained some understanding of magic. They chose to remain and serve the Tower, a choice that comes with its own set of benefits and... responsibilities.”

  One of the non-Gifted recruits, a girl with nervous eyes, raised her hand. “What... what dangers are there, outside of the Tower?”

  Gndel’s gaze shifted to her, his expression turning grim. “Outside these walls lie the unknown, creatures, phenomena, and things far more dangerous than your worst nightmares. Recruits are forbidden to venture far from the Tower without permission or a designated task. Consider this a warning: the Tower’s protection does not extend to the foolhardy.”

  A tense silence followed his words, and the recruits seemed to shrink under the weight of his gaze. Abel felt the foreboding grow stronger, the air around them thickening with a sense of impending doom.

  Reaching into his robe, Gndel pulled out a bronze badge engraved with a peculiar symbol. He pressed it against the iron gate, and it responded with a deep, resonant groan. Slowly, the massive doors began to open, the sound echoing through the stone courtyard like the growl of some ancient beast.

  A cold draft spilled out from within, carrying with it the scent of dust, old parchment, and a faint, metallic tang.

  As the gate parted fully, the recruits were greeted by a vast hall that stretched out before them. The interior of the Stone Tower was unlike anything Abel had imagined. Arcane light fixtures hung from the high ceiling, their glow dim and ethereal, casting elongated shadows that danced on the stone walls.

  Strange symbols flickered intermittently on the floor, shifting and rearranging themselves in a nguage unknown to any of them. The hall was lined with various doors, each one different in size and shape, and marked with symbols that seemed to whisper hidden meanings.

  “This is the first floor,” Gndel announced, stepping inside. “Right now, it appears deserted, but this pce is far from empty.”

  The recruits followed him, their footsteps echoing in the vast chamber. Abel’s eyes darted around, taking in every detail: the flickering runes, the distant whispers of unseen things, the faint hum that filled the air.

  Gndel led them deeper into the hall, pointing out various rooms as they passed. “That door leads to the cafeteria,” he said, nodding to a rge archway carved with symbols that resembled intertwining vines. “There, to the left, is the library, though I must warn you, not all books are for the unprepared. And straight ahead, the task office, where you will receive your future tasks.”

  Abel listened keenly, absorbing every word. The mysterious atmosphere of the Tower filled him with a mix of dread and curiosity.

  Eventually, they reached another door, rger and more imposing than the others. Its surface was smooth and dark, almost like polished obsidian, and it bore a single, massive sigil that seemed to pulse with a faint, internal light. Gndel stopped in front of it, turning to face the recruits.

  “Beyond this door,” he said, his voice dropping to a hushed tone, “are your initial items, a base amount of contribution points, which you will use for trade and learning, and a starting knowledge book. This book contains the foundational studies that may help you find your path in the Tower.”

  Abel’s heart quickened. The promise of knowledge was a beacon of hope amid his growing uncertainty. He felt a spark of excitement flicker in his chest, a yearning to delve into the mysteries of this strange, arcane pce.

  Gndel reached out, pressing the badge against the door. The sigil began to glow brighter, casting long, twisting shadows that stretched across the stone floor. The door creaked, the sound low and resonant, and it began to open ever so slowly as if resisting the intrusion.

  “Prepare yourselves,” Gndel whispered, his eyes narrowing as the door revealed the chamber beyond. “The path you choose from here on will shape your future. Tread carefully.”

  Abel took a deep breath, feeling the cold air spill out from the chamber like a breath from a forgotten world.