SERAPH INDUSTRIES

Tower ID: #17538237423

Anomaly detected

Age: 15, Weight: 150 Height: 5’7” Eyes: Red, Male

CS: 47, ECS: 97, HIGHEST FLOOR: 2, LV: 0

To Zeirdin’s surprise, his combat score and estimated combat score were different from when he first entered The Tower. Zeirdin pulled away from the terminal booth to look for Jin. A gentle warm breeze blew across his face, carrying the fresh smell of citrus. For a fleeting moment, Zeirdin felt as though someone was staring at the back of his head. Zeirdin turned his head and didn’t see anyone staring at him. Not seeing Jin, Zeirdin called out over the soft murmur of the thin crowd.

Jin replied, “Over here!” Zeirdin quickly found Jin standing not too far away, next to both of their crates. “What was your combat score?” Jin asked, sitting on his crate.

Zeirdin scratched his cheek, “Uh, 47. What was yours?”

“Whaaat, mine is 32. Barely above average,” Jin said with mock annoyance.

“What does it even mean?” Zeirdin asked, putting his backpack down. All of his questions were probably somewhere in the tower manual he had received for free from Crut, but it was quicker to ask Jin.

Jin clasped his hands behind his neck, “My understanding is that The Tower uses the chip in your hand to calculate how strong you are. This depends on your training, physical and mental strength, and skill in the Cerulean Arts. Blah, blah, there are probably a few other factors, but I don’t remember.”

“So, how good is 47?” Zeirdin asked.

“Actually, really good. Around 30 is the average for an adult human. If I remember correctly, to get a score over 40, you usually need to know one of the Cerulean Arts or spend years training your body.”

“I guess mine makes sense then.” Zeirdin nodded.

Jin and Zeirdin got mystery kebabs on the way back to the inn. The kebabs were decent but slightly overpriced. The meat was flavored with a sweet-sour sauce and was stringy but fell apart easily. As they arrived back at the inn, Zeirdin opted to hole himself up in his room to practice magic until dinner.

Zeirdin flopped onto his bed, the bed creaking in protest, and the bed covers billowing out under him. He stared at the plain white ceiling and sighed. “I wonder how Yuna is,” Zeirdin muttered aloud. It had been three years since his older sister had left home. She would be turning 19 this year. Putting one hand over his eyes, Zeirdin snickered bitterly.

All of his immediate family had left him, whether it was from being kidnapped by the government, disease, or for adventure. Perhaps it was lucky they left before the Vilya massacre. While he wouldn’t know if they were alive for certain unless he found them, it was still better than the alternative. Finding them would have to wait.

Eyes smoldering, heart on fire, he swore to kill every last person who had been responsible for the destruction of his home, and the death of his people. The physical and mental scars were still fresh. Zeirdin sat up and opened the window near the head of his bed. “You fucking loser,” Zeirdin muttered to himself. Enough self-pity.

Zeirdin inhaled and exhaled with precise breaths in a complicated pattern, like the bellows of a furnace. The foundation of both Galma and Lovac was breathing and intention. Breathing would cause the meridians to widen, allowing more mana to flow freely. However, without intention, mana could not be manipulated.

Slow and smooth will lead to speed. Both his mother and father had drilled that phrase into his head. As he was currently, he could not gather and maintain enough mana to cast anything. Much of one's usable mana stores were atmospheric mana. However, without constant absorption through breathing and circulation, it would slowly dissipate.

The speed at which it dissipated depended almost entirely on the strength and focus of one's will. It was the same with the maximum mana that could be held at once. This also meant that the more mana one held at once, the faster it would dissipate. He had learned from his mother that one’s natural mana stores could be increased permanently. It was a jealously guarded secret among the governing Cerulean bloodlines. However, increasing it too early could cause permanent irreversible damage.

Zeirdin’s focus broke at the slightest creak of the floor, half of the mana he had painstakingly gathered dissipating at once. It was a challenging hurdle to conquer. Having the ability to keep focus in a busy environment was an important skill to have, especially for combat-related scenarios. Zeirdin flopped back down on his bed, exhausted from all the concentration.

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His meridians were getting fatigued as well, due to lack of use. He sighed, it would take him a few months to get back to his peak. He shielded his eyes from the golden evening light streaming through his window. It had finally reached the perfect angle to bother him. Succumbing to the allure of a nap, Zeirdin rolled over and closed his eyes, drifting off.

For the second time in the same day, Zeirdin awoke to Jin pounding on his door, “OY, wake up ya sleepy ass. Dinner.” Zeirdin groaned as he rolled out of bed. Leaving his backpack in his room, he joined Jin and left for the dining hall. “I thought you were practicing magic or something,” Jin said.

“Yeah, I was. But then I got sleepy,” Zeirdin replied groggily, rubbing the sleep out of his half-closed eyes.

Jin patted Zeirdin’s shoulder, “We’re gonna get an early start tomorrow morning. Remember to go to bed early.”

“Goditt,” Zeirdin yawned.

The two boys sat down on the bench at the end of a long table. The dining hall ceiling was high with all conversation in the hall echoing off of it slightly. The dinner offered was a western-style mystery meat curry, with flatbread to dip in it. The mystery of the meat was part of what made it western style. On the streets of Tolbag, you never knew what blend of cheap meat you were getting.

The curry itself was more on the plain side, probably due to the lack of cheap spices in The Tower. However, the chef had a good understanding of how important salt was to a meal. The two boys both scarfed down their food within minutes, racing to see who could eat more. After two and a half large servings, they decided it was a tie.

Zeirdin belched loudly, “Dude, I’m so glad the buffet comes free with the room. Eating this much food at a restaurant would be pricey.” Jin nodded in agreement. Zeirdin chugged another glass of pomegranate juice before returning his tray. They had a late dinner and Zeirdin was tired, so he left the dining hall. To his amusement, Jin stayed to hit on a girl.

In The Tower, most people stayed within their groups, so most friendships were made on the battlefield. The outcome of Jin’s efforts would be amusing. Zeirdin turned his head one last time to see Jin laughing at his own poorly timed joke before shuffling off to bed. The faint scent of citrus wafted by his noise for the second time that day. It was a somehow nostalgic smell that somehow resonated with something within him. Zeirdin swiftly turned around, but there was no one. He raised an eyebrow. He knew he wasn’t going insane. Brushing it off, he unlocked his door and flopped on his bed, once again.

Zeirdin stood barefoot on a carpet of spongy grass at the top of a stairway. The evening light streamed through a single open window, casting an eerie orange-gold glow over the hallway. Illuminating a golden square on the carpet of grass. Crickets chirped their song of summer in a dull murmur. A fewempty picture frames hung on the otherwise blank white walls. The lingering feeling of discontinuity grew stronger as he stood with feet rooted to the ground. It was a dream, and this was the house he had grown up in.

To his right was his old bedroom. To the left, the hallway extended into darkness, the evening light unable to permeate the unnatural blackness. He began to walk, a bystander within his own body. With each slow and deliberate step, he drew closer to the dark. His skin crawled, it was wrong. This was the second story, this part of the hallway shouldn’t exist.

There physically wasn’t enough room. As he passed the only window in the hallway, a tranquil breeze carrying the fragrance of citrus gently caressed his cheek. It was the same nostalgic fragrance he had smelled earlier. He looked through the open window, shielding his eyes from the orange sun, barely above the treetops. Right outside was a lemon tree. The lemon tree he had grown up with. Despite being in a half lucid dream, childhood memories came pouring in an unstoppable tide. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

Zeirdin stopped near the end of the hallway, prints of his feet indented in the grass leading behind him. The chirping of the crickets suddenly stopped, like a flame being extinguished. In front of him was a rusty metal door, with metal studs lining the seems of the metal plates. It was held shut with chains and a silver padlock. He extended a trembling hand towards the padlock, still a bystander to his own actions. Did he have the key? Like a thunderclap, the world split into a thousand pieces and became a black void. All the while someone was screaming. Zeirdin jerked upright in his bed, brow drenched in sweat. The screaming stopped, but his mouth was still open. He had been the person screaming.

Unable to fall back asleep, Zeirdin got tea from the dining hall and decided to sit outside on the balcony of his room. The gray light of early dawn was calming. The smell of wet asphalt saturated the chill morning air. It was going to rain soon. Jin woke up an hour later and they both ate a light breakfast.

“Come to my room after you gear up, I’ll show you where we’re going,” Jin said. Zeirdin nodded and they went their separate ways. Everything inside the large crate was expertly packed to take the least amount of space. For the armor, first, he put on the puncture-resistant bodysuit. It was a rough gray fabric and fit tightly against his body.

Next, he put on the black armor plate vest that was surprisingly light. The armor plates of the vest were geometric shapes cut in such a way that the vest would bend and not hinder movement. Then he put on the black metal elbow pads and forearm plates. Every piece of armor came with easily adjustable straps so there wasn’t an issue with size. Protection for the legs consisted of shin pads, knee pads, and trapezoid-shaped plate armor for the thighs. Zeirdin fitted and adjusted everything so that while snug, they wouldn’t hinder his dexterity or cut off circulation.

The general-purpose body armor set came with a helmet, but wearing it in town was overkill, so he clipped it onto the back of his backpack. The armor also came with straps and pouches for the rest of the kit. One belt went around his shoulder to connect with the other belt around his waist. The extra magazines of ammunition for the semi-auto combustor rifle (ACR) went in the shoulder belt. The jammers, shield generator, and vibroblade were all stored on the waist belt for quick access.

The ACR could be folded up and hung on the waist belt as well. The rest of his supplies would have to go into his pack. Zeirdin made sure he had his poncho in an easy-to-access spot in his backpack because it was going to rain soon. He heaved his pack over his shoulder with more effort than he was used to. Despite removing most things he traveled with to make room, the pack felt an extra couple of bricks heavier from the tower supplies. Zeirdin then left for Jin’s room for “briefing”.