In the Beginning, there was the Tower.
It erupted from the earth with violence that shattered reality itself, its impossible geometries tearing holes in the fabric of existence. As it rose—a monolith of twisted metal and living stone—dimensions fractured and bled into each other like watercolors in rain. Worlds collided, merged, and reformed into something new: a vast expanse where the laws of nature bent and broke like reeds in a storm.
This is the Merged Realm.
Imagine a tapestry of impossibility stretching beyond comprehension. Deserts of crystalline sand sing ancient songs as their dunes shift in geometric patterns, their grains catching light from a dozen different suns. Forests of living metal reach toward ever-changing skies, their leaves chiming with music that drives mortals to madness or enlightenment. Rivers of liquid starlight carve through plains where gravity ebbs and flows like tides, their waters holding memories of dead worlds. Mountains float like leviathans through aurora-painted skies, their peaks hosting cities of impossible architecture.
Author's Note: The Merged Realm exists on a scale that defies comprehension. Each region mentioned here exists a million times over, with countless variations. Every zone hosts its own political structures, indigenous species, and civilizations—some human, many decidedly not. The Tower influences them all, its pulse reshaping reality in waves that ripple outward eternally.
image [https://i.imgur.com/qBuJ37v.png]
And always, there is the Tower.
It dominates everything—a spear of otherworldly material that pierces the heavens themselves. Its surface ripples like muscle beneath skin, patterns shifting in ways that hurt mortal eyes to witness. Some say its peak touches the stars; others claim it plunges deeper still, its roots tangled in the bones of dead gods. But all agree: the Tower is more than mere structure. It is conscious. It is hungry. It is waiting.
When the Tower emerged, it brought with it not only a new reality but also the System. This metaphysical framework became layered upon existence itself, offering those who dared to climb a chance to break past mortal limits. Through the System, climbers are granted extraordinary abilities, allowing them to adapt, grow, and even wield powers that would be unimaginable in their home realms. Some believe the System is a gift from the gods, enabling mortals to reach divinity; others view it as a trap—a way for the Tower to consume the strongest, feeding on their ambitions.
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Within its endless floors lie the secrets of reality itself—perhaps even the power to unmake or remake the universe. But the Tower does not yield its gifts freely. Instead, it grants the System—a metaphysical framework that allows mortals to grow beyond their limits, to touch divinity itself. Some whisper that gods watch from above, treating mortal attempts to climb as mere entertainment. Others believe the System is the Tower's true purpose, a test to find those worthy of ascension.
As civilizations rose and fell in the Tower's shadow, Guilds formed—and so did kingdoms and nations.
Yet lately, something has changed. The Tower's pulse—usually as steady as a cosmic heartbeat—has begun to fluctuate. Reality itself seems to shiver, as if remembering something that hasn't happened yet. And at the center of these disturbances is a young man named Eren.
He climbs differently than the others. Where most Climbers learn the Tower's ways through careful study and cautious advance, Eren moves with haunted purpose. His power grows not in steady increments, but in violent bursts that seem to shake the very foundations of the Tower. Something drives him forward with desperate intensity, as if racing against a clock only he can see.
But Eren himself remains a cipher. His eyes hold shadows no one else can see. In quiet moments, he stares at the Tower with an expression caught between recognition and horror, as if seeing not what is, but what could be—or what must never be. He speaks little of his past, less of his purpose, but there's an urgency to his climbing that sets him apart from all others.
The stage is set in this reality where nothing is certain, where every step could lead to glory or oblivion. The Tower stands as both challenge and mystery, its endless floors waiting for those brave or foolish enough to attempt ascension. For in the Merged Realm, every journey is a chance to reshape destiny, and for those few who reach the top, to touch divinity itself.
But perhaps the greatest mystery isn't the Tower at all, but the man who stands before it now, carrying within him a purpose that seems to make reality itself tremble. With each floor he climbs, the Tower's pulse grows more erratic, as if responding to some approaching calamity that even its godlike awareness cannot fully grasp.
The Tower calls. And Eren must answer. Not for glory. Not for power. But for reasons that shake the very foundations of existence itself.