The first thing Kael noticed was the quiet.
It wasn't silence—not truly. The air whispered like a memory across the stone, tugging gently at the strands of his hair, rustling unseen petals in a garden he couldn't yet see. It was quiet the way breath holds between heartbeats. Controlled. Intentional.
Kael sat up slowly.
The ground beneath him wasn't earth or tile, but an interlocking platform of smooth, wind-carved stone that seemed to float just above a misty void. Around him, dozens—no, hundreds—of similar platforms drifted in concentric rings, like petals around a flower's core. Each was shaped differently: some flat and smooth, others twisted like sails or fractured into delicate filigree.
At the center of it all stood Anuunra.
Their form was cloaked in layered veils of shimmering air, features indistinct. Only their presence felt sharp—like a blade concealed in velvet.
"You are awake," Anuunra said, though their voice echoed without sound, felt more than heard.
Kael rose, steadying himself.
"This is your realm?" he asked, glancing at the floating petals and the wind-swept horizon beyond. "Or... something else?"
"A fragment," Anuunra replied. "A sliver of me, shaped to suit the nature of your Mark. The First Garden of Wind and Bloom."
Kael frowned. "It doesn't feel like a place meant for training."
"It is not," Anuunra said. "It is meant for listening. And that is your first lesson."
They raised one veiled hand.
At once, the surrounding platforms stopped drifting. The wind ceased. Even Kael's own breath seemed suspended, as though the realm itself were holding still.
"Sit," Anuunra said. "Breathe. Feel. The Origin Mark is not a weapon you draw. It is a limb you must grow into."
Kael lowered himself slowly into a lotus position, heart still unsure, body still sore from the trials before. The Mark on his chest pulsed faintly, a strange echo of wind and root.
He closed his eyes.
And listened.
Time passed without measure.
Kael didn't know how long he sat there, eyes closed, spine straight. At first, it was maddening—like trying to grasp smoke. No wind. No voice. No command. Just stillness.
But slowly, something shifted.
He began to notice the subtle rhythms: the faint pulse of air brushing against his skin, the slight warmth radiating from the Mark at his chest, the quiet thrum beneath the stone platform as if the entire place breathed with him.
Then—just at the edge of awareness—a ripple.
Kael's eyes snapped open.
A gust of wind shot toward him from the side—sharp, spiraling, controlled. He leaned just in time to avoid it, but barely. It sliced past his shoulder, dispersing before it struck the platform.
Anuunra stood across from him, hand raised.
"You are not truly seeing," they said calmly.
Kael clenched his jaw. "I felt it."
"Felt. Reacted. But did not understand. The Origin Mark is not simply power—it is insight. Connection." Anuunra moved slowly now, circling him. "You are attuned only to what touches your body. That is insufficient. The winds are not bound by your skin."
Kael frowned, but nodded. "So… what am I missing?"
"You must perceive in layers. You must learn to listen beyond yourself. The bird in your Sigil flies because it knows the wind even before it rises. The flower blooms because it reads the air and rain before they fall."
Another gust surged—but this time not toward him.
It coiled behind him, a whisper of motion threading through the platform.
Kael closed his eyes again, inhaled deeply, and this time, let his senses extend outward. He imagined the edges of the wind, imagined the roots of the flower under his skin—his Mark responding not like a weapon, but like a living part of him.
The moment the wind coiled again, he turned slightly, fingers brushing through its invisible edge.
When he opened his eyes, Anuunra was smiling.
"A beginning."
Kael stood at the center of a wind-swept clearing—a ring of smooth, polished stone surrounded by tall, glass-like trees that shimmered with faint colors. The air was heavier here. More volatile. Like it responded to thoughts it didn't trust yet.
Anuunra watched him from a stone arch at the perimeter, arms folded. "Call on your Mark."
Kael exhaled. His hand hovered over his chest. Slowly, the Origin Mark ignited beneath his skin. It wasn't fire or lightning, but something stranger—something shifting between wind and root, bird and bloom. For a second, it pulsed with perfect clarity.
Then it twisted.
His breath caught as pain lanced across his chest. The wildflower pattern flared bright, veins of pale green and violet threading through his skin. His arms trembled. The air responded—bursting outward in a violent spiral that he hadn't meant to summon.
Kael gritted his teeth and tried to pull the energy back. The wind crackled, tore through the clearing, uprooting shallow stones, bending branches. His control slipped like water through his fingers.
"I can't hold it—!"
"Do not hold it," Anuunra's voice rang. "Guide it."
Kael tried. He really did. But the wind refused direction—it wasn't just his own energy now. It was the force of another, a stranger's will fused with his own, pressing against the walls of his body.
The surge finally collapsed, throwing him back. He hit the stone with a harsh grunt, the breath knocked from him.
Silence followed.
Kael lay there, chest rising and falling, the Mark still glowing faintly like an ember refusing to go out. He stared at the swirling sky above, jaw tight.
"I thought it would get easier after awakening it."
Anuunra stepped into view, gaze calm. "You were born with hands. Did you master the sword the first time you picked it up?"
Kael didn't answer.
"The Origin Mark is not a gift you simply wield," Anuunra continued. "It is a limb that never existed before. A part of yourself with its own instincts. It must trust you before it obeys you."
Kael sat up slowly, wincing. "And if it never does?"
"It will," Anuunra said, turning
The wind had calmed.
Kael sat beneath a crystalline tree, its translucent leaves humming faintly with a sound like wind chimes. He leaned against the trunk, eyes closed, the ache of the failed attempt still lingering in his limbs. Every muscle felt bruised. His chest burned where the Origin Mark had flared, and though the pain had dulled, the memory of it still crackled under his skin.
Above him, the sky of Anuunra's realm shifted in soft gradients—deep violet folding into silver, then back into blue. No sun, no stars. Just color and sound. The world here never truly slept, but it granted silence.
A flask of cooled tea—herbal, sharp, and strangely grounding—sat untouched beside him. Anuunra had offered it without a word and left him alone soon after. A kindness, Kael thought. Or maybe a calculated moment of pause.
He finally opened his eyes. The trees stretched like towers of glass, warping the light into glints and rainbows. Small, bird-like spirits occasionally flitted between the branches—some with petal wings, others trailing thin streamers of wind. They didn't seem afraid of him.
Kael touched his chest, where the Mark still faintly pulsed. Not painfully. Just... present.
He hadn't expected the Origin Mark to resist him. Or maybe it wasn't resistance—it was untamed wildness, a thing that did not know him yet, and he barely understood it.
He took a slow sip of the tea. Warmth returned to his fingers.
Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow, I'll try again.
But for now, he let the moment hold him—quiet, sore, and still breathing.
"You're not here to wield a storm," Anuunra said, their voice calm yet absolute. "You're here to learn how to direct a breeze."
Kael stood at the center of a circular platform, floating above a vast open sky in Anuunra's realm. The stone beneath his feet was etched with delicate spirals, and hovering around him were dozens of small, glowing motes—tiny orbs of origin energy, each pulsing with an unpredictable rhythm.
Anuunra raised a hand, and the motes drifted in closer. "Your task is to move one. Just one. Without disturbing the rest."
Kael frowned, brow tightening. His body still remembered the pain of the first awakening—raw power without shape. He exhaled slowly, focused, and reached inward toward the Origin Mark.
The mark pulsed in response—wilder now, less like a fixed pattern and more like a current of blooming wind and shifting petals. It wanted to surge outward, to erupt. Kael clenched his teeth, trying to throttle it back.
One mote quivered. Then four others flared, reacting to the uncontrolled ripple.
"Too much," Anuunra said. "Again."
They repeated the drill. Again. And again. Dozens of tries.
Every time Kael tried to guide the energy, it either burst out too fast, disturbing the entire field, or refused to move at all. His fingers trembled. Sweat beaded at his neck.
By the fortieth attempt, he'd narrowed the surge down to affecting only five motes.
Progress. But not enough.
"You're still thinking like the Sigil is yours to command," Anuunra said, stepping forward. Their cloak of mist and feather moved as if alive. "The Origin Mark isn't a tool. It is your shadow, your limb, your breath. Do not wield it. Move with it."
Kael closed his eyes.
This time, he didn't push.
He listened.
He felt the current in his chest—fierce, spiraling—and reached not with force, but with intent. With acceptance. He didn't force the Mark to flow. He invited it.
A single mote bobbed gently.
And only one.
Kael opened his eyes. The orb floated where he had intended.
A smile touched his lips.
"Good," Anuunra said. "Now do it a hundred more times."
Two days later.
Kael's hands no longer trembled. At least, not from uncertainty.
He stood once more on the floating platform, now etched with additional rings and pathways—evidence of refinement, not just repetition. Around him, the motes danced in a slow spiral, each one drifting with deliberate distance.
Anuunra watched from the edge, arms folded, eyes unreadable.
Kael exhaled, his Origin Mark pulsing softly in his chest like a second heartbeat. His control had improved, no longer as reactive, no longer wild. The energy obeyed not by force—but by familiarity.
A flick of thought, and one mote darted upward.
Another breath, and a second hovered in place.
No flare. No surge. Just precision.
"Good," Anuunra said. "You've taken your first steps."
Kael didn't reply—his focus remained absolute. He was no longer wrestling a beast. He was learning to walk alongside it.
The platform dissolved beneath his feet.
Kael didn't flinch—he had learned that Anuunra taught through sudden changes. Instead, he braced himself, letting the floating sensation carry him until he landed softly in a grove.
A different part of Anuunra's realm.
It resembled a wind-swept valley—a forest of tall, curved stalks that shimmered like glass reeds. The air here vibrated, faint and musical.
"This is where instinct must meet intention," Anuunra's voice echoed from nowhere and everywhere.
From the shadows, wisps began to emerge. Translucent, fast-moving shapes—humanoid figures made from the same origin-light as his training motes. But they were erratic, unpredictable. Aggressive.
"Redirect them," Anuunra said. "Not with might. With knowing."
The first wisp lunged.
Kael's body reacted before thought could catch up. He reached into his Origin Mark—and instead of summoning power, he shifted.
A spiral of wind bloomed from his shoulder, catching the wisp's motion and twisting it away.
Another came—faster. Kael didn't push back. He stepped with the flow and redirected it around him like a tree bending with a gale.
Each time he succeeded, the Mark pulsed—eager.
Each time he failed, the wind struck his core, leaving him gasping and dazed.
He fell three times.
By the fourth, he turned the energy of the strike into momentum—twisting mid-fall to land on his feet.
He was beginning to understand.
Not control.
Harmony.
From high above, Anuunra watched.
And for the first time, gave a slow nod of approval.
Kael stood at the edge of a forest unlike any he'd seen—vast and quiet, its trees were spiraled things, bark glinting with metallic veins, their leaves glowing faintly in soft blue hues. It was part of Floor I, but far from the stabilized zones mapped by the Aegis Consortium. Here, the land breathed with untamed Tower energy.
A gust of warm wind stirred the grass around him. Behind, the gate that had brought him here faded with a quiet hum.
He was alone.
Anuunra's final words echoed in his mind:
> "You will not return until your instincts bloom."
No further explanation. No escort. No map.
Only one instruction: Survive. Learn. Shape your power.
Kael flexed his fingers. The Origin Mark stirred beneath his skin—its energy no longer wild, but not yet intuitive. He could feel it… ready, but not reactive.
He walked.
At first, the land was serene. Birds with translucent feathers darted between trees. Insects hummed with resonance. But it wasn't long before the Tower's natural chaos crept in.
A low rumble rolled beneath his feet.
The ground cracked—something burst upward: a creature of stone and sap, shaped like a horned gorilla with root-covered limbs. Its chest glowed faintly with a core—like Kael's own Mark, but primal, elemental.
It charged.
Kael didn't think. He moved.
The wind formed at his heels—he spun aside, a gust shielding his side. He directed the Mark's energy toward the creature, but not for force—for redirection.
The earth beneath the beast's foot shifted. It stumbled. Kael closed in, wildflower petals now spiraling from his outstretched hand.
Bloomcraft.
The name Anuunra gave this style echoed in his mind—an art of movement, momentum, and expression.
He willed the petals into a burst of concussive wind. They struck the creature's core—not to destroy, but to unbalance. He followed with a knee to its jaw, the wind propelling him upward, landing with grace among the leaves.
The creature collapsed, dazed but alive.
Kael exhaled.
This… this was only the beginning.
And yet, for the first time, the Mark pulsed not with resistance, but resonance.
The wind here did not whisper. It screamed.
Kael stood on a jagged cliff overlooking a sea of crimson stone and yawning ravines. This was the far edge of Floor I—a region Anuunra called The Shard Verge. No records. No safe paths. Just raw, primordial chaos.
"Adapt. Or die," Anuunra had said. Then vanished.
It had been two days.
Kael's breath steamed in the air, though there was no cold. The winds shifted temperature every few minutes—searing heat followed by bone-deep chill. Storms formed overhead without warning, dissolving seconds later into sun-scorched silence. The terrain itself seemed to move, slopes warping subtly as if reacting to his steps.
He'd already nearly died once—when the ground turned soft mid-run, collapsing into a pit of glistening, predatory vines.
Now, Kael sat cross-legged beneath a twisted ironwood tree, blood drying along his jaw. His clothes were scorched. His vision spun with fatigue.
But something inside him was changing.
The Origin Mark pulsed faintly over his heart, like a second heartbeat. The raw wind that scoured the cliffside didn't sting his skin anymore. His muscles, once sluggish, had begun to adjust their movements unprompted—just slightly faster, just slightly sharper.
It wasn't control. Not yet.
But it was beginning.
The first stage of his Origin Mark—Corona Mutatio Caeli, the Crown of Skyshift—had sparked. It wasn't something he willed. It was something the Tower's dangers had forced out of him.
A subtle golden glint passed through his eyes as the wind brushed his skin.
A gust screamed toward him, carrying shards of debris.
Kael didn't flinch.
The wind bent. Just barely. But enough.
It left a line of scratches on the tree behind him—but not a mark on his skin.
He let out a breath. His lungs didn't burn anymore. His body was learning—adapting.
A crown unseen. A wind claimed.
Kael rose.
He wasn't ready. Not fully.
But something had awakened.
And the Tower had noticed.
Kael ran.
Not from fear—though he should have been afraid—but because the wind told him to. A faint tug in his chest, a tightening pulse from the Origin Mark, and then his legs moved before his thoughts could.
Behind him, the sky had turned black. Not from clouds—but from something else.
A swarm. Screeching and glinting like obsidian shards—creatures of the Verge. Insectile wings, too many legs, and masks where faces should be. Tower-born aberrations. Uncatalogued. And they had smelled blood.
The wind roared louder inside him now, not as sound—but sensation. Like muscles flexing, but in his soul.
He leapt over a crumbling ridge. His ankle should've snapped—but instead, something shifted. Bones hollowed. Muscles lightened. And he landed wrong—but unbroken.
Kael blinked, startled.
His body... was reacting faster than he could process.
He stumbled into a rocky trench, ducked under an overhang, and pressed his back to the stone.
The swarm shrieked past above.
He panted, eyes wide. "What the hell... was that?"
The Mark pulsed again. More urgent this time. The wind around him thickened—like it wanted to protect him, but was still waiting for something.
"Is this what you meant, Anuunra?" he muttered. "Adapt... or die."
He didn't want to run anymore.
Kael stepped out.
The swarm circled back, sensing him again.
He steadied his stance, hands at his sides, Origin Mark glowing faintly beneath the tear in his shirt. The wind didn't rage this time—it waited.
When the swarm dove, he didn't flinch.
And when the first creature lashed out with a barbed limb—
Kael blurred.
For a breath of a moment, his body lost cohesion. Not invisible—intangible. The strike passed through empty space where his shoulder had been.
Then he retaliated with a pulse of wind, more instinct than technique.
The creature shattered.
Kael staggered, breath ragged. His skin rippled faintly. Wrong. Unstable. Like the wind was trying to decide what he should be.
But it worked.
A broken grin tugged at his lips.
Alae Variabilis. Wings of Change.
The second evolution had sparked—driven not by mastery, but survival.
The wind was no longer just reacting. It was beginning to shape him.
He wasn't stable.
But he was stronger.
And the Tower—once again—took notice.
Kael stood over the fractured corpse of the Verge-born, chest heaving. His limbs tingled. Not from pain—but from flux. The air didn't settle around him anymore. It swayed.
He looked down at his hands.
They shimmered faintly, not quite solid. For a moment, his fingers looked translucent—like condensation in a heat haze—then stabilized again.
"Wings of Change," he murmured, recalling the phrase that had burned into his mind the instant the mark surged.
He remembered Anuunra's voice echoing like distant thunder during one of their lectures: 'The second stage does not obey structure. It obeys danger. It reacts to loss, to strikes, to imbalance. You will become unstable… and stronger.'
Kael clenched his fists. "I'm not stable now. That's the point."
The wind stirred again—pulling at his clothes, tickling his scalp. He could feel it scanning, tasting the world for threats. Or perhaps, waiting for him to face one again.
There was no time to reflect.
The swarm—what remained of it—was circling back.
Kael didn't wait.
He moved.
Not quite teleportation—but his movement felt cut free from friction. A half-step became a bound. A dodge became a blink. Each time an enemy lunged, Kael's form flickered, adapting—sometimes becoming half mist, other times dense as stone as strikes rained down.
He didn't need to know how he was adapting. The Origin Mark did.
But every shift came at a cost.
Each change tore at the balance of his body—requiring time, effort, and pain to stabilize again.
His breath grew ragged.
Too many transformations, too quickly.
He fell to a knee.
One Verge-born dashed in.
Kael screamed—and the wind did not simply react—it lashed out.
A razor arc exploded outward, slicing the insectile creature in half. The rest hesitated.
Kael's body spasmed. His shoulder flickered—muscle briefly melting into translucent air—then reforming with a sickening snap.
He wasn't ready for prolonged use.
But he stood again.
The swarm retreated, chittering, retreating into the fractured fog of Floor I's wilderness.
Kael turned his face to the sky. There were no stars here. Only a high, endless canopy of amber clouds.
Yet he felt them—winds far above. Watching.
Anuunra's voice echoed in memory once more:
'If you survive long enough to master this stage, you will become a storm others cannot chart. But survive first.'
Kael grimaced.
"I intend to."
A week had passed since Kael's battle with the Verge-born. His body had adapted to the new form, the second evolution of his Origin Mark settling in.
He had grown accustomed to the intermittent flickers of instability—those moments where his form would phase and shift in reaction to danger, and the chaotic rush of power that would surge through him when the winds acknowledged a threat. His control was getting better, but the cost was still high. Each transformation strained his body, often leaving him breathless and sore for hours afterward. Yet, in between those moments of strain, he had learned to push the limits, wielding his new abilities like a blade, if only for brief bursts.
Kael was crouched on the edge of a cliff now, watching the sky—the ever-changing expanse that seemed to stretch forever above him. His senses buzzed with the movement of wind currents and shifting atmospheric pressure, a chaotic song that had become familiar over the past days.
But something was different today.
The wind shifted. Not in the usual unpredictable way, but with a sense of deliberate direction. Kael's breath caught in his throat. He felt it, the pressure, the weight of something just outside of his reach.
Anuunra.
His mentor's call, not through voice, but through the very air itself, brushed against him like a whisper.
He didn't hesitate. The moment the thought settled, Kael stood, his body shifting and adapting with a faint shimmer as the wind accelerated beneath him, pushing him forward. The air flowed around him, like a constant companion now, lifting him off the ground and into the sky.
It wasn't flight—not exactly. But it was as close to it as he had ever been.
As he moved, the landscape blurred beneath him, but the ground was no longer his concern. He was part of the air now, part of the flow, as much a creature of wind as he was of flesh.
The journey back to Anuunra's realm was swift. The wind, always eager to serve, carried him effortlessly through the vast wilderness of Floor I, where towering peaks and untamed jungles sprawled beneath an ever-shifting sky. Kael could sense the changes in the atmosphere as he crossed into Anuunra's domain—a distinct border, as though the very air had been marked by his mentor's influence.
It didn't take long before he arrived at the familiar, ethereal landscape that Anuunra had called home. The land here was an amalgamation of soaring cliffs, billowing clouds, and vast fields of wind-swept grass. The ground seemed to ripple like water underfoot, and the sky above was a churning, swirling mass of color.
Anuunra was waiting for him, standing at the crest of a hill, their form outlined against the tumultuous sky. There was no need for words; the wind had already delivered Kael's arrival.
"You've improved," Anuunra's voice rang out, calm yet powerful. "But you are still far from mastery."
Kael didn't need to speak. He had felt the strain of his powers. He was still unstable, still at the mercy of his own strength. But he also knew that his time in this realm was limited. He had come a long way, but there was still much to learn.
"I've been practicing," Kael replied, his voice a little strained, but determined. "I can handle more now. But... I still don't have full control."
Anuunra's eyes—those ancient, endless pools—regarded him silently for a moment, as if gauging the weight of his words.
"Control is a far-reaching illusion," they said finally, their tone both knowing and cryptic. "But refinement of your mark, Kael, requires more than just power. It requires understanding."
Kael nodded, not fully understanding yet, but trusting that Anuunra's wisdom would soon become clear.
"You will face a test soon," Anuunra continued, stepping closer to Kael, the air around them shifting with the weight of their words. "A test of not just your power, but of your adaptability. The third evolution of your Origin Mark is not simply about growing stronger—it is about becoming more... precise."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Anuunra replied with a smile that was almost unreadable, "that your next challenge will require you to harness the wind in ways you have never done before. It is time to break your limits."
Kael took a steadying breath, his fingers tingling in anticipation.
And as he looked into the swirling skies above them, he knew that whatever this next challenge was, it would push him beyond anything he had faced so far.
The air was thick with anticipation as Kael stood before Anuunra, the weight of the upcoming task settling in his chest. The winds had already begun to stir, as though sensing the challenge that lay ahead. He could feel the energy of the air vibrating around him, and the faintest whispers of his Origin Mark pulsed at the back of his mind.
"Your next test," Anuunra's voice cut through the stillness, "is one you must face alone."
Kael's gaze snapped to his mentor. "Alone? But—"
"There is no room for reliance on others here, Kael," Anuunra interjected, their voice calm but unwavering. "You must find the key to clearing Floor 1 on your own. The answer lies within the very fabric of the Tower itself. The conditions to clear this floor are not obvious—they must be discovered. It is the first trial of its kind that will test your ability to adapt, to sense what is required."
Kael clenched his fists, a flicker of uncertainty passing through him. He had never encountered anything like this before. He had fought enemies, adapted to various environments, and honed his powers, but to discover the condition to clear an entire floor? It was daunting.
"I'm ready," Kael said, his voice steady despite the uncertainty swirling within.
Anuunra tilted their head, a faint smile on their lips. "We shall see."
The winds began to pick up, rising in intensity as Anuunra raised one hand, a flicker of power radiating from their form. "You will be sent to a region within Floor 1 that has yet to be explored. This place is as close to uncharted as it gets. It is filled with mysteries—unpredictable landscapes, hidden forces, and ancient energies. You must be attuned to the land itself and sense the pulse of the Tower."
Kael nodded, trying to steady his breathing. He had spent days adjusting to the second evolution of his Origin Mark, but this was a different beast entirely. Finding the clear condition wasn't just about fighting or adapting to environmental hazards; it was about perception, awareness, and most of all, understanding the Tower's intent.
Anuunra's voice broke through his thoughts. "Do not focus solely on your powers. Focus on you. The Tower will respond to your journey. It will guide you. And you will understand what you must do."
Before Kael could speak, Anuunra made a sweeping motion with their hand, and the world around him seemed to ripple. The ground beneath his feet shuddered as the winds swirled in chaotic patterns.
"Go," Anuunra said simply, "and let the winds show you the way."
---
Kael's surroundings warped as reality seemed to bend around him. One moment, the familiar landscape of Floor 1's ever-changing wilderness was beneath his feet, and the next, the air surged with a violent force, throwing him into the unknown.
He landed on solid ground with a sharp thud, the impact sending a jolt of pain through his body. As his senses cleared, Kael stood to find himself in an entirely new area of Floor 1. The landscape was bizarre—ancient ruins covered in moss, broken columns reaching skyward, and a strange stillness in the air that sent a chill down his spine.
The familiar pressure of his Origin Mark hummed softly within him. He could feel the winds swirling around him, beckoning, as if urging him to move forward.
This was the place.
Kael could sense the energy of the land beneath his feet, the way the wind moved and shifted with a life of its own. But there was something more—something hidden beneath the surface. The clear condition wasn't immediately obvious. The Tower wasn't simply going to hand him the answer.
He had to feel it.
Taking a deep breath, Kael closed his eyes, reaching inward to connect with his Sigil and the Origin Mark that now resided there. The power flowed through him like an electric current, humming with potential. He reached out with his senses, stretching beyond his immediate surroundings to feel the pulse of the land, the ebb and flow of the environment.
And then, it hit him. The wind—it was not just a breeze. It was watching him.
Not in the way of a predator stalking its prey, but with a far more subtle, deliberate intention. The air itself seemed to hold a deep awareness of his presence, as though it was waiting for him to make a move.
He felt his Mark responding, a faint vibration within his chest. It wasn't just the wind that was alive—it was the land, the Tower itself. The energy here was ancient, yet connected to something newer, more present.
Kael reached out with his mind, allowing himself to be guided by the subtle currents. He focused on the sensation of being in tune with this land, the way the air would shift, the way the energy moved when he made contact with it.
A breeze brushed against him, lifting his hair, and Kael instinctively moved with it. The wind seemed to grow stronger as he followed its pull, his body flowing with it as if he were a part of the current itself.
Then, in the distance, a glowing orb of light appeared, floating within the ruins.
It wasn't just a physical object—it was a beacon, pulsing with energy. Kael's senses flared as his Origin Mark reacted to the light. It wasn't an enemy. It wasn't a trap. It was... something more.
With a deep breath, Kael started to move toward it, his mind racing. This was it—the clear condition?
But what was it?