The twin doors of the main tower opened without resistance.
Not automatically.
But with the heavy groan of metal hinges that had not been oiled as frequently as they once were.
Kel pushed one side inward, and a breath of cool interior air greeted them—dry, faintly scented with parchment and old stone. The sunlight behind them stretched long shadows across the polished marble floor of the entrance hall.
The interior was vast.
A circular atrium extended upward through multiple floors, its ceiling disappearing into a cylindrical shaft of ascending balconies. Suspended in the center of the atrium floated a rotating mana sphere—a pale blue orb encased in transparent crystalline rings. It hummed faintly, a low vibration that resonated in the bones rather than the ears.
Stone pillars carved with spiral motifs supported the upper galleries. Banners bearing the sigil of the Twin Magic Tower hung between floors, though some showed faint signs of wear at the edges.
Reina stepped in beside Kel.
Her boots made soft, deliberate echoes against the marble. Her eyes moved instinctively, assessing corners, corridors, staircases.
The spiral inside Kel's spine rotated quietly, synchronizing almost instinctively with the ambient mana in the tower. He could feel it—the density here was greater than the streets outside. Residual magic permeated the air, absorbed into stone over decades of practice and experimentation.
Yet—
Something was off.
The space was too quiet.
An institution of this scale should have been bustling at this hour. Assistants crossing floors. Reception staff recording arrivals. Junior mages carrying scrolls.
Instead—
The atrium felt hollow.
Not abandoned.
But underused.
Directly opposite the entrance stood a long crescent-shaped desk carved from dark oak, polished smooth from years of service.
Behind it—
No one.
Kel walked toward it slowly.
Reina followed.
The desk bore stacks of parchment neatly arranged, ink bottles capped and aligned. A brass nameplate lay face-down at one corner, as though recently removed or overturned.
Kel rested his gloved fingertips lightly on the desk's surface.
No dust.
Maintained.
But unmanned.
They waited.
Five breaths.
Ten.
A minute.
Footsteps echoed faintly from an upper balcony, then faded away in another direction.
No one approached.
Reina glanced sideways.
"This is the main reception," she murmured.
"Yes."
"And it is empty."
"Yes."
Kel's expression remained composed.
After another short interval, a young mage descended one of the curved staircases along the atrium's wall. He appeared to be in his early twenties, robes deep violet with silver trim—though the trim was faded in places.
He slowed when he noticed Kel and Reina standing at the vacant desk.
"Are you looking for someone?" he asked.
Kel turned toward him calmly.
"The receptionist."
The young mage hesitated.
"…There is none."
Kel's eyes narrowed slightly.
"None?"
"The post is vacant for now," the mage replied, adjusting the sleeve of his robe unconsciously. "Budget cuts."
The word lingered in the air like something unpleasant.
Reina's gaze sharpened faintly.
"I see," Kel said evenly.
The mage looked between them curiously.
"What business do you have with the Twin Magic Tower?"
Kel's posture did not shift.
"I am an alchemist."
The words were delivered without hesitation.
"I am here to offer a potion formula."
The mage's brows lifted faintly.
"In return for?"
"A royalty percentage on its sales."
The young mage blinked.
"You wish to negotiate a contract with the Tower Master?"
"Yes."
There was no arrogance in Kel's tone.
Only calm certainty.
The mage let out a short, dry breath.
"If you had come during the previous Tower Master's time…" he muttered. "It would have been profitable for you."
Kel's eyes sharpened faintly.
"And now?"
The mage shifted his weight slightly.
"Our current Tower Master is… inexperienced."
He hesitated, as if unsure how much to say.
"A kid," he finished quietly. "And the Tower itself is not in a position to produce potions at scale."
Reina observed him carefully.
"Not in position?" she asked.
The mage exhaled softly.
"Several senior alchemists left after the previous master's death. Facilities are intact, but manpower and funding are… insufficient."
Kel listened without interrupting.
He noted the choice of words.
Left.
Not dismissed.
Not transferred.
Left.
Internal fracture confirmed.
"So," the mage concluded with a faint shrug, "I do not think it would benefit you to pursue a contract here."
Kel did not respond immediately.
Instead, he asked calmly—
"Do you know where the current Tower Master is?"
The mage gestured upward.
"Top floor. His office."
"And may I meet him?"
A faint, almost bitter smile touched the mage's lips.
"You could go. No one is here to attend you. No one to process formalities."
He glanced briefly at the empty desk.
"If you insist."
Kel inclined his head.
"Thank you."
The mage nodded once and turned away, ascending the staircase again without further comment.
Reina watched him disappear into the upper gallery.
Then she turned to Kel.
"He spoke openly."
"Yes."
"Too openly."
"Yes."
Kel stepped away from the desk and toward the central atrium.
The floating mana sphere above rotated slowly, casting shifting blue reflections across the marble floor.
Reina lowered her voice slightly.
"You intend to present a potion formula."
"Yes."
"You do not yet have one."
Kel's lips curved faintly.
"I do."
Her eyes flickered in brief surprise.
"You prepared it in advance."
"Yes."
The spiral within his spine pulsed faintly in rhythm with his calm breathing.
Reina studied the atrium again.
"This place was built for authority."
"Yes."
"And now it feels… restrained."
Kel nodded slightly.
"The architecture still commands respect."
He gestured subtly toward the upper balconies.
"But vitality does not match scale."
They began ascending the staircase along the curved wall.
Each step echoed softly beneath their boots. The railing was carved stone, smooth and cool to the touch.
From this vantage, the arrangement of the smaller towers beyond the atrium's windows became visible through tall arched glass panes. Sunlight filtered through stained-glass patterns depicting spirals of twin energies intertwining.
Reina walked a half-step behind him.
"You intend to approach him directly."
"Yes."
"No intermediaries."
"There are none."
She glanced back toward the empty desk below.
"That is true."
As they ascended to the second floor, the silence deepened. A few junior mages passed by, casting curious glances at the unfamiliar pair. Some carried stacks of scrolls; others whispered among themselves.
Kel's heightened mana sense extended outward.
He could feel fluctuations from various rooms—experiments in progress, small-scale spellcasting drills, controlled mana bursts.
But none carried overwhelming dominance.
No signature that screamed "master."
Not yet.
They climbed higher.
Third floor.
Fourth.
Each level revealed corridors branching outward toward different departments. Doors marked with elemental symbols and research classifications lined the curved walls.
Despite the tower's size, traffic remained sparse.
A once-great institution running on diminished staff.
Reina spoke quietly as they reached the fifth floor.
"You are not concerned he will refuse?"
Kel's gaze remained forward.
"He will not."
"How are you certain?"
"Because he cannot afford to."
Reina considered that carefully.
The spiral within Kel's spine moved steadily, almost in anticipation.
Sixth floor.
Seventh.
The air grew slightly thinner as they climbed, the ambient mana denser.
Finally—
They reached the final staircase.
A narrower spiral ascending to the topmost chamber.
Light filtered down from a high circular window above.
Kel paused briefly at its base.
"This is where he stands alone," he murmured.
Reina's gaze hardened slightly.
"You are confident."
"Yes."
"And if he is not what you expect?"
Kel resumed climbing.
"Then I adjust."
The final steps led to a wide wooden door reinforced with metal bands. Unlike the grand entrance below, this door bore minimal ornamentation. A simple engraved sigil of twin spirals rested at its center.
There was no guard.
No assistant.
No secretary.
Kel stopped before the door.
For a moment, silence stretched between them.
Reina observed his posture.
Calm.
Unwavering.
"You will introduce yourself as Heral?" she asked quietly.
"Yes."
"And your offer?"
"As promised."
She nodded.
"Then let us see what kind of 'inexperienced kid' rules this tower."
Kel raised his hand.
And knocked.
Three steady raps against solid wood.
The sound echoed faintly down the staircase behind them.
Inside—
There was a brief pause.
Then the faint scrape of a chair.
Footsteps approaching.
Kel's eyes sharpened slightly.
The spiral within him turned endlessly.
Balanced.
Prepared.
The vacant desk below had confirmed decline.
The open confession from a passing mage confirmed fracture.
And now—
At the summit of a tower that refused to collapse—
Kel waited.
For the boy who was meant to become one of the Five Strongest Mages of the Empire.
Four years too early.
And exactly on time.