The alarms eventually died.
Not because danger had passed—
but because the city had accepted it.
Sirens drained into a dull hum, like an exhausted machine giving up. The sky remained fractured, the clouds torn apart by lines of white fire. Seoul felt deserted, even though millions still hid behind windows and screens.
Han Jihoon stood alone in the middle of the street, staring at the countdown floating before his eyes.
[Time Remaining: 2 hours 11 minutes]
[Candidates must enter the tower.]
He swallowed dryly.
The world felt too quiet—dangerously quiet.
Even the air seemed afraid to move.
He turned down a narrow alley to escape the chaos on the main road.
Garbage bins rattled in the cold wind.
Neon signs flickered weakly.
Somewhere in the distance, a woman was crying.
Jihoon's footsteps echoed softly on wet concrete.
He didn't know where he was walking.
He just needed distance—space to breathe.
But every time he blinked, he saw the Architect's silhouette again.
The empty eyes.
The voice that wasn't entirely human.
"Answer the summons…"
His stomach twisted.
Why him?
Why Summon Gate?
Why give him a power that failed every time he tried to use it?
He rubbed his temples.
His head pulsed like the world was knocking on the inside of his skull.
Then—
BZZZT—
Static hissed through the air.
Jihoon froze.
A vending machine beside him flickered, its lights glitching.
Screens all across the alley sparked at once—old monitors, neon signs, even a broken phone lying on the ground.
All of them displayed the same symbol:
A single eye within a circle.
The Architect's mark.
Jihoon stepped back.
"Not again… please, not now."
The static deepened into a low, rattling growl.
Then a voice—distorted, layered, like it was dragging each word from another dimension—leaked through the speakers:
"…Candidate… 017…"
Jihoon's breath caught.
He wasn't hearing it in his head this time.
It was speaking through the machines.
The vending machine's glass cracked.
A broken LCD screen flickered violently.
The voice grew clearer:
"…your gate… incomplete…"
"…your summons… reject you…"
"…until you climb…"
Jihoon clenched his fists.
"So you're saying I'm weak."
The machines screamed in binary static, as if offended.
Then the voice calmed.
Almost… amused.
"…not weak… unfinished…"
The lights across the alley dimmed.
The world seemed to lean closer.
"…you are a vessel still being carved…"
Jihoon felt something cold trail down his spine.
Vessel.
Being carved.
Before he could speak, the static sharpened:
"…the Tower will shape you… or break you…"
The mark faded.
All the machines powered off at once—
the alley collapsing back into silence.
Jihoon staggered backward until he hit the wall.
His breathing was uneven.
His hands trembled.
He wasn't just being watched.
He was being prepared.
The Tower wanted him changed.
And that terrified him more than anything.
He checked the time again:
[1 hour 56 minutes remaining]
He needed to move.
He stepped out of the alley—
and froze immediately.
A crowd had gathered ahead.
Not panicking.
Not screaming.
Just… staring.
Every single person was pointing their phones toward the sky.
Jihoon followed their gaze.
A tear—massive, glowing, jagged—
ripped open in the clouds above Seoul's Tower.
Through that tear…
A figure floated.
Not human.
Not alive.
Not entirely real.
Like a puppet hung by invisible threads, its limbs dangling weightlessly, its head tilted unnaturally to the side.
A Guardian.
But not one from any myth or story.
Something new.
Something wrong.
The system reacted instantly:
────────────────
[WARNING — KOREA'S FIRST GUARDIAN DETECTED]
[CLASSIFICATION: UNKNOWN]
────────────────
The crowd whispered in terror.
"Is that… ours?"
"Why is it not moving?"
"Why does it look dead?"
"God… is that what's supposed to protect us?"
Jihoon's heartbeat quickened.
The Guardian's shadow stretched across the city like a dark hand claiming territory.
Then—
its head snapped downward.
Right at Jihoon.
His blood froze.
The Guardian didn't move.
Didn't blink.
It just stared.
The world blurred at the edges.
He heard the Architect's words again.
"…vessel still being carved…"
The Guardian's form flickered—
like an old TV losing signal.
And then—
it vanished into the rift.
The tear in the sky sealed behind it.
Silence fell.
A heavy, suffocating silence.
Jihoon forced himself to breathe.
This was no game.
No dungeon.
No fantasy.
The Tower wasn't bringing monsters.
It was bringing judges.
He turned away from the crowd, heart pounding.
A final message appeared in his vision:
────────────────
[FIRST TRIAL BEGINS SOON]
[All Candidates, prepare for contact.]
────────────────
Jihoon clenched his jaw.
He wasn't ready.
But the Tower didn't care.
The shaping had already begun.