The riverbank was quiet.
Far enough from the complex that the distant murmur of voices faded into the wind, yet close enough that the white arc of buildings framed the northern horizon. Above, the artificial sky shimmered faintly beneath the unseen ceiling of the Tower
Anon sat cross-legged in the grass, Foundations of Mana open on his lap.
He followed the breathing pattern carefully.
Inhale.
Focus.
Circulate.
At first, nothing.
Then—
Warmth gathered in his palm.
His eyes widened.
The sensation intensified, coiling at the tip of his index finger—
A small flame flickered to life.
Tiny. Unstable. But real.
A notification blinked across his wrist interface.
Basic Spell Acquired: Minor Flame
Compatibility detected.
Developer Mode: Available.
Anon froze.
“Developer… mode?”
The interface expanded automatically, projecting a translucent panel in front of him.
And there it was.
Not just a spell description.
Code.
Lines of structured syntax scrolled across the holographic display. Mana input variables. Output coefficients. Stability thresholds. Dissipation timers. Conditional triggers.
He stared at it, breath shallow.
It was literal.
The Tower rendered spells as editable constructs.
He reached out cautiously and adjusted a parameter — increasing the mana coefficient.
The flame brightened.
Sharper.
Hotter.
He let out a quiet laugh.
“I can actually edit this…”
For the next hour, he tested everything.
Minor Force.
Heat Pulse.
Basic Detection.
Each time he successfully cast a spell for the first time, the system logged it and exposed its structure through the interface.
Not all spells showed the same complexity.
Some had locked segments — grayed-out modules labeled Affinity Restricted.
Others displayed warning markers when he tried to alter too much.
But the foundation was there.
Spells weren’t just abilities.
They were programmable frameworks.
And he had access.
Then he tried extending one.
He modified Minor Flame to detach from his fingertip — increasing projection distance and reducing self-anchoring.
He flicked his hand forward.
The flame left his finger—
And disintegrated less than half a meter away.
The interface flashed:
Warning: Projection Instability
External Anchor Strength: Insufficient.
He frowned.
He increased mana output.
Tried again.
Same result.
Dissipation.
He switched to Minor Force, increasing forward impulse.
The spell launched—
And collapsed mid-air like broken code.
Again.
Again.
Again.
After hours of experiments, a pattern became undeniable.
His mana reserves were strong — the interface confirmed it.
But one stat stood out in red:
Projection Stability: Low.
Very low.
He leaned back slowly, the excitement draining from his expression.
He tried illusion spells.
The interface responded with heavy restriction flags.
Affinity Misalignment Detected.
Enhancement charms worked — but inefficiently.
What functioned cleanly?
Force.
Heat.
Detection.
Raw fundamentals.
Anything subtle or complex resisted him.
His jaw tightened.
“So that’s it…”
Even here.
Even in a world where spells could be coded and optimized.
He still lacked the right affinity.
Reserved, never particularly athletic — and now not even a proper mage
For a moment, something bitter rose in his throat.
Could it be that he would just… suck here too?
He stared at the interface.
So what was left?
Close-range contact spells.
He rechecked the modifications he had successfully stabilized earlier — impact-triggered force bursts, heat discharge through touch.
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On paper, they worked.
In reality?
He imagined facing a monster — claws, fangs, unknown speed.
And his plan would be to… walk up and tap it?
Having to touch an enemy just to deal moderate damage did not inspire confidence.
Not when he wasn’t athletic.
Not when he wasn’t trained.
A bitter thought surfaced.
Maybe the Tower wasn’t going to redefine him.
Maybe it would simply expose him.
He closed the interface.
For several long seconds, he just sat there in the grass beneath the artificial sky of the Tower.
The sun was lowering now — warm gold spilling across the plains.
He had found nothing truly usable for real combat.
Nothing reliable.
Nothing that would let him fight safely.
Only crude, contact-based tricks.
The kind of skills you developed because you had no other option.
He exhaled slowly.
Enough for today.
By the time he returned toward the northern arc of white stone buildings, the artificial sunset had deepened into orange and violet tones.
The commercial district lights were already on.
He slowed near one of the basic equipment shops.
Through the open entrance, beginner gear was neatly displayed on racks and stands. Simple blades. Leather armor. Round shields. Functional. Affordable — relatively.
He stepped inside.
A basic iron sword.
Balanced. Not too heavy.
A plain round shield with reinforced edges.
Reliable.
Close-range equipment.
Appropriate, given his limitations.
He checked his wrist interface.
After food expenses projections, he could afford them.
Barely.
And if he bought them now, he would have almost nothing left until he earned currency — which meant entering the Tower’s active content soon.
He turned the sword in his hand.
He had no formal training.
No range advantage.
No flashy affinity.
Just contact-based magic and a hesitant resolve.
Was that enough to step into the tower?
His grip tightened.
Then slowly loosened.
Not yet.
He returned the sword to its stand.
Preparation first.
He left the shop without purchasing anything and made his way back through the quiet corridors of the complex.
The mood inside was subdued — small conversations, cautious laughter, tension humming beneath everything.
When he reached his dorm room, he stepped inside and let the door slide shut behind him.
Silence.
The artificial night began to settle outside his window.
He sat on the edge of his bed for a moment, staring at his hands.
Contact magic.
Low projection.
No illusions.
No transmutation.
He lay back slowly, eyes fixed on the faint curve of the ceiling beyond the fake stars.
Tomorrow, he would have to decide.
For now—
He closed his eyes.
Morning came with pale artificial light spilling across his room.
Anon hadn’t slept well.
His last thoughts before drifting off had been heavy — contact spells, short range, mediocre combat prospects.
He sat up slowly.
And then it clicked.
Force.
He had been thinking of it offensively.
Projecting it.
Releasing it.
What if that was the mistake?
What if force wasn’t meant to leave him at all?
Back at his training spot near the river, the plains quiet under the false sky of the Tower, he activated the interface.
Minor Force
Editable.
Instead of shaping it into a burst, he expanded the structure outward.
Not as a projectile.
As a layer.
He rewrote the parameters:
Form: Continuous
Anchor: Self
Distribution: Surface Field
Intensity: Moderate
He inhaled.
Activated.
For a split second, nothing happened.
Then—
Pressure.
A subtle, uniform resistance wrapped around his body. Like stepping into dense water without getting wet. His clothes shifted slightly as invisible force settled over him.
His eyes widened.
He tapped his own forearm experimentally.
The impact felt… dampened.
He increased the output slightly.
The pressure thickened — not uncomfortable, but firm. Protective.
He picked up a fist-sized rock and dropped it against his shoulder.
The stone bounced off and fell harmlessly to the grass.
A slow grin spread across his face.
“A shield…”
Not projected.
Worn.
Anchored to him.
And because it remained attached to his body, projection stability wasn’t an issue.
He laughed — short and disbelieving.
He had been trying to become a mage.
But maybe that wasn’t it.
Maybe he was something else.
He sat down, ate the sandwich he had brought from the cafeteria, barely tasting it as excitement simmered in his chest.
Then he resumed testing.
How much mana did it consume over time?
Sustainable.
Could he adjust thickness by region?
Yes — denser over vital points.
Could it absorb repeated impacts?
Up to a threshold.
When he pushed the intensity too high, the interface warned him:
Mana Drain Increasing
Structural Stress: Rising
So it had limits.
Everything did.
Still—
This was usable.
Actually usable.
Then, mid-afternoon, another thought surfaced.
If force could form a static shield…
Could it assist movement?
He reopened the construct.
Instead of distributing it evenly, he condensed it along his legs.
Vector Alignment: Directional
Output: Reinforcement — Lower Limbs
Trigger: Movement Sync
He stood.
Took a step.
The force field reacted.
He pushed off the ground—
And launched forward faster than expected.
He stumbled, barely catching himself.
Heart racing.
He tried again.
This time deliberately.
He leaned into a sprint.
The force compressed beneath his feet and released in sync with his motion, amplifying each push-off.
He ran.
Faster.
Stronger.
Not explosively like a trained athlete — but undeniably enhanced.
He stopped, breathing hard, eyes shining.
“It works…”
He increased output.
Jumped.
The ground cracked faintly beneath the pressure as he propelled himself upward higher than he ever had before.
When he landed, the shield absorbed most of the shock.
He stared at his hands.
Not long-range magic.
Not illusions.
But reinforcement.
Close-range dominance.
He scanned the ground and found a larger stone — heavy, awkward.
He wrapped force around his arms.
Lifted.
Easier.
He threw it toward the river.
The rock sailed farther than it had any right to.
A breathless laugh escaped him.
Force wasn’t meant to leave him.
It was meant to empower him.
A different kind of build.
A frontline build.
The realization sent a surge of heat through his chest.
For the first time since arriving in the Tower, he didn’t feel behind.
He felt… compatible.
By late afternoon, mana fatigue crept in, dull but manageable.
He deactivated the constructs and let the artificial wind cool his skin.
Tomorrow.
He was ready.
Not perfect.
But ready enough.
As the sun dipped toward evening hues, he returned to the commercial district.
This time, he didn’t hesitate.
He stepped into the equipment shop and picked up the same basic iron sword from the rack.
Balanced.
Reliable.
He strapped the round shield to his forearm.
With his force construct layered beneath it?
He would be far harder to knock down than he looked.
He added basic camping gear to the purchase — bedroll, compact cooking kit, water container. If he intended to step beyond the ground floor’s safe routines, he needed to think ahead.
He checked the total cost.
Most of his allowance.
He approved the transaction.
Currency deducted.
The weight of the equipment in his hands felt different now.
Not intimidating.
Grounding.
Tomorrow, he would step into the elevator.
Tomorrow, he would enter the Tower properly.
And this time—
He wouldn’t be hesitating.
