The golden sun rose slowly over the emerald fields of Solmaria, painting the skies in hues of fire. Mist clung to the dewy grass, curling and evaporating as the warmth of morning crept in. Farmers paused in their ploughing. Merchants delayed their journeys. For today was no ordinary day—it was the Day of Tower Opening, the once-a-year ceremony when the gates of the Grimoire Tower opened to the chosen children of grimore.
A low murmur hummed through the cobbled streets as families gathered. Every home, from the humblest thatch to the noble manors of the highborn, had prepared for this moment with care. Flower petals lined the roads. Incense curled from hanging braziers. And high above it all, piercing the sky like a blade of stone, stood the Grimoire Tower.
It loomed impossibly tall, shrouded in a faint mist at its peak, ancient and unmoving. Said to be as old as the founding of Solmaria itself, it was not built—it had appeared, summoned into being when magic first entered the world. Today, its sealed gates had opened for the first time in a year, and excitement buzzed in the air like lightning before a storm.
Amid the crowd, a girl with wild black curls that danced in the wind. Her name was Kanak, a servant of House Malhan, and this was her seventh birthday. Her dark eyes sparkled with wonder and nerves as she looked up at the tower. In her chest, her heart thundered—not with fear, but with anticipation. Today, she would meet the grimoire that would shape her life forever.
Clutching her hand tightly was a boy who looked far too calm for such a day. Shaurya, only four years old, walked beside her with measured steps and eyes like still water—pale blue and unblinking. Though he was her servant by title and younger in age, there was something about him—some unspoken gravity—that often made Kanak feel like she was the one being guided.
"Stay close to me," she whispered, gently squeezing his hand. There was tremor in her voice, though she tried to hide it.
He nodded once, wordlessly, his gaze fixed upon the tower. While other children trembled in awe and excitement, Shaurya looked upon it with… familiarity. As if the tower was not a mystery to be solved, but a place he had once known.
The moment they stepped through the great archway, the outside world faded into silence. The interior of the Grimoire Tower was vast beyond reason. Pillars of enchanted stone curved into the heavens, etched with runes that glowed like stars, pulsating softly with life. The air hummed with magic so dense it could be felt on the skin, like mist against the face.
At the center of the grand chamber hovered thousands of grimoires, suspended in mid-air, each one bound in faded grey leather and glowing faintly like sleeping spirits. They floated in perfect formation, turning gently on unseen currents. The very air around them shimmered with possibility.
A circle had been drawn upon the floor—ancient, radiant, and thrumming with power. The children, nearly fifty of them, stood in neat lines. Their families stood behind them, breath held.
From the altar at the head of the chamber, a robed mage raised his staff. His voice echoed, soft but clear, amplified by the tower's will.
"Children of Solmaria," he intoned, "the time has come. Step forward, one by one. Let the grimoire that calls to your soul find you. Let destiny awaken."
One by one, the children moved forward into the circle.
At first, only stillness.
Then—a flicker. A pulse. A book glowing faintly. A gentle drift downward.
Each chosen grimoire floated with grace toward its destined child, landing in small, expectant hands. Parents wept. The crowd clapped. Some grimoires resisted for a moment, testing the soul before them, before finally choosing.
Time passed. It was now Kanak's turn.
Her knees trembled as she stepped into the circle. She felt as if the entire tower had turned its gaze upon her.
Nothing moved.
The air grew heavy.
Then—softly, silently—one of the grimoires drifted forward. It glowed with a gentle light, less radiant than others, but warm and steady. It landed in Kanak's hands, humming gently as if in approval.
But then—something shifted. A sudden pulse cut through the air. A voice rang out, panicked and uncertain.
"Wait… another one is reacting!"
Gasps and murmurs rippled through the chamber like a wave.
High above, among the untouched grimoires that had not stirred for generations, one began to move.
It spun wildly, faster than any other had. Its glow intensified—blinding gold swirling into silver. Then, like a falling star, it shot downward, slicing through the air with a howling wind.
It went to Shaurya, who stood still outside the circle, watching with a tilted head.
The grimoire halted just inches before him, hovering in mid-air as its leather binding glowed with unfamiliar symbols—ancient, unreadable, and shifting like water. Then, with a sudden gust of wind, it opened on its own, pages fluttering madly.
The chamber erupted in chaos.
"He's only four!"
"No child under seven has ever resonated before!"
"This… this is unheard of!"