Before kingdoms rose and fell, before races carved borders into soil and sky, before even the Tower existed—
the world was silent.
Not empty.
Not lifeless.
It was waiting.
Every living being carried something unseen within their chest: a faint ember shaped by instinct, memory, and ancestral will. It did not speak. It did not shine. It simply endured—passed from generation to generation, evolving alongside the hopes, fears, and conflicts of those who lived before.
Over countless ages, that ember took form.
And the world gave it a name.
Sword Spirit.
A Sword Spirit is not merely a weapon.
It is not an artifact to be wielded or discarded.
It is a second life.
Every child—human, elf, goblin, beastkin, dwarf, demon-kin, dragonborn, and even lesser gods—is born with a Sword Spirit asleep within their heart. It lies dormant, silent as a shadow, until the moment fate decides its bearer is ready.
On the dawn of their fifteenth birthday, that silence ends.
The Sword Spirit awakens.
For some, it manifests as steel shaped by tradition—a blade, spear, axe, or shield.
For others, it emerges as something stranger: spectral beasts, floating runes, chained relics, living elements, or weapons that defy mortal design.
Its form reflects the soul that carries it.
Its traits—speed, defense, deception, destruction, balance—are not chosen. They are revealed.
From that moment onward, Sword Spirit and wielder are bound as one. Their growth is shared. Their injuries echo. Their strength amplifies.
And should the Sword Spirit be shattered, drained, or destroyed—
the wielder dies instantly.
There is no rebirth.
No second chance.
Because a Sword Spirit is not held in the hand.
It is held in the heart.
At the center of the world stands a structure that should not exist.
A spiraling monolith of ancient stone, divine metal, and laws beyond mortal comprehension.
The Tower of the Last Wish.
No one knows who built it.
No one knows why it appeared.
Only that, one day, it was simply there.
One hundred floors rise into the sky, each guarded by a being known only as a Guardian. Each floor is a world of its own—shifting rules, warped reality, trials that test not only strength, but conviction, teamwork, and resolve.
And at the very peak of the Tower lies a promise that reshaped all civilization:
"Reach the Top, and your deepest wish shall be granted."
Any wish.
No matter how impossible.
No matter how forbidden.
No matter what laws it breaks.
The dead may be returned.
Cursed lands may be healed.
Empires may be rewritten.
Gods may be defied.
This single truth ended ancient wars overnight.
Elves and humans forged alliances not out of peace, but ambition. Goblins abandoned raids to form guilds. Demons ceased invasions in favor of contracts. Even divine beings began watching the Tower with unease.
Because for the first time in history—
destiny was negotiable.
Cities rose around the Tower like rings around a sun. Trade routes bent toward it. Cultures mixed. Martial academies flourished. Spirit forges hummed day and night.
Everywhere, Sword Spirits shaped daily life.
Merchants used them to lift cargo and protect caravans.
Healers used them to guide precise treatment.
Scholars studied their runes.
Children played with flickering manifestations no larger than fireflies.
And everywhere, the same dream burned:
One day, I will climb the Tower.
Not everyone climbed for glory.
Some sought to resurrect loved ones.
Some wished to save dying homelands.
Some desired power, immortality, or revenge.
And some climbed simply because the world offered no other path forward.
But the Tower does not reward desire alone.
It devours the arrogant.
Breaks the reckless.
Exposes the truth hidden behind every Sword Spirit.
Of the countless climbers who have entered—
not one has ever reached the top.
Every few years, the Tower emits a pulse of golden light.
A signal.
A declaration.
The gates will open.
The trials will shift.
The next generation will be called.
Across continents and realms, Sword Spirits awaken in unison. Some blaze with overwhelming power. Others flicker faintly, dismissed as weak.
Yet the Tower does not judge by appearance.
It recognizes only one thing:
Resolve.
And now, the light has returned.
Across the world, thousands of young warriors prepare to leave their homes, their families, and their certainty behind. They sharpen blades, study formations, and make promises they may not live long enough to keep.
Among them walks a boy who believes himself ordinary.
A boy raised on kindness instead of ambition.
A boy whose Sword Spirit remains quiet—watching, waiting.
He does not seek domination.
He does not dream of conquest.
But the Tower has noticed him.
And when harmony enters a place built on ambition—
even the heavens must pay attention.
The climb begins here.