The afternoon sun in Glimmerglow Hollow was warm like a fuzzy blanket, and Ilah was sprawled outside the city gates, licking a half-melted custard stick while playing a very serious game of "Step On a Weird Rock and Become a Baby Dragon."
"Achiuu—these rocks don't talk at all!" she huffed as she skipped over a cracked tile, visibly annoyed that the world was being so quiet today.
Achiu hovered nearby, flipping through his notebook like someone trying to find the "How to Babysit a Natural Disaster" chapter. "That's because you're stomping on the foundation of the ancient Grammar Tower. This isn't a preschool sandbox—it's a former magical language regulation facility."
"Grammar Tower? Is that the one that yells at people?"
"No. It controlled syntax frameworks, mana formulas, and command structures. The one that yells at people was Mills."
"You're not allowed to yell at me. I'm a child."
"You're a walking magical hazard, Ilah."
—
And then.
Her foot landed on a rune-engraved stone plate with a very decisive "PAH," and the entire ground suddenly spiraled down like the earth sneezed.
"EHHH!?"
A glowing staircase unfolded downward into the dark, circular pit.
Achiu exploded: "Did you just unlock the ancient grammar core tower—WITH YOUR FOOT!? I'm starting to think this tower wanted you to step on it…"
This is what happens when she goes shopping. Reality just gives her discounts.
But Ilah wasn't listening. She was already prancing down the glowing steps. "Maybe there's a glowing kitty down here!"
—
As she stepped into the tower's heart, luminous runes lit up one by one across the floor. Glyphs rotated on the walls, and a waterfall of language-code light poured from above like glowing fireflies whispering poems.
"Identifying directive user—"
"Voice pattern accepted—"
"Primary authority granted: Ilah Mills."
The tower's spirit materialized—an elderly man in a robe made of woven syntax and semicolons. He looked absolutely thunderstruck. "I have waited a thousand years for this moment—"
Ilah: "Do you want some candy?"
Tower spirit: "…I'm sorry, what?"
"I've got strawberry, honey, and one that kind of explodes but in a fun way—"
The spirit hesitated, then took the candy with reverence, and slowly placed it in his mouth. "…Thank you, Primary Directive User."
BOOM.
The entire tower roared back to life. Mana circuits surged like underground rivers, and the once-dormant grammatical control hub shifted immediately into "Blessing Mode."
—
Achiu was frozen on the spot. "You—you turned the only language-based magical computation tower in the entire world… into a blessing generator?!"
The tower spirit, calm and a little apologetic, spoke gently: "Yes. Her tone and directive patterns are entirely positive—my structure can't reject it. It must accept her format."
"That means…?"
"That means, from this moment onward, this tower's entire function is to magically broadcast blessings through all linguistic operations."
"Combat spells? → Automatically translated into encouragement."
"Curses? → Auto-scrubbed into helpful advice."
"Control magic? → Transformed into emotional support hugs."
Achiu: "…This is a tower where blessings devoured logic."
—
The tower spirit sighed like a man who's accepted his fate: "She is the primary directive user… What choice do I have?"
At that moment, Ilah was already lounging on the main terminal platform, happily kicking her feet while chewing the last bite of her custard stick. "It smells yummy in here~ I like it."
Tower Spirit: "Adjusting internal airflow to custard-flavored aroma concentration."
Ilah: "Waa~ thank you! Grandpa, you're so nice!"
Tower Spirit: Emotional index +10. Computation speed increased by 5%.
—
And at that very moment—no one in the outside world had any idea that a ten-year-old child had completely hijacked one of the most powerful magical infrastructures in existence.
Various global intelligence agencies noted that "a previously dormant tower" in Glimmerglow Hollow had reactivated, but upon detecting no offensive mana patterns, dismissed it as irrelevant.
What they didn't realize was this:
A tower with no attack spells… is the most dangerous kind.
Because it can redefine language itself.
And language… is the root of all magic.
—
That night, Ilah curled up in bed with the pillow the tower spirit gave her, hugging it like a plush shield against dreams. She looked up at Achiu and asked,
"Do you think… maybe I can help make everyone a little better?"
Achiu was silent for a long while before replying quietly,
"You now have the ability to rewrite the magical logic of the entire world."
Ilah: "Then… can I make custard sticks a main food group?"
Achiu: "…I've already drafted it into the system proposal."
—
[Checkpoint Cleared]
[Main Mechanism Activated: The Tower of Blessings]
[Grammar Core Redefined: Positive Logical Computation Engine]
[Primary Directive Holder: Ilah Mills]
[Error Code: None. This is her format.]
She's not breaking the rules.
She is the next version.
—
While Ilah and the tower grandpa were deeply immersed in a philosophical debate about whether candies should be sorted by color or flavor, Achiu had floated away from the command console, circling the main control circuit with increasingly twisted eyebrows.
He stopped in front of the central processor, eyes scanning the runes that shimmered like singing glass. He muttered under his breath:
"This tower was originally… one of the 'Foundational Grammar Towers'—at the dawn of creation, the Architect placed seven towers across the world. Through their resonance with the magic source, this world was granted magic."
With a flick of his paw, an ancient sigil-map bloomed in the air. Seven towers were marked across the continents, connected by barely visible threads—syntax paths, like a nervous system for reality itself.
"All beings who use magic don't really possess it," he said softly. "They resonate with the Towers, borrowing their authority. We're just renters of mana."
He stared at the console screen, now flashing brightly with text:
[Foundational Grammar Tower #7 · Tower of Blessings · Rebooting…]
"Yeah. This is the Seventh Tower."
"Not a broken ruin. Not some extra eighth tower. The true Seventh Tower—lost for millennia."
"The last Towermaster died in a god-war," he whispered. "No soul since then could match the resonance frequency… The world forgot. The archives erased it."
"This system… was always built on seven Pillars of Language. Never more. Never less."
He let out a long sigh.
"Each tower reflects the user's linguistic trait. Like Vanvalor's Azure Edge Tower—when it resonated with the Empire's warlords, it created the Language of Conquest: spatial cleaves, battlefield displacement, all of it."
"And this one… resonated with Ilah."
[Ability Confirmed: The Language of Blessings]
"Blessings. No offense. No defense. Only enhancement, healing, and kindness."
His voice cracked.
"I mean seriously, how do you wage war like this? You swing a sword, she blesses you into a divine beast, calls you amazing, and what—you keep fighting?"
The tower was still pulsing, like a sacred engine warming back to life. Stone hummed, light danced.
Achiu turned to see Ilah sitting cross-legged with the tower spirit, earnestly arguing whether circle-shaped candies were more emotionally supportive than square ones.
He held his head in both hands.
"The Seventh Tower… really woke up."
"Soon every nation's going to scramble to figure out who the new Towermaster is. And no one will guess—"
Ilah turned toward him cheerfully.
"Achiu~ Tower Grandpa says he wants marshmallows. Did you bring some~?"
"…"
Achiu closed his eyes. Jaw clenched.
"They won't know her motto is: 'A little sweetness can fix the whole world.'"
—
When Ilah was fully recognized by the tower's core crystal, the Seventh Grammar Source Tower—silent for millennia—once again resonated with the Source of Magic.
In that moment, a faint silver light surged upward through the arcane web of the world.
It did not belong to any known element.
It was neither Light nor Ether.
It was the record of language and emotion itself—
A seed left in the depths of the world by that one at the time of creation.
—
[Above the Divine Realm – Mills' Sanctuary]
Mills was mid-sentence, drafting a multi-realm repair report when her quill froze midair.
She frowned slightly, turning toward the sky, where a flicker of ancient syntax shimmered in her vision—
A sequence she knew all too well.
One she both respected and feared.
"…That tower?"
Surprise laced her voice, tinged with reluctant inevitability.
She rose, long platinum hair swaying like liquid divinity. Her footsteps echoed across the marble of the high sanctuary.
She gazed downward, where the blessing-threaded ripple of purest mana gently unfurled across the world's crust.
"I thought… it would be years before she reached that tower."
"But—she's always faster than I expect."
She whispered to herself, fingertips brushing across the scrying pool's surface.
A voice played softly from the water—a familiar, childlike tone echoing in the sacred basin.
"Have you been waiting a really long time? Then maybe… I can stay and play a little while."
Mills stood still for a long time.
Then suddenly, her expression sharpened.
"…He heard her."
That one.
—
[Beyond the Void – Unnamed Observational Domain]
In a space without time, form, or speech—
Eyes opened.
Not eyes in the way mortals understood them, but a vast convergence of unfinished sentences and semantic debris, swirling into meaning.
He—once a god before gods, before language, before magic—
Was not born of spellcraft or sentiment.
He was the first mechanism: the primal process that translated sound into creation.
Through the Seven Towers, he gave silence its first voice.
And now, as the Seventh Tower reawakened,
He heard.
"…Blessing?"
Not command.
Not curse.
Not contract.
His voice fractured through the void like recursive echoes in a mirror.
"Her name… is Ilah?"
His awareness began to condense, weaving simulations, calculations, predictions—
And, faintly, confusion.
—
[Mills' Sanctuary – Divine Realm]
Mills stood high upon the cloudline, her hand gripping something tucked within her sleeve—
A crystal seed, pulsing with warmth.
Ilah's first lifethread, the spark of soul she had molded into being.
"You hear her now."
"But this time, you won't take her."
Her voice was calm, unwavering—not merely that of a creator, but of a guardian.
A goddess who had made her choice.
"She is not just a being of magic."
"She is the answer I forged from the hopes of an entire world."
She turned toward the tower below, now aglow with the gentle brilliance of blessing-bound syntax.
"If you wish to meet her—
Then prepare to be understood."
—
The ripple vanished beneath the surface of the world, quiet… for now.
But every magical tower—every one of the Seven—
Shuddered that moment.
Because they had heard.
And somewhere, deep in the forgotten layers of the cosmos—
So had the first speaker of language itself.