Goran Gothar's excitement threatened to overwhelm him. The Tower of the Alka surpassed his wildest expectations: an elegant rectangular structure of shiny black stone pierced the cloudless sky above Maksimir park and cast a needle-like shadow over the trees. Goran stopped in front of it, oblivious of his status, ignorant of his perspectives and weary of his exile. Sustaining his soul on the single dream of becoming an Alkar for years, he hesitated: why was it so terrifying to see one's wish fulfilled?

Goran briefly looked at Sava Galbur, but saw neither support, nor enthusiasm in his dark eyes. Sava approached the Tower slowly, staring at the burgundy-colored door decorated with a geometric ornament. Silently, he stepped in front of Goran and pressed his hand to the smooth stone.

"I greet you." The door slid open, revealing a face of a young woman. Goran wondered if she was an Apostle or a fully invested Alkara. Sava barred his way before he could introduce himself.

"I am here to bring you an Apostle." Sava's voice gave away his exhaustion, arousing the woman's suspicions.

"We recruit our Apostles ourselves." She frowned, shifting her gaze from Goran to Sava. Goran straightened his back and lifted his chin. He was not going to let her harm Sava Galbur. Sava, on the other hand, ignored Goran's readiness to protect him.

"The case of this young man is... complicated," He elaborated vaguely, entering the hall. "Certain circumstances have prevented your superiors from recruiting him earlier."

"Certain circumstances? I doubt the credibility of the words spoken by a Byzantine Blood."

Sava sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Slavena and Ognjen Gothar promised their youngest son to the Alkari. I am returning their debt." His loud voice jolted the Alkari in the hall to a halt. Without thinking, Goran stepped in front of Sava, covering him from the sour glares of the Alkari clad in black and burgundy. It was Goran's life and his choice. Sava did not have to risk anything.

"I am Goran Gothar," he almost shouted, sending invisible ripples through the air.

When the echo subsided, heavy silence enveloped the large hall. Goran straightened his back, trying to look more imposing than he felt. Was the weight of his family name enough to seed such terror? Suspicious glances rested on his face, careful eyes scrutinized his features, muffled voices carried his name from one Alkar to another.

"The Grand Magister will deal with Lord Gothar." A man with a placid face and cold round eyes placed a hand on Goran's shoulder. The woman nodded and stepped aside.

"Yes, Magister Jurčević."

Goran noticed how Sava winced at the sight of the Magister, and shot him a questioning glance. Sava shook his head and turned away: was it his way of warning Goran about the looming danger? Goran followed the Magister and a calm dark-haired man. He seemed to be the only one who remained unimpressed by Goran's sudden appearance.

"Guardian Kara, is the Grand Magister in his office?" Jurčević asked with an unmistakable Belgrade accent. Kara shook his head. Goran immediately labelled him as the silent type.

They passed crosshatched halls and corridors with scarce minimalist furniture, and stands with books and drawers. Goran assumed they contained all possible light-files and precious artifacts.

"The Grand Magister should be in the Rotunda." Jurčević squeezed out a smile, turning to Goran. His scrutiny was unpleasant, but Goran did not look away. Sava Galbur kept his distance as they were passing through empty corridors and climbing winding staircases.

Goran entered the rotunda in awe, wondering how the secluded space in the middle of the Tower could have so many windows. Guardians walked on shiny marble tiles, gliding through the rows of shelves with projectors and intricate glittering devices that Goran could not identify. Bathed in bursting light, the rotunda contained long marble benches instead of conventional tables and chairs. Light projections hung in the air, creating an eerie atmosphere of unnatural splendor. Goran's appearance immediately attracted attention from all sides. He looked around, suddenly realizing it was not just him, but also Sava, who raised all those whispers that turned into a wave of hissing.

"How are we supposed to interpret your appearance here?" Magister Jurčević sounded revolted, when he stared at Sava. "You are a Byzantine Blood."

"I am ready to explain myself to the Grand Magister," Sava replied nonchalantly. When Goran opened his mouth to offer Jurčević a better explanation, an older Alkar crossed his path. His crooked nose, lively eyes and dark mustache reminded Goran of a wizard from a fairy tale. Jurčević hit his shoulder with his fist, saluting his Grand Magister.

"Lord Galbur?" The Grand Magister nodded to both Sava and Goran. "The young man can wait, but we have a lot to talk about. You will join me, won't you?" Sava nodded and disappeared behind the white doors of stone flanked by Grand Magister Blažetin and Magister Jurčević.

Goran remained standing beside the silent Guardian Kara and a broad-shouldered young man of his age, who handed a light-stick to Kara with a mocking expression on his face.

"Hope that makes for an exciting read, Guardian," he sneered.

Kara nodded in acknowledgment but said nothing. The youth's ironic voice together with Kara's expressionless face almost forced a smile out of Goran. He himself fidgeted under the young man's curious stare.

"I know exactly how it feels to be famous." He grimaced and let out a theatrical sigh. "It sucks."

"I didn't know my name was that terrifying," Goran replied somewhat confused.

"Not as terrifying as mine anyway." He smirked mischievously and turned to Guardian Kara.

"Can he hold the boxes for me, or is he too important for the task?"

Kara nodded. This small gesture sufficed, and the young man pushed Goran through the rows of shelves.

"Do they always react this way to new recruits?" Goran asked cautiously. There was something about that youth with dark-brown kinky hair that gave off an impression of knowledge and creativity. Goran liked him. The new acquaintance loaded him with two heavy plastic boxes and graciously kept the remaining three to himself.

"You didn't see their faces when I showed up," he laughed heartily.

"You?"

"Andronic Constandache." He grinned at Goran, watching his jaw drop toward the floor and his eyebrows shoot toward the ceiling.

"You are... a Byzantine Blood?!"

"I am not. And here lies the problem!" The young Constandache scoffed, turning back to the shelves. "My father is, supposedly, Lenar Lascari and Councilor Eftimie Constandache is, supposedly, my grandfather. But, as you may guess, I haven't turned out the way I should have. Both sides of my family are very disappointed."

"There's no way you can be a Lascari!" Goran vividly remembered Leudora with her haunting eyes of dark-grey and auburn hair. To Goran's surprise, Andronic immediately caught his thoughts.

"I know, I know! I don't look like them, smell like them or have their enhancement," he admitted begrudgingly. "And... just before you ask and make a fool of yourself... I'm a gravity-switcher. And I chose the Alka just like you did. No surprises here."

"Well, you wouldn't be here if you were a Byzantine Blood!" Goran smiled.

Andronic quickly scanned the inscriptions on the shelves, picked several round objects and took the boxes away. Goran followed him.

"Maybe I would be here." He chuckled. "In a cell or something like that. I'm not one of them. I am not their son, brother or... whatever."

Goran stared at him wide-eyed, not knowing how to respond. But Constandache did not expect him to react. He only placed the boxes in a strange floating storage compartment. Goran did the same.

"I have always wanted to be an Alkar. My whole life," Goran said.

"How surprising! Who hasn't?" Andronic lifted a mocking finger and chuckled. "Well, in my case it was simple: my family hates me. I had two options that could free them from my presence: to kill myself or to be gone. I opted for the second one. And your family... well...They are dead as far as I know. I guess it makes us alike."

"I have a mentor!" Goran raised his chin.

"Lucky you! I guess." Andronic said with a shrug. "In any case, if we pass the trials... we won't need anything. Or anyone."

"Do you know what the trials are about here?"

"They test our resolve. If we are lucky, they will allow us to accompany the Guardians while they are on duty, and attend some important meetings. Anything really. Guardian Kara does not talk much, but he is a sweetheart beneath that serious demeanor. The others are also not that bad. At least they don't call me 'Byzantine scum'. Could be worse if you ask me." He smirked bitterly.

Goran shook his head. "I guess we are not their typical Apostles... You know," he paused, "I need to prove that the person who saved my life did not kill my parents. I am alive thanks to Slavoj Kosar. I owe him everything.... I want everyone to know that. Lord Galbur has brought me here so that I can help my mentor."

Andronic's eyes widened, and a low whistle dissipated in the charged air of the Rotunda.

"And I thought my life was tough...."