Alaric slipped out of the church at the same time he always did—right around the afternoon snack bell. Suspiciously punctual for someone who claimed to have "nowhere in particular to go."
Naturally, this meant the rest of the group was already stacked in a pile behind the church door like nosy raccoons, whispering very loudly.
"Okay, he's going out again," Cael muttered, pressing himself against a pillar like a discount spy. "Third time this week."
"Maybe he has a secret date," Renna whispered, clearly excited by the thought.
"With who?" Lys deadpanned. "We barely know anyone. Unless he's dating a sewer rat."
"Maybe it's a really hot sewer rat," Thorne said, nodding solemnly. "I've seen some charming rodents."
Everyone just stared at him.
"Focus," Cael hissed. "We're tailing him today. And no one makes any noise."
They all agreed, then proceeded to step on every creaky floorboard and bump into every single barrel on the way out.
But somehow, miraculously, Alaric didn't notice them. He walked casually through the bustling streets of Koneu, weaving past carts of fruit and loud market vendors until he reached a quiet stone building tucked near the edge of the city.
The sign outside read, "Sunnest Home for the Lost and Little."
The group peeked from behind a poorly stacked crate across the street. Renna had somehow acquired popcorn. No one asked how.
"He went into an orphanage?" Lys asked, blinking.
"Wait, is he an orphan?" Cael whispered.
"I mean… we all got isekai'd. Does that make us all orphans now?" Thorne pondered out loud, philosophically.
Before Cael could decide if he should bop him on the head, the door to the orphanage creaked open—and out came Alaric. In both arms, he carried three kids—two clinging to his shoulders and one hanging off his leg like it was a tree branch.
He was laughing. And they were, too.
"Whoa," Renna said, popping a piece of popcorn in her mouth. "I didn't expect that."
Alaric bent down, pulling what looked like handmade wooden swords from his coat. He handed them to the kids, who immediately started fake-fighting like dramatic warriors.
Then one kid smacked another in the nose and they all started crying. Alaric, clearly used to this, picked up two of them, gave the third a candy from his pocket, and sat them on a bench while gently scolding them with a smile.
Lys blinked. "Is this his side quest?"
Cael muttered, "…he's the party's dad character, isn't he?"
Thorne sniffed. "What a guy. I hate how respectable this is."
The group stayed there for a while, watching Alaric read stories to the kids, fix a rickety swing, and even magically warm a pot of soup in the tiny kitchen behind the orphanage.
He looked like… well, a hero. Not the dramatic, flaming-sword, battle-screaming kind he usually acted like. But the quiet, good heart, melt-your-insides kind.
After a bit, Alaric walked out of the orphanage, waving goodbye to a dozen giggling kids and their tired, grateful caretaker.
He turned the corner…
…and walked straight into the rest of the group, who were very, very obviously pretending to just be "casually strolling by."
"…Hey," Alaric said, blinking at them.
"Hey," the group replied in the most suspicious unison to ever exist.
"You guys following me?"
"Nope!" Cael said, sweating profusely.
Renna nodded. "Yup!"
"Wait—no, I mean—" Cael slapped his own forehead.
Alaric chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. "You could've just asked, you know."
"…So you help an orphanage every afternoon?" Lys asked, smiling.
He shrugged. "They needed help. And… I dunno, feels right."
There was a beat of silence. Then—
"I KNEW YOU WERE TOO GOOD TO BE REAL!" Thorne dramatically yelled, pointing at him. "YOU'RE A SHOUNEN PROTAGONIST!"
"Wait, I thought Renna was the protagonist," Lys joked.
"I'M THE CHAOTIC SUPPORT CHARACTER," Renna replied, doing jazz hands.
Cael sighed. "We're all the side characters in someone else's isekai."
Alaric just laughed, motioning for the group to walk back with him. "C'mon. I'll treat you all to some food on the way back. You've earned it."
They followed him, chaotic, loud, and weird as ever—but maybe just a little more in awe of their glowy-sword, soft-hearted party member.
The party clattered into a cozy, lantern-lit tavern that smelled of grilled meat, sweet bread, and the unmistakable tang of over-seasoned stew. The wooden floors creaked under their boots, and the few locals inside gave them brief glances—equal parts curiosity and quiet dread. It was clear someone had warned them about a certain group of "summoned heroes with property-damaging tendencies."
A stout tavern owner waved them over nervously. "Ah—heroes, welcome! Um… please sit… anywhere. We reinforced the chairs."
They took a large round table near the window, shoving together a few stools. The place was warm, with candles flickering on every wall and a bard softly strumming in the corner.
"I'm ordering the meat platter," Thorne said immediately. "No—two. No—five."
"I want the glowy drink with the sparkles," Renna grinned, pointing at a picture on the wall that looked more magical than edible.
"Bread. Just bread," Cael muttered with a thousand-yard stare. "Nothing flammable."
The server brought over a menu and a small pouch of coins—Alaric's.
"A gift from the church," the server explained with a strained smile. "They said it's a reward for your kind deeds, and to… encourage you all to stay within city limits and do peaceful things. Like sweeping. Or gardening."
"Or not exploding the sewer system again," Lys added under her breath.
"Or setting training dummies on fire," Cael said, side-eyeing Alaric.
"Or summoning lightning indoors," Thorne coughed.
Renna sipped her glowy drink. "Or sneezing and causing five simultaneous elemental reactions. Sorry."
Everyone turned to Alaric.
He just smiled. "What? I'm behaving."
He was, in fact, the only one who had managed not to blow something up recently. Which, as far as this group went, made him practically a saint.
After a flurry of loud, overlapping food orders and much clinking of mugs, the table finally settled into a comfortable lull.
That's when Lys leaned forward slightly, eyes calm. "Hey, Alaric... why do you help out at the orphanage? You've been going every day."
Alaric blinked. Then looked down into his drink for a second, swirling the amber liquid gently.
"I used to live in one," he said simply.
The tavern quieted a little around them—not the room, just them. The air shifted, serious and soft.
Alaric didn't look sad, exactly. He smiled as he spoke. "Lost my parents in a house fire when I was a kid. Never even knew what caused it. Just... woke up in the middle of it. Smoke, heat, everything gone in minutes."
No one said anything. Even Renna put her sparkly drink down.
"But a firefighter pulled me out," Alaric continued, voice steady. "Don't even remember his face. Just the arms lifting me out of the burning building. That's it. He didn't stay. Just left me with the others. But... that moment saved me."
Cael stared at his mug. Lys watched him closely.
"I always wanted to become one," Alaric added, his smile soft now. "A firefighter, I mean. Save people the way I got saved. I was training for it—before this whole glowing-sword, isekai madness."
Thorne crossed his arms. "So what, now you're trying to be the 'firefighter of this world'?"
"Maybe," Alaric chuckled. "I figure if I can't go back… I'll still help where I can. Saving a burning building, slaying a rat king in a sewer, teaching a kid how to swing a wooden sword—it's not that different, is it?"
Cael muttered, "Only difference is the sword here actually glows."
"And occasionally explodes," Renna added.
Alaric grinned. "Details."
They all laughed lightly, but there was a warm silence behind it—an unspoken understanding that, no matter how chaotic their journey was, some of them were still holding onto the life they had before. Still holding onto who they wanted to be.
Lys raised her cup. "To firemen."
"To firemen!" they echoed—some with smiles, others with crumbs in their teeth, and one with a mouth too full of meat to speak clearly.
And for a brief moment, the summoned heroes felt a little less like walking disasters… and a little more like a family.
The tavern warmed up with laughter, clinking mugs, and the comforting scent of buttery bread and sizzling meat. Their table became the loudest spot in the room, a bubbling storm of nonsense and genuine camaraderie.
"Okay, okay—hear me out," Renna said, halfway through her glowing drink, now inexplicably sparkling in five different colors. "In every isekai, every single time, it's the smartest one who snaps first. Like, just lose it. Goes all 'I see the truth of this world' and suddenly they're talking about fate and rewriting reality with dramatic violin music in the background."
Thorne raised a brow, chewing loudly. "You mean like Cael?"
Everyone turned to Cael.
He froze, a bite of bread halfway to his mouth. "...Excuse me?"
Lys smirked. "Well. You are the most paranoid. And the smartest. Honestly, it's only a matter of time before you get a cape and start quoting philosophy before trying to dismantle the world."
"I do not—" Cael started, only for Alaric to chime in.
"You literally yelled 'This world makes no sense!' while flipping through twelve books in the library. That's main villain behavior, buddy."
Cael narrowed his eyes. "That was research! Research and healthy skepticism!"
"You also muttered 'the sigil watches all' in your sleep," Thorne added helpfully.
"That's—" Cael paused. "Okay, I can't explain that one."
"Boom," Renna grinned. "First to snap. Guaranteed."
Lys leaned her head into her palm, clearly enjoying the teasing. "I'll put five silver on Cael turning to the dark side by next month."
"You're all insane," Cael huffed. "And I am the normal one here. Me!"
That declaration was immediately followed by Renna's drink catching fire and Thorne slapping it out of her hand into a passing waiter's tray, which in turn flipped and hit a chandelier, which sent sparks raining down on a bard who was singing a sad love song about a chicken.
"I rest my case," Cael deadpanned.
Meanwhile, Alaric had tears in his eyes—from laughing. "This is the weirdest group of heroes ever summoned. I swear if a Demon Lord actually shows up, he's gonna take one look at us and just… retire."
"He's gonna unionize," Lys added.
"Or worse," Cael said, finally sipping his bread-flavored tea ,it wasn't, but it sure tasted like it. "He's going to make me his strategist and we'll end up solving the kingdom's economy by accident."
Thorne leaned back with a sigh. "I'd rather fight another sewer slime than pay taxes."
"Or paperwork," Renna said dramatically. "No more forms. Please. No more."
They all groaned in collective trauma, remembering Thorne's registration incident.
The bard—now dry and slightly singed—switched to a jaunty tune. The lights of the tavern flickered gold and orange, casting a cozy glow over the misfit heroes.
And despite the explosions, conspiracies, elemental chaos, and questionable sanity, they laughed. Loudly. Together.
A small moment. A quality evening.
The kind of memory you don't realize is important until much later.
…Right before everything inevitably goes off the rails again.
And in that modest tavern, under a roof patched with old prayerwood and iron nails gone soft with age, the laughter of youths danced upon the beams like wild sprites, unconcerned with time or consequence. A fleeting harmony in a world woven by fickle hands.
Yet beyond the crackling hearth and beneath the varnished timber of Koneu's soil, where ancient stones kept their silence like buried kings, the marrow of the land stirred with unease. The tapestry of fate, once taut with promise, had begun to fray—its loose threads whispering truths no sage dared speak aloud.
None among them, not the boy with the blazing sword who dreamed of sirens and smoke, nor the girl of winds and ice who hid her trembling heart behind laughter and lore, could hear the rustle of unseen wings above their revelry. Nor did the paranoid prophet with the ink-black sigil yet see the shape of his own shadow stretching far beyond the walls of that room. For prophecy never whispers when the heart is merry.
The world, in all its cruel elegance, has never cared for the readiness of those it chooses to suffer. It does not ask. It does not wait. It only turns—slowly, coldly—as a millstone upon a grain of hope, until nothing remains but dust and memory.
There would come a day, though none could name it, when that same tavern would lie in cinders, when laughter would be a sound remembered and not heard, and the name of a friend would taste like blood on the tongue. A day when bravery would be the currency of ruin, and only the mad or the damned would still speak of heroes.
But for now, the drink still flowed. The bard's strings still hummed with life. And five unlikely fools sat untouched by the storm they were destined to awaken.
For in the bright hours of ignorance, even the condemned may believe themselves blessed.