It felt like we were being called. Mika gripped my hand tightly, like a castaway clinging to a lifeline. Her grip gave me a strange comfort - at the same time as it increased my own tension.
The students around us began to whisper, low, fear-filled whispers, their nervous gazes scanning the corridor suspiciously, as if something invisible threatened to explode at any moment.
At the end of the corridor, a wooden platform raised some figures - it looked like the center of some ceremony or trial. There they were.
An imposing couple, dressed in heavy armor, with lowered visors that completely hid their faces. From a distance, it was obvious: they were knights, figures of authority and strength. The weight of their armor seemed to carry the history of ancient battles.
Next to them stood an old man. His gray hair fell in disheveled strands, framing a face marked by time and wisdom. A long, wide-brimmed hat covered his head and he held a staff on which a pulsating blue crystal floated, emitting a mysterious glow. The cloak he wore was embroidered with symbols that flickered faintly - there was no doubt: he was a wizard, someone whose power transcended the ordinary.
Finally, there was a strange figure, difficult to decipher. He wore a mask that, curiously, exuded friendliness and goodwill - almost as if it were a literal mask of diplomacy. His formal clothes were impeccable, elegantly aligned, and a sword hung from his belt. His moustache, meticulously groomed, gave him an aristocratic, refined, perhaps even slightly arrogant look. I had never seen anyone like this before, so I couldn't tell who he really was.
I stood there, trying to put all the pieces together, not sure what it meant for me, for Mika, or for everyone else present.
The elder raised a trembling hand and made a slow gesture towards one of the disciples who was standing there, hesitating, as if he knew something important was about to happen. He approached cautiously, and the old man muttered words that sounded ancient, charged with power. Then he placed his hand on the young man's head.
A soft glow began to pulsate around their heads - a luminous circle that enveloped them, intertwining in a mesmerizing spectacle of bluish light. For a few moments, that glow remained, illuminating the corridor with an almost magical aura, until it gradually faded, leaving a reverent silence in the air.
I shivered, overcome by a strange mixture of joy and fascination. Magic... damn it! It was real, right there in front of me! AAAAAAA! I tried to calm down, taking a deep breath. "Okay, Remy, calm down. Dreams do come true."
Wait. My name isn't Remy, is it? Air... Art...? What was it again? A shiver ran down my spine, and I suddenly realized the uncomfortable emptiness inside me: I couldn't remember my surname, my real first name, or my parents' faces or personalities. Only fragments - vague outlines that evoked no emotion, as if they were mere strangers, distant and erased figures in my past.
But that couldn't be right, it wasn't normal... right?
My hand was suddenly pulled away. Mika stared at me, her eyes shining with a mixture of fear and incomprehension. That look snapped me out of my confused thoughts and brought me back to the present, but it left a question hammering away in my head, suffocating:
"Artem... is everything all, right?" she asked, her voice a little shaky.
I wanted to answer, but the words refused to come out. The emptiness only grew, and the chill inside me seemed to deepen.
"Who are you?" my voice came out shaky, almost a whisper, as if the simple act of asking could break something too fragile inside me.
I stood there, dumbfounded, staring at Mika, trying to understand what was going on. Why did she seem so strange, so distant? And yet, why did I remember her so clearly? It was as if my body held memories that my mind stubbornly hid.
"Art... now, Remy. Do you remember me, Mika?" I tried to say, but my own words sounded unsure, as if I were trying to pull loose strands of a memory that was slipping through my hands.
She blinked slowly, as if trying to decipher an invisible riddle. "Mi-ka... is that me? You look familiar." She said in a low, hesitant voice.
She brought her hand up to her head, touching her forehead as if looking for a sign, a clue, anything that could explain her confusion.
"I... don't understand much. And you...?"
Before I could answer, I heard the old man with the staff hiss. His voice wasn't loud, but it echoed clearly, firmly, almost cutting through the dense silence that had formed between us.
Even from a distance, I could hear him perfectly. He was probably starting to talk about ancient heroes, forgotten prophecies, or perhaps the dreaded Demon Lord that everyone whispered about in fear.
And what about me? Here I am, trapped in this Isekai, lost between faded memories and faces that should be familiar - but now seem as distant as the stars.
"Residents of another world!" the old archer raised his staff, and his voice, firm and laden with authority, cut through the heavy silence of the hall. "You have been summoned here. I know you're confused and frightened. It's only natural. You are the only ones of your kind in this world, and you don't understand what has happened. But I need you to listen carefully..."
"Excuse me!" a young voice suddenly interrupted, sounding more curious than disrespectful.
I raised my head, expecting a dramatic scene, some hysterical plea to be returned to our world. After all, that's how it happens in the classics, isn't it? Someone desperately begs to go back.
But no.
A group of eighth graders appeared at the base of the platform, approaching with hesitant but firm steps. A young man, who looked like the leader of the group, bowed politely to the old man.
"Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Kidnapper," he said, with a nervous smile, "but can we get back to class now?"
The old man let out a quiet laugh, as if he had expected the question, and replied with a gentle smile:
"I'll explain everything to you later. Now it's time to understand why you're here."
I held my breath, feeling a chill run down my spine.
"People like you are called Heroes or Immortals in this world," continued the old man, gesturing to the blue crystal that glittered on his staff. "Although the title of Immortal is somewhat misleading. You don't age or die of natural causes, but you can still be killed by violent means."
He paused dramatically, watching each of us, capturing our attention.
"There was a brutal war between the kingdom of Elkaten, our home, and the kingdom of Taro, ancestral enemies. We almost won, but the opponents resorted to a forbidden ritual: the random summoning of heroes, breaking an unspoken rule that maintained the balance," she explained, her voice now deeper. "The heroes summoned, however, were no ordinary humans. Among them were members of the demon race, and one of them called himself the Dark Lord."
I felt the air become heavier.
"In just a few weeks, nine hundred demonic conscripts invaded our kingdom, prolonging the war and spreading chaos."
The old man raised his staff, making the crystal shine brightly. The light reflected in the eyes of all of us, illuminating the fear and uncertainty growing in our chests.
"You have been summoned to help put an end to this threat."
I exchanged a glance with Mika, whose grip on my hand only increased.
(Heroes, immortals...) Could this be my real story? Or just a bad dream?)