The air in the imperial throne hall was thick, a heady mix of incense and polished marble. Sunlight, fractured by stained glass, bled across the floor in a kaleidoscope of gold, blue, and crimson, like the melted jewels of a forgotten god. Priests lined the walls, their chants a low, steady hum that vibrated in your bones, a promise of something ancient and unyielding. High on a dais, framed by the holy chorus, sat Emperor Albrecht III, the Lion of the Empire. He was a man carved from stone and gilded in gold, his robes shimmering with more wealth than most men would see in a lifetime. At his side, the bishops of the Holy Church stood like sentinels, their croziers gleaming, their jeweled rings catching the light with a sanctified flash.
The hall was a sea of bodies, a who's who of the kingdom—nobles with their pedigrees, knights with their battle-scarred faces, generals with their iron resolve. All of them packed together, waiting for a moment that, according to the official decree, was meant to "define the age."
And at the very heart of this spectacle, kneeling on the cold marble floor, were Blaze's classmates—the summoned ones.
The blare of trumpets cut through the air, sharp as a drawn blade. The High Bishop stepped forward, his voice a bellow that was equal parts authority and practiced theater.
"Behold the chosen of the gods!" he boomed, his words echoing against the vaulted ceiling. "Those brought forth by divine will to purge the land of shadow! Heroes of another world, gifted with blessings none else may wield!"
The crowd erupted. The sound was a tidal wave of applause, crashing and receding against the stone walls.
First, Leo rose from his knee, his frame tall and broad-shouldered. The unruly mop of hair Blaze remembered was now clipped into a sharp, soldier's cut, and his new armor gleamed like a second skin. He held up a hand, and a flame bloomed in his palm—not a flicker of fire, but a brilliant, white-gold blaze that pulsed with holy intensity. He swept it into a controlled arc, and it took the shape of a roaring phoenix that blazed for a moment before dissolving into a shower of sparks.
"The Flame of Dawn!" the bishop cried, his voice thick with awe. "A gift of purification! He who wields it shall burn away the darkness of our age!"
Leo's smirk was a testament to his new self. He drank in the adoration, his chest swelling with the energy radiating from every person in the room.
Next was Selene. She was the one who had changed the most. Once the quiet, calculating girl tucked away in the back of the classroom, she now stood wrapped in silver-white robes embroidered with glowing runes. Her eyes glowed faintly as she extended her staff, summoning pale spheres of light that danced in a graceful orbit around her. With a whispered command, the spheres flowed together, forming a towering spirit of light that bowed its head to the Emperor before vanishing.
"The Spirit Binder," the bishop intoned with reverence. "A caller of the divine hosts, who shall command the servants of the gods themselves!"
Applause swelled again, this time with a note of reverence. Selene didn't smile; she didn't need to. The cool, sharp expression on her face was all anyone needed to know that she already understood her worth.
Then came Marcus. His grin was as unshakable as his heavy, gleaming armor. He strode forward, the metal clinking with each confident step, and with a grunt, he hefted a massive tower shield. He slammed it into the marble floor with a crack that made the entire hall ring. A golden aura flared outward, radiating warmth and a feeling of absolute invulnerability.
"The Aegis of Light!" another bishop announced, his voice reaching a fever pitch. "His shield shall never fall, and so long as it stands, no shadow shall pass!"
The crowd's cheer was a roar. Nobles pounded their chests, knights hammered their breastplates, and children squealed. Marcus spread his arms wide, basking in the worship like it was the sun itself.
Finally, Elara stepped forward. She looked the most angelic of them all—her long golden hair flowed like silk, and her white priestess garb shimmered with faint enchantment. She clasped her hands, and a soft glow bloomed between her palms, expanding into a dome of gentle light that washed over the hall. Those it touched swore they felt their aches and wounds fade, replaced with warmth and a profound sense of peace.
"She is the Dawn's Mercy," a priest whispered, tears streaming down his face. "The healer who shall mend even the deepest wounds of war."
The Emperor rose, his deep voice carrying easily across the vast space.
"From this day forth, you are no longer wanderers of another world. You are the Heroes of the Light, blessed to purge this land of its shadows. The church, the empire, and the gods themselves stand behind you."
"Glory to the Heroes!" The cry shook the air. Banners unfurled, golden confetti rained down from the upper balconies, and Blaze's classmates stood tall, bathed in praise.
Leo looked up at the stained-glass sunburst and his smirk widened. This is what we were meant for. This is what I was meant for.
Selene's eyes swept across the crowd, cold and appraising, already calculating how to leverage her new power. Finally… power worthy of me.
Marcus raised his shield in triumph, relishing the chants of his name. Who cares about that useless Blaze? This is real strength.
Elara bowed her head, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the overwhelming praise. But deep down, even she couldn't deny the thrill of being adored, the intoxicating warmth of being seen as chosen. We really are special, aren't we?
As the celebration reached its peak, a name lingered in the air, unspoken but not forgotten: the classmate who had vanished into the shadows. Blaze.
The priests spun his failure as proof of divine judgment. The nobles whispered that his weakness had been purged to ensure the rest could rise. The classmates themselves hardly mentioned him, save for the occasional sneer or dismissive laugh.
In that throne hall of light, his absence was painted as inevitable. A flaw in perfection, forgotten.
The great throne hall emptied slowly, the crowd of nobles and courtiers ebbing away like a receding tide. Priests huddled in corners, their voices hushed and fervent, weaving the ceremony's pomp into a new prophecy. The Emperor himself departed in a cloud of guards and attendants, leaving only the faint, lingering scent of incense and the ghost of blaring trumpets.
At last, the colossal doors shut with a resounding thud, sealing away the splendor. A palace servant led the newly christened heroes down a side corridor, their footsteps echoing hollowly against the polished stone, each step a counterpoint to the quiet that had fallen over the palace.
"Glorious, wasn't it?" Marcus boomed, his laughter echoing off the walls. He gave his shield a celebratory slap, the clang like a peal of a tiny bell. "Did you see their faces? Nobles, generals—hell, even the Emperor. We've made it."
Leo chuckled, rolling his shoulders as the embers of his conjured flame fizzled out. "Made it? This is just the beginning. They called me the Flame of Dawn. That wasn't just some priest spouting fluff. That was recognition. Proof that I was chosen above all the others."
Selene shot him a sharp look, one brow arched. "Don't flatter yourself, Leo. The church understands the value of symbols. You're flashy—fire always is. But when the dust settles, it won't be fire that wins wars. It'll be control." Her voice was cold and precise. She trailed her fingers along the smooth surface of her staff, the orbs of light that had wowed the crowd now flickering at her shoulder like spectral fireflies.
Marcus scoffed. "Control, fire, whatever. It all means nothing without a wall of steel to hold the line. You saw the way they looked at me when I dropped my aura. They know—when I'm there, their armies will stand unbroken."
Elara, walking a few paces behind, sighed softly. "Does it really matter who's strongest? Aren't we supposed to work together?" Her voice, as gentle as a whispered prayer, drew the others' attention.
Leo's smirk held a hint of mockery. "Of course we'll 'work together,' Elara. But let's not pretend we're all equals here. Some of us were born for this. Others… well, they'll be remembered as support."
Her expression faltered for a moment, but she forced a small smile. "Support is important, too. Without healing, without protection—"
"—the front line dies," Marcus interrupted, finishing her sentence with a shrug. "Don't worry, Elara. You'll be useful enough."
Selene rolled her eyes. "Useful is one thing. Replaceable is another. And let's not forget…" She paused, her gaze sweeping the group. "…some of us weren't chosen at all."
The air thickened. For a single heartbeat, the corridor was filled with silence, punctuated only by the echo of their boots. The ghost of Blaze hung in the air between them.
Leo's jaw flexed, a tiny spark of fire flickering in his palm before he crushed it. "That deadweight? He was nothing. You saw it yourselves—no blessing, no power, not even supposed to be summoned. The gods don't make mistakes. He was… an error. And errors get discarded."
Marcus wore a humorless grin. "Last I heard, the Empire dumped him in the wilds. If he isn't bones by now, he will be soon. Monsters probably didn't even find enough meat on him to bother chewing."
Elara winced, clutching her staff tighter. "You don't know that. Maybe… maybe he survived."
"Survived?" Selene scoffed, her tone razor-sharp. "Without power? Without allies? Don't be naive, Elara. Survival in this world isn't for the weak. If he's alive, he's probably crawling in some ditch, begging for scraps." Her lips curved into a thin smile, but her eyes glittered with something harsher—contempt, dismissal, perhaps even satisfaction.
Leo leaned in, his voice low. "And if, by some miracle, he is alive… he's no different from the rest of the shadows we'll burn. If he stands in our way, he'll fall like the rest."
They reached a gilded set of doors at the end of the corridor, flanked by stiff-backed guards. The servant bowed deeply. "The Emperor grants you chambers befitting your station. You may rest here before your audience tomorrow with the High Council."
The doors swung open, revealing a suite lavish enough for royalty: silk-draped beds, crystal chandeliers, walls lined with gold filigree. The heroes stepped inside, their earlier tension melting into murmurs of approval.
Marcus immediately claimed the largest bed with a triumphant grin. "Now this is what I'm talking about. A reward worthy of a hero."
Selene set her staff against the wall, her eyes roaming the chamber with cool calculation. "Comforts are fine, but remember—these are gilded chains. The church and the crown won't keep us here out of generosity. They'll expect obedience."
Leo stretched his arms wide, flames flickering at his fingertips as though he couldn't help himself from showing off. "Obedience is fine—as long as it puts me on the battlefield. I want to see what kind of monsters this world thinks it can throw at me."
Elara quietly settled by a smaller bed, smoothing her robes with careful hands. She didn't join their boasting. Her gaze lingered on the candlelight, distant and troubled.
Her mind whispered a question: Blaze… where are you? Did you really die? Or… are you still out there, watching us? She said nothing.
The laughter and arguments of her classmates filled the chamber long into the night, their voices echoing through the palace like the ringing of bells. None of them noticed the faintest shiver that ran through the holy wards etched into the palace walls. A shiver like a shadow brushing against the edges of their sanctuary.
The new day arrived in a blaze of glory. Sunlight, buttery and warm, spilled through the palace's stained-glass windows, painting the marble halls in shifting pools of sapphire, crimson, and gold. High up in the towers, bells tolled a solemn, echoing rhythm that promised the day was for more than just feasting.
Servants bustled into the heroes' chambers, their arms full of riches: trays of steaming food, silken garments, and gleaming, polished armor.
"Rise, Chosen," one of them said, bowing so low his forehead nearly brushed the floor. "The High Council awaits."
Leo grinned, fastening the gilded breastplate. He checked his reflection, finding his chiseled face and new armor a perfect, symmetrical match. "About time they gave us something real to do. I'm tired of parading around like a trophy."
Marcus stretched with a yawn, the groan of his joints a familiar song. He slung his massive shield onto his back. "Speak for yourself. I could get used to this. Good food, soft beds, endless praise? Beats gym practice back home."
Selene meticulously laced her robes, her pale fingers working with unhurried precision. Her expression was a cool, unreadable mask, her eyes sharp as a surgeon's scalpel. "Glory without substance is dust. The real test begins today. Let's see what this council thinks we're capable of."
Elara's movements were careful, almost ritualistic, as she tied her long hair back with a ribbon. She whispered a short prayer, though only she knew if it was for her companions' safety or to quell the doubt stirring in her own heart.
The High Council chamber was a marvel of white stone, a cathedral of authority that dwarfed even the Emperor's throne room. Sunlight poured through towering windows, losing itself in the dizzying heights of the ceiling. A circular dais sat at the center, a nexus of power where priests, bishops, generals, and lords of the realm gathered like planets orbiting a star.
At the far end of the hall, a towering figure stood in radiant robes. Archbishop Malchior, the voice of the gods, radiated an aura of sanctity, yet his gaze was as cold and calculating as a steel blade.
"Heroes," he said, his voice ringing with the clarity of unseen magic. "Chosen of the Light. Today, your path begins in earnest."
Leo stepped forward without a thought, his chin high. "We're ready. Tell us where to go, and the darkness will fall before us."
Malchior's lips curved faintly, a gesture that was not quite a smile. "Brave words. May they hold true when shadow bares its fangs." He gestured, and a priest unrolled a parchment scroll with a soft, crackling sound.
"There is a disturbance on our borders. A cursed presence festers in the beastfolk lands, seeping corruption into the soil. Villages whisper of slaughter, of hunters who do not return. Of a figure in shadows who drinks blood."
A wave of murmurs rippled through the chamber. Priests instinctively made signs of light. Nobles gasped, a collective intake of breath.
Malchior's voice sharpened like a whetstone on steel. "A vampire. Not a spawn, not some fledgling fiend. A lord. Ancient, perhaps nameless. It dwells near Greywick, a cesspit of crime and sin. You will march there. You will cut it down. And you will return with its head."
Marcus's grin was as wide as his shield. He slammed a fist against it, the sound echoing through the hall. "Finally, something worth hitting!"
Selene tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. "If it is truly a lord, why send us so soon? Vampires are no trifling beasts."
The Archbishop met her gaze without flinching. "Because you are heroes. The gods themselves chose you. If you cannot stand against one vampire, then what hope do we have against the tide of darkness that lies beyond?"
The challenge stoked a familiar fire in Leo's chest. He turned to his classmates, his gaze burning with conviction. "You heard him. This is our first trial, our first step to proving we are more than titles. We'll carve our names into history."
Elara shifted uneasily, her staff trembling slightly in her hands. "A… vampire lord," she whispered, her voice barely audible. For a moment, a memory flashed in her mind—Blaze's face in the summoning chamber, the blank horror in his eyes when he was told the gods had rejected him. A shadow, unbidden and unwelcome, brushed against her heart.
It couldn't be him. It couldn't.
Preparations began immediately. The palace courtyards transformed into a hive of activity. Soldiers, their armor gleaming, marched with purpose. Clerics chanted blessings, their voices a continuous hum of divine power. Banners snapped in the wind, a storm of color and pride. Smiths hammered out final fittings, their anvils ringing. Horses were groomed, their coats shining, and weapons were consecrated with holy oil, their edges catching the light with a sacred glint.
At the heart of the whirlwind, the summoned heroes stood in their finery, the undeniable center of attention.
Leo's new crimson cloak trailed behind him like living fire. His sword, newly forged and blazing with faint runes of flame, was a thing of beauty and destruction. He basked in the cheers, lifting the blade high. "The Light will burn all shadows!"
Marcus marched beside him, his shield a gleaming mirror, every clang of a smith's hammer against it a hymn of his strength. He grinned and raised it high, letting the people shout his name.
Selene remained a pillar of calm, her summoning staff in hand, with light-spirits flickering around her like pale guardians. She scanned the crowd, not for admiration, but for leverage—already calculating how to turn their devotion into power.
Elara moved more quietly, her touch a balm as she offered healing blessings to soldiers passing by. The people adored her for her kindness, pressing flowers into her hands, kneeling to receive her gentle touch. She smiled softly, but her eyes remained clouded with a lingering unease.
Trumpets blared, a triumphant cry. The colossal gates of the capital swung open, revealing the road ahead.
The heroes led the march, their retinue stretching for miles: soldiers, priests, supply wagons, and pennants bearing the sunburst sigil of the Church. Citizens lined the roads, throwing petals, shouting prayers, some weeping as though salvation itself had taken flesh and was marching before them.
"Heroes! Heroes of the Light!"
"Slay the vampire! Cleanse the land!"
The classmates smiled, waved, and soaked in the adoration. None of them doubted their path. None of them questioned whether the vampire they hunted might be more than the priests claimed.
As the sun began to set behind them, their golden march disappeared into the horizon, heading straight into the gathering shadows.