The morning light filtered through the tall windows of Oakhaven Town Hall.
Jester stood stiffly. Feeling the unfamiliar pinch of the formal collared shirt and tailored trousers. The heavy fabric chafed. He adjusted the knot of his tie. A purely performative gesture since it hadn't moved.
Beside him, Vale sat in his customized wheelchair. Equally dressed in an identical formal outfit. Vale, at least, looked comfortable. His pale skin and white hair contrasted sharply with the dark suit.
The air in the assembly room was thick with a muted tension. It wasn't the celebratory buzz one might expect before receiving a national honor. The recent demon invasion had seen to that.
Seven teachers and thirty-two students were dead. Vale's legs were gone. Replaced by prosthetics he was still learning to use. Which was why he still relied on the chair. The grim reality hung in the air. A shroud over their impending recognition.
Mayor Bardean, Vale's uncle, stood a few feet away. His face was etched with official gravity. Headmaster Cyantrace stood next to him. Still favoring one arm from an injury sustained during the academy invasion.
Two other men, stiff-backed and impeccably dressed, spoke in low tones with the Mayor. Jester recognized one as a regional security chief. And the other as a representative from the local Department of Education.
He sighed. They all looked less like part of a celebration. And more like very well-dressed attendees at a funeral.
Jester shifted his weight. Glancing around the familiar hall. They were supposed to be going to the capital, the Presidential Palace. He had expected Oakhaven Airports. Plane travel. Not here, in the City Hall.
He wondered if there was some last-minute change. He hadn't been informed. They were simply told to be here. Dressed appropriately. By 8 AM.
As the large clock on the wall chimed eight times, a ripple went through the small gathering. The air in front of them shimmered. With a sudden, violent distortion of light and space.
A rectangular tear appeared. Growing rapidly into a doorframe. It wasn't a door of wood or metal. It was a portal. Framed by crackling arcane energy. Revealing a brightly lit, distant space.
Mayor Bardean straightened his tie. A practiced, almost solemn gesture. He turned to them. A short, curt nod. "Gentlemen. Headmaster. This way."
He walked towards the shimmering portal without hesitation. The two other officials followed him. Headmaster Cyantrace paused. She gave Jester and Vale a brief, strained smile. Then she entered the portal.
Jester looked at Vale. Vale simply raised an eyebrow. A flicker of his usual esoteric amusement in his green eyes.
"Magic. Always a surprise." He murmured with his low voice.
"Yeah. Sure. Guess they don't trust our airships for VIPs." Jester grumbled. Pushing Vale's wheelchair forward.
The portal hummed. As they passed through, the sensation was less like a jolt. And more like a sudden shift. One moment, they were in the Oakhaven Town Hall. The next, they were somewhere else entirely.
They stood on polished marble floors. The air was different here. Cooler. Grander. Above, a vaulted ceiling stretched. Adorned with intricate frescoes depicting scenes of national heroism and resistance against otherworldly threats.
Tall, arched windows lined the walls. Letting in an abundance of natural light that illuminated ornate tapestries and golden fixtures. They were in a truly enormous hall. Filled with hundreds of people.
The murmur of conversation was hushed. Respectful. Almost reverent. A raised dais stood at the far end. Draped in the national colors of Misterra. A deep azure and silver.
On the dais, a podium had been set up. Flanked by massive banners. Beside it, rows of plush chairs faced the audience.
Cameras on stands, manned by stern-faced operators, were strategically placed to capture every angle. Microphones on booms hovered. Ready to record every word. This was clearly the main hall of the Presidential Palace. Just as Jester had expected.
Mayor Bardean and the others were already taking their places. In the front row of chairs arranged specifically for the recipients. Jester steered Vale's wheelchair smoothly towards the designated spots.
They settled in. Jester taking the chair next to Vale. The weight of expectation, and the unblinking eyes of a hundred reporters and dignitaries, pressed down on him. Quite nerve-wrecking.
The ceremony began shortly. A fanfare of live and crisp trumpets cut through the quiet chamber. Then, a stern-faced announcer introduced the President of Misterra. His voice was booming through the hall.
A woman in a dark, impeccably tailored suit, walked onto the dais. She had an aura of undeniable authority. Lady Marianne Mason. The twenty fourth president of Misterra.
She received a standing ovation. Not thunderous. But respectful.
Her opening remarks were brief. Somber. She spoke of the tragedies, of loss, and of resilience. The words were quite known already. But her delivery gave them weight.
Then, she transitioned to the purpose of the gathering. To honor those who had pushed the boundaries of human potential. Those who had shone light of hope in the encroaching darkness.
"Today, we recognize four individuals." The President announced. Her voice was clear and strong. "Four citizens who, in their distinct fields, have advanced our nation's capabilities, strengthened our resolve, and offered new hope."
The first name called was Sergeant Leonard Blade.
A hulking man in a crisply pressed military uniform rose from the front row. He was... strong. His shoulders were broad. His face was rigid and impassive. He walked with a soldier's unwavering gait up to the dais.
The citation read about him was long. Detailing his leadership in conquering twenty dangerous Mystical Dungeons. Leading his special teams through unimaginable dangers. And securing invaluable resources.
The President pinned a gleaming gold medal to his uniform. Blade saluted. Shook her hand. And returned to his seat. All without betraying a single emotion. He was like a block of granite.
Next, it was Professor Alcryst Elheart.
He was a man who appeared to be in his late fifties. With a long ponytailed grey hair and thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He stood with an almost boiling energy.
He wore a simple, neat academic coat over his suit. His citation detailed his past researches and the new groundbreaking 'Sky-link Research'. A project that promised to revolutionize communication and information sharing across the nation.
He accepted his medal with a wide, excited smile. Shaking the President's hand with both of his own spiritedly. A stark contrast to Sergeant Blade's stoicism.
Finally, it was their turn. Jester Eventide and Valiant Bardean.
The President's voice softened slightly as she read their names and cited their brief accomplishment.
"For their revolutionary Soulheart Acquisition Research, two young men who, through exceptional intellect and tireless experimentation, have demystified the process of Soulheart Awakening, allowing future generations to reliably acquire powerful Soulheart Gear, thus strengthening our national defense."
Jester felt a pang of awkwardness as he stood. Vale, pushing the wheels of his chair on his own, moved alongside him. They both ascended the dais.
The President smiled warmly at them. Jester could feel the heat of the cameras. He offered a practiced, easy grin. Vale, as usual, gave a serene, almost detached nod.
The President pinned the Medal of Valor onto Jester's lapel. It was heavier than he expected. Cold against his skin when he touched it.
Her grip was firm as she shook his hand. "Your ingenuity has given us a vital hope for the future, Young Man." She said. Her voice was surprisingly gentle up close.
"Just didn't like leaving things to chance, Madam President." Jester replied. Keeping his voice light. Trying to ease the formality. Even if just for himself.
She chuckled. A genuine sound. "A commendable philosophy. And you, Valiant Bardean." She said, turning to Vale. Pinning his medal. "Your talent is a beacon for our future."
"Thank you, Madam President." Vale said in soft but clear voice. His green eyes held a flicker of something ancient. Something Jester had come to associate with his friend's quiet depth.
They shook hands. Exchanged a few more polite words. And then returned to their seats. The ceremony concluded with the national anthem. Played by an unseen orchestra. Its solemn notes filled the vast hall.
Next on agenda was... the press conference.
The transition was swift. The recipients were ushered to a long table set up near the dais. Facing a sea of reporters armed with notepads, cameras, and recording devices. The air crackled with anticipation.
The President, after offering her congratulations again, departed. Leaving the four medal receivers to the media.
A moderator, a severe-looking woman with a crisp voice, took the podium. "We will now open the floor for questions. Please state your name and affiliation before posing your question."
The first questions, predictably, went to Sergeant Leonard Blade. A reporter from the National Chronicle raised his hand. "Sergeant Blade, what does this medal mean to you and your team, given the ongoing struggle against Mystical Dungeons?"
Sergeant Blade's voice was a low rumble. Devoid of inflection. "It signifies recognition. My team fights. We complete objectives. The medal is for the recognition for our completed mission." He stopped. No further elaboration.
Another reporter, from Sherra Today, pressed. "Sergeant, what is the most challenging aspect of dungeon conquering? The creatures? The magic? The unknown?"
Sergeant Blade's eyes, dark and unreadable, scanned the crowd. "Threats are threats. We adapt. We overcome them. Casualties are part of the equation. We minimize them."
His answers were as blunt as a hammer blow. He offered no anecdotes. No personal sentiments. Just distilled facts and military logic. The reporters, used to more effusive quotes, struggled to extract anything more.
Next came Professor Alcryst Elheart. Fortunately.
The atmosphere immediately shifted. A young reporter from Arcane Tech Quarterly asked, "Professor Elheart, your Sky-link Research is being hailed as the dawn of a new era. Can you elaborate on its practical applications?"
Professor Elheart practically bounced in his chair with excitement. He adjusted his glasses. A wide, enthusiastic grin spread across his face.
"Ah, yes! The practical applications are, well, vast!" He said. "Simply put, Sky-link will be a network. A global network, powered by refined Arcane Energy conduits and specialized Soulheart Gear relays."
He took a sip of the tea in front of him before continuing. "Imagine this: instant communication across continents. Not just voice, mind you, but data! Schematics, research papers, even visual feeds, all transmitted instantaneously."
Jester felt a jolt in his mind. Global network. Instant communication. Data. Visual feeds. He knew exactly what the Professor was describing. This was it, wasn't it? The internet.
But here, it wasn't the clunky, dial-up internet of his original world's early nineties. Here, it was a magic-powered version. It should perhaps be even more robust.
The world of Sherra so far still relied on physical mail for long-distance messages. And broadcast television for mass communication. It was about to leap forward by decades.
He swallowed. A sudden rush of excitement and apprehension flooded him. This would change everything.