The circle flared like a sun tearing itself apart.
Kael's lungs burned as arcane pressure crushed down on him. All around, cloaked figures chanted in a language he didn't know, voices trembling with equal parts awe and greed. The stone beneath him glowed white-hot, runes spiderwebbing outwards until they carved themselves into the floor of the cathedral.
This wasn't how school was supposed to end. He'd been walking home, headphones in, half-assing an essay in his head, and then—blackout. Now he was here, dragged across worlds, naked in the light of their gods.
The tallest of the robed figures stepped forward, raising a jeweled staff. His voice thundered across the chamber:
"By the decree of House Valenhardt, by the covenant of Asterion, we summon thee—Hero!"
The crowd of nobles erupted into cheers. Kael blinked against the light, his heart racing. Hero? They had the wrong guy.
A second figure, younger, leaner, leaned close to the archmage and whispered urgently. Their words didn't reach Kael, but he caught the sudden tension in the air. The chanting faltered. The circle shuddered.
And then, something broke.
The light dimmed, flickering unstable. The runes that had been white turned sickly black, like ink bleeding through parchment. Kael's body convulsed, his skin crawling as if something invisible was burrowing under it.
Screams. The nobles stepped back. The archmage slammed his staff into the ground, pouring more mana into the circle.
"Hold it steady!" he barked. "The Hero must manifest!"
But it didn't steady. It inverted.
A jagged object materialized in front of Kael—a shard of metal, crooked and sharp, like a broken piece of a god's armor. It pulsed with a deep, scarlet glow. Every instinct screamed at him not to touch it.
He touched it anyway.
The shard fused to his palm, searing his skin. For a heartbeat, he saw everything: a war of titans across burning skies, cities collapsing under shadows, gods screaming as they were chained. Then it was gone, leaving only whispers crawling at the edge of his mind.
When his vision cleared, silence ruled the chamber. The nobles stared not at him, but at the weapon now embedded in his flesh. The archmage's face had gone ashen.
"This… is not the Hero," he muttered. "It's a mistake."
The younger noble sneered. "Dispose of him."
Guards surged forward. Kael staggered back, every nerve alight with pain. The shard in his hand pulsed again, and energy ripped outward in a black wave, flinging the first guard int
Gasps filled the hall.
Kael himself could barely breathe. His head pounded, his chest felt hollow, yet the shard whispered: Live. Fight. Take.
The archmage's voice boomed: "He is cursed! Banish him before the corruption spreads!"
A gate opened in the air, jagged and swirling with darkness. Kael tried to resist, but spears pressed into his back, and the shard… the shard pulled him in.
The last thing he saw before the portal swallowed him was the younger noble's cold, satisfied smile.
The world spat him out into desolation.
Kael hit sand and rolled, coughing up dust. Around him stretched a wasteland—cracked earth, skeletal trees, a blood-red sun frozen low on the horizon. The air stank of rust and ash.
He was alive. Barely. The shard burned in his palm, but it no longer felt foreign. It felt… his.
"Great," he muttered hoarsely. "Summoned as a hero, dumped as trash. Story of my life."
He tried to stand, but hunger and exhaustion made him collapse again. His chest heaved. This place wasn't normal; even the air clawed at his lungs.
That's when he heard it: footsteps crunching against the dead earth.
Kael twisted, adrenaline spiking. A figure emerged through the haze—a girl no older than him, silver hair matted, eyes glowing faintly like embers. She carried a jagged spear carved from bone.
Her voice was flat, dangerous.
"You shouldn't be here. Only the condemned walk the Ashen Wastes."
Kael opened his mouth to answer. The shard pulsed again. Whispers surged in his skull—threat… devour… claim.
And the girl leveled her spear at his throat.