The first thing Kofi felt was heat.
Blinding light seared his eyes, and a roaring hum filled his ears. His feet stood on stone that pulsed with strange symbols, glowing so bright they seemed alive. He staggered, clutching his chest.
"Hero! The ritual succeeded!" a voice cried.
As his eyes adjusted, Kofi saw them: robed men and women, their faces pale with exhaustion, sweat beading on their brows. Behind them stood armored knights, swords drawn, as if expecting enemies to burst into the chamber at any moment.
"What… what is this place?" Kofi asked. His voice cracked. Just minutes ago, he had been at home, lying in bed. Now he was in some vast cathedral, its walls lined with crystal torches that burned with blue fire.
The oldest of the robed figures stepped forward. His beard was long and grey, his eyes filled with both desperation and relief. "Young one, forgive us. We have called you from another world. Our land is dying. The Demon King spreads his armies across every nation. You are our only hope."
Kofi's stomach sank. His mind screamed that this was impossible—but the magic circle beneath him, the shimmering flames, the looks of utter conviction around him—none of it could be denied.
"Wait," he stammered. "You're saying… you pulled me here to fight some demon? Why me?"
"Because," the old mage said, his voice trembling, "only one chosen by the gods can wield holy energy. And without it, the Demon King cannot be defeated."
The circle flared once more, and Kofi felt a burning heat in his chest, spreading through his veins. He gasped, stumbling, as a faint glow surrounded his hands. It was warm, radiant—almost alive.
The knights bowed their heads. "It is true. The boy has the blessing."
Kofi stared at his hands in disbelief. Just hours ago, he had been a normal boy. And now… now he was supposed to be some legendary hero?
The mage placed a frail hand on his shoulder. "You will train. You will grow. And in time… you will face the Demon King."
Kofi swallowed hard. His legs trembled, but somewhere deep inside, a fire sparked. He didn't know if he could save this world—but he couldn't turn away now.
That night, a sword was placed in his hands for the first time. It was heavy. Too heavy. His swings were clumsy, his stance shaky. The knights watching him exchanged doubtful glances.
But Kofi clenched his jaw and tried again. And again. And again. Until sweat poured down his back and his arms burned like fire.
He didn't know how long he would last in this strange world. But one thing was certain: if he was going to survive… he would have to become stronger.