"Otherworlders, we plead for your help to save our world from ruin."
These were the first words that struck the ears of the students as they stumbled through Seraph's Gate, stepping into the unfamiliar realm.
The voices overlapped, a chorus that carried both authority and desperation, echoing through the cavernous space.
At first, their vision failed them. A brilliant radiance engulfed everything, like staring into the heart of the sun. Students shielded their eyes with trembling hands. Their feet pressed against smooth stone instead of the tiled classroom floor they had known only moments before.
Gradually, the blinding light faded. Shadows sharpened into shapes. Murmurs turned into clear words. And finally—sight returned.
The scene that greeted them was staggering.
*****
The thirty students stood together in the middle of a hall so vast it dwarfed any building they had ever seen on Earth. Pillars rose like ivory towers to support the ceiling. Chandeliers of crystal refracted soft light, scattering it like a thousand stars. Gold-leaf murals sprawled across the walls, depicting wars, heroes, and beasts long forgotten.
The polished marble beneath their feet was so pristine it reflected their stunned faces. Every detail screamed of wealth and power beyond anything they knew.
"A-ahh…" Several students mumbled, slack-jawed.
No one dared to move too suddenly. The chamber was not empty.
At the far end, dozens of armored figures stood like statues, weapons at their sides. Their heavy plate gleamed, and the way they stood—unyielding, disciplined—left no doubt they were elite soldiers.
Behind them, a group of robed elders whispered among themselves, age-lined faces taut with worry.
And at the forefront stood a man whose presence dwarfed them all.
*****
He was clad in armor that seemed forged from platinum, every plate crafted with care. A thick beard framed a stern face carved by years of battle. His gaze was sharp enough to pierce steel. At his waist rested a sheathed blade, while two more crossed his back.
Even without words, his stance alone carried authority. A general.
The air pressed heavy on the students, silence stretching so long it became suffocating.
Then, to everyone's shock, the armored man lowered to one knee.
In the next instant, soldiers, elders, and attendants followed.
"We greet the great beings from the upper world."
The greeting boomed across the golden hall.
The students froze.
'…The fuck?'
Their actions only made things more confusing.
'Are we on the set of some big-budget medieval movie?'
'What's happening right now?'
'Is this… real?'
First the strange glowing symbols had appeared on their bodies. Then they'd vanished from their classroom. Now they were surrounded by soldiers kneeling as if they were royalty. It felt unreal—like animals suddenly put on display in a zoo.
And now, this bizarre display of respect.
'For God's sake, will anybody explain the situation already?'
*****
At last, someone did step forward.
"Excuse me… can you tell us where this is, and how we arrived here?"
It was their teacher, Amy. She was the oldest among them, and even if she was trembling, she forced herself to speak for her students.
At her voice, the kneeling figures rose again. They no longer pressed their foreheads to the ground, but their stances remained formal, intimidating in their discipline.
The silence broke when the platinum-armored man stepped forward, boots echoing on the marble.
"I am Darius Ironveil, Grand Marshal of the Empire of Seraphis," he declared. His voice was steady and commanding, carrying across the hall with ease. "You stand in the imperial palace."
"Empire…?"
"Imperial palace?"
"Seraphis? Is that a country?"
Confused whispers ran through the students.
"You must be disoriented," Darius said. "But it would take long to explain everything here. You are our esteemed guests—standing like this is unworthy of you. Please, follow me."
Amy hesitated but instinctively nodded. Whether it was because his words sounded reasonable or because of his overwhelming presence, even she couldn't tell.
And so, surrounded by soldiers and mages, the bewildered students began their walk deeper into the palace, still unsure if this was a dream… or the beginning of something far more real.
*****
The hall they'd been led into was massive — again. They had already lost count of how many great halls they'd passed since arriving, but each one looked like something out of a royal fantasy novel.
This one, though, felt different. Less like a museum, more like a throne room dressed up as a dining hall. Long tables stretched across the polished stone floor, each at least ten meters long. Candle-lit chandeliers floated above, bathing everything in a golden glow. Murals sprawled across the domed ceiling, telling stories of wars and kings. Gilded furniture, handwoven carpets, silver-etched trim — even a clueless kid could tell this was the highest of high-class.
It looked like the kind of place where kingdoms made alliances… or enemies.
Everyone was directed to seats. At the head of the hall, in the place of honor, sat a woman. Her posture was relaxed, almost lazy, but it was clear the entire room revolved around her. Beside her sat Miss Amy, arms crossed, eyes sharp, every muscle tight as if she were ready to flip a table if something went wrong.
The students filled in down the tables. Naturally, Noah, the class rep, claimed the center of attention, surrounded by the popular ones.
Ray ended up further down. The corner crew. Typical.
No one spoke much. Curiosity and tension hung in the air, thick as fog. Everyone was waiting for answers.
Then the side doors creaked open.
The maids entered.
Dozens of them, pushing carts stacked with trays and crystal bottles. But the food wasn't what froze the room.
It was the maids themselves.
They were stunning. Not "cute waitress" stunning. Fantasy stunning. Their dresses clung tight to their hourglass bodies, corsets lifting their breasts into displays that bordered on sinful. Stockings hugged their thighs, skirts just short enough to tease. Every step was measured, graceful, a deliberate show. Chokers at their throats, gloves at their wrists. Every detail screamed temptation.
The male students went statue-still, eyes wide, some jaws slack. A few forgot how to blink.
The female students, meanwhile, radiated daggers across the table.
Oliver tried not to stare — really, he did — but his gaze betrayed him, flicking back to the swaying hips and bouncing cleavage every time a plate was set down.
Soon, each student had a glass in hand, food laid neatly before them.
That was when she rose.
Selene.
She didn't slam the table or shout for attention. She didn't need to. Her standing alone was enough to silence the hall.
Every eye turned to her.