(Iro)
The ceiling has thirty-two stones.
I know this because I've counted them four times now, and the number keeps coming up as thirty-two. That means I'm probably not hallucinating. Which means this ceiling is real, and I'm lying on my back, staring at a ceiling I don't recognize.
That's fine. Completely fine. Okay.
I sit up, and the room lurches sideways. A deep ache throbs behind my eyes, pressure like my skull has been packed with wet sand. Mana-sick, some part of my brain supplies. I don't know where that word came from, or why it feels right.
The room doesn't fit. Stone walls stretch into shadow, pillars carved with symbols that look like someone tried to write music using geometry. Floating candles. Actually floating—flames hovering in midair like physics took the day off. One flickers too slowly, its motion lagging behind what fire should do.
There's a girl standing in front of them.
Silver hair catches the candlelight. Pale skin. Eyes too bright, brimming.
And horns.
Two small, curved things poke through her hair, pearl-white and slightly translucent at the tips.
She's already screaming.
"YOU'RE HERE!"
"Huh?"
"It worked! It actually—" She's shaking. Crying. Laughing. "You're HERE! After everything, I finally—"
Something flickers at the edge of my vision.
A box. Blue text, floating in midair like the candles.
[Welcome, Hero! The System has recognized your arrival.]
[Would you like to begin the Tutorial?]
[YES] [NO]
"—A HERO!" She throws her arms wide, the gesture too big, too rehearsed. "I have summoned a HERO!"
Then she actually looks at me.
Her eyes travel down, then back up, taking in whatever she sees—a teenage girl in rumpled clothes, probably pale, definitely confused. Not exactly the legendary warrior her speech promised.
Her face tightens. She buries it in her hands.
The box pulses. Waiting.
"Please!" She grabs my hands—ice-cold fingers, bird-bone thin. "Please, you must—our people need— I have summoned you to aid us in the—"
She stops.
Glances at her forearm.
There's writing on it. Smudged ink. I can read it somehow, the symbols resolving into meaning without passing through translation:
…summoned you to aid us in the war against the forces of—
She wrote a speech on her arm.
"—in the war against the forces of humanity!" She looks up, eyes blazing. "Your strength will turn the tide! Your power will—"
The blue box pulses again. The ache behind my eyes spikes. She's still talking, my head is splitting, there's too much happening—
Oh. What the hell is this? An ad?
I focus on the NO button. Think dismiss at it as hard as I can.
[Are you sure? The Tutorial contains essential information about—]
Yes. Go away. Not now.
[Tutorial Declined.]
[Warning: This action cannot be undone.]
The box vanishes. Good. I don't have time for—
"—our darkest hour! Together, we shall—"
"Are those horns?"
She stops.
I'm staring at her forehead. Two small, curved, very definitely horn-shaped things.
"…yes?" She touches one, self-conscious. "They're—all daemons have—"
"Daemons."
"Yes."
"With horns."
"…yes."
"So you're the bad guys."
She stares at me.
"We're not—it's more complicated than—" The regal performance crumbles. "The humans are the ones who—our people were just trying to— it's COMPLICATED, okay?"
"In every gacha I've ever played, horns mean evil."
"This isn't— we're not evil!" Her voice cracks, desperate, like I've accused her of something real.
"That was a joke," I say. "Sorry. I joke when I'm—"
My hand finds the wall. When did I reach for the wall? The stones are cold and slightly damp. The room blurs at the edges.
The world tilts.
No. Me. I'm tilting. The floor rushes up and—
[Status Effect: Mana Sickness]
[Duration: 7:58:33]
[Effect: -50% to all physical stats. Nausea. Disorientation.]
Oh good. A countdown. Very helpful while I'm dying.
The ache explodes into full-body nausea. I'm on my knees, and she's kneeling in front of me, face white.
"What's wrong? Is it the summoning? The spell was unstable, I knew it was unstable—everyone said it was too dangerous, but I had to try, and now you're—are you dying? Please don't be dying, I can't—"
Her voice climbs higher. "There's no one left who knows healing. The court mages all—they're gone, they're all gone, and if you die I'll have killed you for nothing, I'll have—"
Her hands shake where they grip my shoulders. She doesn't seem to notice.
"Food."
"—dragged you across the veil just to watch you— what?"
"Do you have food?"
"…what?"
"I'm—" My stomach cramps. "When did I last eat? Tuesday? Was it Tuesday?"
She stares at me.
"You're… hungry?"
"I'm really sorry." I can't look at her. "That was a beautiful speech. Very dramatic. I just— is there any chance you have, like, a sandwich or something?"
She doesn't laugh.
She doesn't smile.
She just stares at me like I've started speaking in tongues.
"You're hungry," she says slowly. "I summoned a legendary hero from beyond the veil using a forbidden spell that nearly killed me, and you're… hungry."
"The speech was very good."
Silence.
"I spent THREE YEARS preparing that ritual."
"I noticed. Very thorough."
More silence. She's still staring. I should stop talking. I can't stop talking.
"I WROTE IT ON MY ARM."
"That part was actually kind of endearing."
Nothing. Just those shining eyes and the tremor in her hands.
She makes a sound—not a laugh. Something caught between a gasp and a sob, thin and sharp.
"What's your name?" she asks. "I should—I can't just keep calling you Hero."
"Tanaka Iroha. But everyone calls me Iro."
"Iro." She tests it. Her accent stretches the o, softens the r.
Then she lifts her chin.
"I am Gin'ei Suzu. Fourth Princess of the—"
She stops.
Her fingers curl into the fabric of her dress.
"Just Suzu is fine."
She pulls me up—stronger than she looks. I feel the tension in her grip, the efficiency of someone who's learned to conserve energy.
"There's food," she says. "The cellar. Can you walk?"
"Probably."
She doesn't wait to find out. She just starts moving, and I follow.
The hallway outside is dark.
Dust coats everything—the floor, the walls, the frames of paintings I can't make out. It's disturbed only by a single set of footprints leading to and from this chamber. Hers. Walked over and over.
I count ceiling tiles as we pass. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen.
Our footsteps echo. Mine unsteady, hers measured. The sound comes back wrong—too loud, too hollow.
I look at Suzu. Her formal dress is torn at the hem, stitched with mismatched thread. Dark circles bruise the skin beneath her eyes. The bones of her wrists are too visible.
"Suzu."
She doesn't turn.
"What happened?"
She keeps walking. I count three more ceiling tiles before she answers.
"Later," she says. "Food first."
Her voice is steady.
Her hands are not.
We walk.