---
Ren didn't sleep.
He lay in his too-comfortable bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment of the battle. Every decision. Every mistake. The faces of the knights who'd died. The civilians who hadn't made it. The demon soldiers his commands had frozen in place, making them easy targets for execution.
*I killed them,* he thought. *I said "stop" and they stopped, and then they died.*
It was 4:47 AM when he finally gave up on sleep. He dressed in simple training clothes and made his way through the silent palace toward the training grounds. Maybe if he exhausted his body, his mind would finally quiet.
The grounds were empty this early, lit only by predawn light and scattered magical lanterns. Ren approached the practice dummies, selecting a wooden sword from the rack.
He struck the dummy. Again. Again. Harder each time, pouring his frustration and guilt into each blow.
*I should have seen the trap. Should have questioned why it was so easy. Should have—*
"You're dropping your shoulder."
Ren spun, sword raised defensively.
Knight-Commander Gareth stood at the edge of the training area, wearing casual clothes instead of armor. He looked tired—like he'd had as much sleep as Ren.
"Sorry, Commander. I didn't mean to—"
"Didn't mean to what? Train? That's exactly what you should be doing." Gareth approached, picking up a practice sword of his own. "Again. And watch your form this time."
Ren turned back to the dummy and struck. Gareth's wooden sword immediately tapped his exposed shoulder.
"See? You telegraph your movements. An experienced fighter would exploit that gap."
"I'm not a fighter," Ren said. "I'm a student. Was a student. I don't know what I am anymore."
"You're someone learning to survive." Gareth demonstrated a proper stance. "Like this. Weight balanced. Shoulders level. Strike from your core, not your arms."
Ren copied the stance and struck again. Better, though still clumsy.
"Good. Again."
They fell into a rhythm—Ren practicing strikes while Gareth corrected his form. No discussion of yesterday's battle. No lectures about leadership or responsibility. Just the simple, grounding repetition of physical training.
After an hour, Ren was sweating and his arms ached, but his mind felt clearer.
"Why are you helping me?" he asked during a water break.
"Because you're going to get yourself killed if someone doesn't," Gareth said bluntly. "And because despite your inexperience, you made good decisions yesterday. You kept the group together. You knew when to use your power and when to hold back. That's leadership."
"I got people killed."
"Yes. You did. Welcome to command." Gareth's expression was hard but not unkind. "Every leader carries the weight of those who fell under their orders. The question is: do you let it crush you, or do you use it to make better decisions next time?"
"How do you do it? How do you... carry it?"
"You don't. Not alone." Gareth set down his water. "You share the weight with those you trust. Your fellow heroes. Reliable soldiers. People who understand what you're facing." He paused. "And you accept that sometimes, even when you do everything right, people still die. That's war. That's life. All you can do is try to save more than you lose."
Ren thought about that as the sun began to rise, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink.
"I want to get better," he said finally. "At fighting. At leading. At everything. I don't want to be useless next time."
"Then train. Every day. Your body, your power, your tactical thinking." Gareth tossed him a towel. "Speaking of your power—have you tried using it on anything other than enemies?"
"What do you mean?"
"Your ability is command, right? Imposing your will on others. Have you tried commanding allies? Objects? The environment?"
Ren shook his head. "I only used it twice. Once in the training grounds, once in battle. Both times on demons."
"Then that's your training for today. After breakfast, meet me at the practice yard. Bring the other heroes if they're awake. You should all be exploring your abilities more systematically."
---
By the time Ren returned to the Hero's Wing, the others were stirring. Yuki sat in the common area with a pot of tea, scribbling notes on parchment. Himari moved quietly in the small kitchen area, preparing something that smelled like rice porridge. Daichi stood on the balcony, staring out at the waking city. Kaito was curled up on one of the couches, looking like he'd finally fallen asleep after a long night.
"Morning," Ren said quietly, not wanting to wake Kaito.
"Morning," Yuki replied without looking up. "I've been analyzing yesterday's engagement. I have seventeen tactical errors documented, twelve of which were preventable with better information."
"Only seventeen? I counted at least thirty of my own mistakes."
"Different perspective. You were focused on leadership and group coordination. I was observing battlefield dynamics and power interactions." She finally looked up, pushing her glasses up her nose. "How are you holding up?"
"I'm alive. That's something."
"Survivor's guilt is a predictable psychological response to combat trauma," Yuki said clinically. "Statistically, it affects approximately seventy-eight percent of soldiers after their first engagement. The fact that you're experiencing it indicates normal emotional processing."
"That's... not as comforting as you might think."
"I wasn't trying to comfort. I was stating facts." She paused. "But for what it's worth, you did well yesterday. Your decisions were logical given the available information. The trap was designed to be undetectable to inexperienced combatants."
Coming from Yuki, that was practically a heartfelt speech.
Himari approached with bowls of porridge. "I made breakfast. I thought... I thought we should eat together. Like a team."
Her voice was soft, and Ren noticed dark circles under her eyes. She'd used too much of her healing power yesterday and was clearly still recovering.
"You should be resting," Ren said. "You pushed yourself too hard."
"People needed help." She set down the bowls with shaking hands. "I couldn't just... not help them."
"And you did. You saved lives. But you can't save anyone if you kill yourself in the process."
Daichi came in from the balcony. "He's right. I felt your power yesterday—through Kaito's empathy thing, I think. You were burning yourself up. That's not sustainable."
"I don't know how to not help people when they're hurting," Himari said quietly. "I spent two years watching my mother suffer, unable to do anything. Now I can help, and you want me to hold back?"
The pain in her voice was raw. Ren felt his own chest tighten with sympathy.
"We want you alive," he said gently. "We need you alive. You're part of this team, Himari. That means we need you to take care of yourself too."
She nodded, tears threatening. "Okay. I'll try."
"Should we wake Kaito?" Yuki asked, glancing at their sleeping teammate.
"Let him rest," Daichi said. "Kid was drowning in everyone's emotions yesterday. Probably needs the mental break."
They ate in companionable silence, each processing the previous day in their own way. It was strange, Ren thought, how quickly they'd become comfortable with each other. Three days ago, they'd been strangers. Now they felt like... not quite family, but something close.
Kaito woke during breakfast, looking disoriented and exhausted despite the sleep.
"Morning," Ren said. "There's food."
"Thanks." Kaito's voice was hoarse. "Did everyone... is everyone okay?"
"Physically, yes. Emotionally, we're all a mess. But that's normal, apparently."
Kaito managed a weak smile and accepted a bowl of porridge.
After breakfast, Ren explained Gareth's suggestion about power training. The others agreed immediately—if nothing else, it was something productive to focus on besides their trauma.
---
The training grounds were busier now, with knights running drills and mages practicing spells. Gareth waited for them near a section that had been cleared and marked off.
"Good, you're all here," he said. "Today we're going to systematically test your abilities. Figure out their limits, their applications, their costs. You can't rely on powers you don't understand."
Magister Helena joined them, carrying various instruments and crystals.
"We'll start simple and progress to more complex tests," she explained. "For each of you, we need to understand: range, duration, energy cost, limitations, and potential applications beyond combat."
"Who's first?" Daichi asked.
"The leader," Gareth said, looking at Ren. "Your power is perhaps the most dangerous. Command magic is rare, historically controversial, and incredibly potent when mastered."
Ren stepped forward, feeling the weight of everyone's attention.
"First test," Helena said. "Range and targeting. See that line of practice dummies? Command them to kneel."
Ren faced the dummies—ten of them, spaced five feet apart. He focused on the first one and spoke clearly: "Kneel."
Nothing happened.
"They're inanimate objects," Helena noted. "Interesting. Try the training knights over there. Ask them to raise their hands."
A group of knights stood at attention nearby. Ren approached them, suddenly nervous. These were people, not enemies. Commanding them felt... wrong.
"It's fine, hero," one of the knights said, a young woman with a kind smile. "We volunteered for this test. No hard feelings."
Ren nodded and focused on her. "Raise your right hand."
Immediately, her hand shot up. Her expression shifted from willing cooperation to surprise.
"I didn't... I didn't choose to do that," she said, lowering her hand slowly. "My body just moved."
"Did it hurt?" Helena asked.
"No. It was just... strange. Like my arm decided on its own."
"Fascinating," Helena muttered, making notes. "True compulsion, not mere persuasion. Ren, try commanding multiple targets. Have all ten knights raise their hands."
Ren faced the group. "All of you, raise your right hands."
Five hands went up. The other five knights remained unmoved.
"Fifty percent success rate at ten targets," Helena noted. "And you look strained. How do you feel?"
Ren did feel it—a pressure building behind his eyes, a sense of his will spreading thin. "Like I'm stretching something. It's uncomfortable but manageable."
"Try commanding something more complex. Tell them to... walk in a circle while clapping."
Ren focused on the five whose hands were still raised. "Walk in a circle while clapping your hands."
The five immediately complied, moving in synchronized circles while clapping. It would have been comical if it wasn't so disturbing. They looked confused by their own actions but couldn't stop.
"Stop," Ren said quickly, and they froze mid-clap.
"Good instinct," Gareth said. "Always maintain control. Now, what if they don't want to obey? Knight Petra, resist his command with everything you have."
The knight woman—Petra—set her jaw and nodded. "Ready."
"Raise your hand," Ren commanded.
Petra visibly struggled. Her muscles tensed, her hand twitched upward, but she kept it at her side through sheer willpower. Sweat beaded on her forehead.
"RAISE YOUR HAND."
Ren put more force into the command. His head throbbed. Petra's hand rose despite her resistance—slowly, shaking, but rising.
"ENOUGH!" Helena called. "Both of you, stop."
Ren released the command and stumbled. His nose was bleeding again. Petra gasped and dropped to one knee, looking shaken.
"That was... that was terrifying," she said. "I was fighting with everything I had, and it wasn't enough. Hero, your power... be very careful with that."
"I will," Ren promised, feeling sick. He'd just overpowered another person's will through sheer force. It felt violating. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. That's what we're here to learn." Gareth offered Petra a hand up. "What does this tell us?"
"That Ren's power can overcome resistance," Helena said, still writing. "But the stronger the subject's will, the more energy it costs him. Notice the nosebleed—classic sign of overextension. You could probably kill yourself if you tried to command too many strong-willed individuals simultaneously."
"Wonderful," Ren said flatly.
"There's more to test," Helena continued. "Can you command animals? Objects to move on their own? Abstract concepts like luck or weather?"
They spent the next two hours testing. Results:
**Animals:** Yes, but simpler minds were easier. Commanding a dog to sit was effortless. Commanding a horse to charge took significant effort.
**Objects:** No. His power only worked on living, conscious beings.
**Abstract concepts:** No. He couldn't command "the wind to stop" or "luck to favor us."
**Range:** Approximately fifty feet for a single target, less for multiple targets.
**Duration:** Commands lasted as long as he concentrated on them, or until fulfilled if it was a simple action.
**Cost:** Proportional to complexity of command, number of targets, and their resistance. Overuse caused nosebleeds, headaches, and eventually unconsciousness.
"So I'm basically limited to commanding people and animals to do specific physical actions," Ren summarized. "Can't affect the environment, can't make abstract commands, and strong-willed people can partially resist."
"That's still incredibly powerful," Gareth said. "In battle, you can neutralize enemies, coordinate allies, even prevent someone from killing themselves or others. Used wisely, this could turn the tide of engagements."
"Used unwisely, you could become a tyrant," Helena added bluntly. "Command magic has that history. Every wielder eventually faces the temptation to use it for convenience rather than necessity. To impose their will simply because they can."
Ren thought about his father. How he'd used physical violence to impose his will. How Ren had fantasized about having the power to make him stop.
Now he had that power.
And Helena was right—the temptation was already there. How easy would it be to command people to obey him? To like him? To never question his authority?
*That's how it starts,* he realized. *One justified use at a time, until you forget where the line is.*
"I'll be careful," he promised. "I don't want to become... that."
"Good," Gareth said. "Self-awareness is the first defense against corruption. Now, let's see the others."
---
Yuki was next. Her reality coding was harder to test because none of them fully understood it.
"Describe what you see when you use your power," Helena instructed.
"Lines of code," Yuki said, staring at a practice dummy. "Like programming language, but it's... the underlying structure of reality. I can read it, and if I concentrate, I can edit it."
"Show us. Change the dummy's color to blue."
Yuki's eyes unfocused slightly. Her fingers moved in complex patterns, like typing on an invisible keyboard. Lines of light appeared in the air—symbols and characters that hurt to look at directly, like they existed in more dimensions than the eye could process.
The dummy turned blue.
"Incredible," Helena breathed. "You literally rewrote its properties. How did you know what to change?"
"I... I just did. It's like reading code I've always known how to read, even though I've never seen this language before." Yuki swayed slightly. "But it's exhausting. Each edit takes focus and energy."
They tested her limits:
**Simple changes** (color, temperature, texture): Relatively easy, but still draining.
**Complex changes** (shape, size, material): Possible but exhausting. Changing a wooden dummy to stone took five minutes of concentration and left Yuki with a nosebleed.
**Living things:** She refused to try, citing ethical concerns and high probability of catastrophic failure.
**Scale:** Larger objects or areas required exponentially more energy. She could change one dummy easily but changing ten simultaneously was impossible.
**Permanence:** Changes lasted as long as she maintained them, then slowly reverted. Like reality was fighting back, trying to restore its original code.
"You're essentially a reality hacker," Yuki summarized her own power. "I can exploit bugs in the system, but major changes are temporary and costly. Most practical application is probably battlefield control—creating barriers, obstacles, environmental advantages."
"Or healing," Helena suggested. "If you could code injuries to not exist..."
"Too dangerous. Living systems are infinitely more complex than objects. One wrong character and I could kill someone instead of healing them."
---
Daichi's power was more straightforward. His enhancement magic amplified his physical abilities based on emotional connections.
"Think about someone you care about," Gareth instructed. "Then strike the reinforced dummy."
Daichi closed his eyes. When he opened them, there was fierce determination there. "My siblings. Kenji, Yuka, Mari. I promised to protect them."
He punched the dummy.
The impact created a shockwave. The dummy—designed to withstand knight-level strikes—cracked down the middle and flew backward fifteen feet.
"Holy shit," Daichi muttered, staring at his fist.
"Your power amplifies based on emotional bonds," Helena analyzed. "The stronger your connection to someone, the stronger you become when thinking of them. It's beautiful, actually. Power derived from love and loyalty."
They tested further:
**Emotional focus:** Thinking about his siblings gave maximum boost. Thinking about his new teammates gave moderate boost. Thinking about strangers gave minimal boost.
**Physical limits:** Enhanced strength, speed, durability, and reaction time. Proportional to emotional investment.
**Duration:** As long as he maintained emotional focus. Could last hours if needed.
**Cost:** Physical exhaustion afterward, proportional to enhancement level and duration. He could burn out his muscles if he pushed too hard.
**Range:** Only affected himself. Couldn't enhance others.
"So I'm a tank," Daichi said. "I protect people by being too tough to get through."
"And too strong to ignore," Gareth added approvingly. "This is exactly the kind of power that holds defensive lines. You could stand between enemies and civilians and simply refuse to fall."
Daichi smiled—the first genuine smile Ren had seen from him since the summoning. "Yeah. Yeah, I can do that."
---
Himari's power was next. She approached the testing area nervously.
"Your healing yesterday was remarkable," Helena said gently. "But we need to understand its limits so you don't hurt yourself. Can you sing something for us?"
Himari's voice rose—a simple melody, wordless and pure. Golden light radiated from her, washing over everyone present.
Ren felt it immediately. The soreness from morning training faded. The headache from testing his command power disappeared. Even his emotional exhaustion lightened, replaced with warmth and hope.
"I feel amazing," Petra said, flexing her hands. "The bruises from sparring yesterday are gone."
"Restoration magic," Helena confirmed. "But it's more than just healing physical injuries. You're restoring emotional and spiritual wellbeing too. That's exceptionally rare."
They tested:
**Healing capacity:** Could heal minor injuries easily. Severe injuries required longer songs and more energy. Fatal wounds might be possible but would nearly kill her.
**Range:** Anyone who could hear her song. Potentially hundreds of people if she sang loudly enough.
**Specificity:** Couldn't selectively heal only allies. Any living thing in range would be affected, enemy or friend.
**Cost:** Drained her own life force. Literally burning years of her life to restore others.
**Special property:** Her voice could calm emotional distress, break fear effects, and inspire courage. Natural counter to terror-based attacks.
"You need to be very, very careful," Helena said seriously. "This power will kill you if you overuse it. Promise me you'll set limits."
"I promise," Himari said, though Ren could see in her eyes that she was lying. If people needed help, she'd use her power regardless of cost.
We'll have to watch her, Ren thought. Make sure she doesn't sacrifice herself.
Finally, Kaito's turn. He looked nervous as he stepped forward.
"Your empathy is unique," Helena said. "Most empaths are passive—they feel what others feel but can't project back. You demonstrated active empathy in the battle. Let's explore that."
"I don't... I don't really understand what happened," Kaito admitted. "I was drowning in everyone's emotions, and I just... pushed them outward. Desperate instinct."
"Can you do it again? Try to sense everyone here and tell us what you feel."
Kaito closed his eyes and took a breath. When he opened them, they were slightly unfocused, like he was seeing through rather than at people.
"Gareth is impressed but concerned. He's worried we're not learning fast enough. He's... he's carrying guilt about the knights who died. He blames himself."
Gareth's expression didn't change, but he nodded confirmation.
"Helena is fascinated by our powers. She's already thinking about research papers she could write. But underneath, she's afraid. Afraid of what happens if we fail. If the kingdom falls."
Helena adjusted her glasses, a tell Ren was learning meant someone had hit close to uncomfortable truth.
"Petra is conflicted. She respects us but also thinks we're kids playing at war. She's wondering if we'll survive the year."
"Sorry, hero," Petra said. "But you're not wrong."
Kaito continued through the assembled knights
and mages, accurately reading each person's emotional state. Then Helena asked him to try projecting.
"Focus on one emotion—say, confidence—and try to make us feel it."
Kaito concentrated. Ren felt something shift in his chest—a warm certainty spreading through him, irrational but powerful. Looking around, he saw the same effect on others. Knights stood straighter. Mages looked more assured.
"Now try fear," Helena said.
"I don't want to—"
"It's important. You need to know you can do it."
Kaito grimaced but focused again. The warmth vanished, replaced by cold dread. Ren's heart raced. His palms sweated. Beside him, Himari gasped.
"Stop," Helena said, and the fear disappeared. "Excellent. You can weaponize emotions. In battle, you could terrify enemies or inspire allies."
They mapped his abilities:
Empathic reading: Could sense emotions of anyone within about thirty feet. Passive and constant—he felt everyone all the time.
Empathic projection: Could impose emotions on targets within the same range. Required concentration and was exhausting.
Empathic absorption: Could take on others' emotional pain, giving them relief but burdening himself. Dangerous if overused.
Shielding: With practice, could filter what he felt. Currently overwhelmed by constant input.
Cost: Mental exhaustion. Could cause psychological damage if he absorbed too much trauma or projected too intensely.
"You're a support specialist," Gareth summarized. "You read enemy intentions, boost ally morale, and disrupt opponent formations with emotional warfare. In many ways, you might be the most valuable in complex engagements."
Kaito looked doubtful but nodded.
After hours of testing, they broke for lunch. The five heroes sat together in their common area, eating and processing.
"So we know what we can do now," Ren said. "The question is: how do we use these powers as a team?"
"Tactical synergy," Yuki said immediately. "My coding creates battlefield advantages. Daichi exploits them with enhanced physicality. Himari keeps us alive. Your commands control enemy formations. Kaito reads their intentions and disrupts their cohesion."
"We work as a unit," Daichi added. "No one tries to be the hero. We cover each other's weaknesses."
"And we set limits," Himari said quietly. "We don't push ourselves to death. We survive so we can help more people later."
"Agreed," Ren said. "We're a team. We protect each other, not just the people we're trying to save. Deal?"
"There's still one thing bothering me," Kaito said. "Seraphina promised to tell us the truth today. About previous heroes. About what really happens in this war. I think... I think we need to hear it before we commit to anything else."
He was right. They'd been avoiding the conversation, focusing on training and recovery. But the truth was waiting, and they couldn't ignore it forever.
"Tonight," Ren decided. "After dinner. We meet with Seraphina and get answers."
"And if we don't like what we hear?" Yuki asked.
"Then we figure out what to do about it. Together."
That evening, High Priestess Seraphina came to their quarters personally. She looked tired, older somehow, as if the weight of centuries pressed on her shoulders.
"Heroes," she said. "You asked for truth. I'm prepared to give it, as much as I'm able. But I warn you—what you learn may change how you see this kingdom, this war, and your role "We need to know," Ren said firmly. "We deserve to know."
"You do," Seraphina agreed. She sat down, and for the first time, Ren saw her not as an ethereal priestess but as a woman—tired, grieving, carrying impossible burdens.
"Where do you want me to start?" she asked.
"The beginning," Kaito said. "Start with the first summoning. And tell us what happened to all the heroes who came before us."
Seraphina closed her eyes, as if steeling herself for confession.
Then she began to speak.
And the heroes learned exactly what they'd been summoned to die for.