No one noticed when the world changed.
In a small classroom filled with the low hum of ceiling fans and the scratching of pens against paper, twelve students were thinking about very ordinary things—unfinished homework, upcoming exams, a fight with a friend, an unspoken crush.
None of them were thinking about destiny.
The teacher had just turned toward the blackboard when the light vanished.
Not dimmed.
Not flickered.
Vanished.
For a fraction of a second, the classroom felt hollow, as if sound itself had been removed. The air grew heavy, pressing against lungs, against skin, against thought.
Someone tried to scream.
No sound came out.
Then the world folded.
Harshness returned first.
Cold stone beneath their palms. A sharp smell of incense and burning oil. Air thick with chanting—deep, rhythmic, and unfamiliar.
One by one, the twelve regained awareness.
A boy with messy black hair pushed himself up, heart pounding, his ears ringing. His first thought was absurdly simple.
Did I faint?
He looked around.
This wasn't a classroom.
They were standing in a vast circular hall made of white stone, its ceiling so high it disappeared into shadow. Strange symbols were carved into the floor beneath their feet—concentric rings intersected by lines that pulsed faintly with blue light.
People surrounded them.
Dozens of figures knelt at the edges of the circle, dressed in robes of gold and crimson. At the far end stood a raised platform, where an old man with a crown and tired eyes gripped a staff like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
Silence fell.
Then the old man spoke.
"Heroes of another world," he said, voice trembling—not with age, but emotion. "By the will of the gods, you have been summoned."
The word heroes echoed strangely in the hall.
A girl with glasses clutched her sleeve, whispering, "This… this is a prank, right?"
No one answered.
A tall boy laughed nervously. "Okay, seriously. Where are the cameras?"
The king swallowed.
"Our world is on the brink of ruin," he continued. "The Demon King threatens all life. Only those unbound by this world's fate may oppose him."
The blue symbols beneath their feet flared brighter.
Pain followed.
Not sharp—overwhelming. Like something was being poured directly into their bones.
Several fell to their knees.
The black-haired boy clenched his teeth, vision blurring. In that moment—just for an instant—he thought he saw something else.
Not the hall.
Not the king.
A vast, empty darkness.
And within it… something watching.
Not a god.
Not a demon.
Something older.
Then the pain vanished.
The light dimmed.
They were still alive.
The king exhaled, relief washing over his face. "The summoning is complete."
Around the hall, priests began to cheer.
But among the twelve, no one celebrated.
Because none of them had asked to be here.
And somewhere far beyond the sight of gods and kings alike, something unseen shifted—ever so slightly—as if noting a minor disturbance in the long, long flow of time.
The tale of heroes had begun.