The sky over the continent of Alitia wept ash. The once-great Summoner's Keep, a spire that pierced the clouds, now stood as a broken monument to a lost war. Elias, the last Archsummoner, blood staining his white robes, channeled every ounce of his remaining mana into the ancient summoning circle at his feet.
"The demons breach the inner sanctum, Master!" his last living disciple cried out, the sound of tearing stone and monstrous screeches growing closer.
"I cannot summon a hero from another world," Elias gasped, the runes around him flickering. "The dimensional gates are shattered. But perhaps… I can call a soul. A consciousness familiar with our laws, our elements, our way of battle. A soul who can see what we cannot."
He poured his life force into the ritual, not summoning a body, but casting a net of desperate hope across the fabric of realities, targeting a mind subconsciously attuned to the logic of runes and monsters. The crystal at the circle's center flared with impossible light and then shattered into a billion motes, vanishing.
Elias collapsed, a whisper on his lips. "Guide them… save them…"