The kingdom was alive with chatter, filled with murmurs that traveled on the wind like rumors in a crowd. Overhead, twenty massive beams of light descended from the heavens, each one piercing the sky and converging on the towering castle that stood as the heart of the realm. The city below was consumed by a mixture of awe, fear, and confusion as its people looked up at the radiant spectacle.
"What is it? A curse?"
"Could it be the work of demons?"
"No, surely this is a sign of the gods! A blessing!"
The streets were packed with citizens gazing toward the castle, their faces full of wonder, terror, and curiosity. Old men and women told tales of ancient prophecies, while children clung to their mothers, uncertain of what to make of the bright, overwhelming display. Scholars debated, priests prayed, and soldiers prepared for the worst, unsure if what descended upon them was a threat or a gift.
Inside the grand throne room of the castle, three figures stood quietly observing the scene unfold. The throne room was immense, its high arches and towering columns carved from the finest stone, tapestries depicting legends of old hanging from the walls. The light that had descended from the sky shimmered across the room, casting an ethereal glow on the marble floor.
As the beams of light began to fade, twenty figures materialized in their place, lying scattered across the room, unconscious. They were strangers, all dressed in odd garments, their features foreign to the kingdom. The three figures at the front of the room, all of them powerful in their own right, remained calm, their eyes trained on the newcomers with quiet intensity.
The first figure was an imposing man, tall and broad, his crown of silver and black glittering in the fading light. His expression was stern, his eyes deep with the weight of leadership, but he betrayed no emotion as he watched the bodies stir. Beside him stood a younger woman, her beauty radiant even in the strange light. She wore regal attire, her posture graceful, her hands folded delicately in front of her as she observed the strangers with a measured gaze. On the other side of the imposing man was a tall woman with long green hair, her golden and white robes glimmering with an otherworldly sheen. She held a staff, the tip of which hummed with faint energy, and her presence was calm yet commanding.
As the last of the light faded away, one of the figures on the ground groaned and slowly lifted himself to his feet. He was tall and handsome, with blonde hair and striking blue eyes. His movements were graceful, almost practiced, as if he had been trained in elegance from birth. He wore modern clothing—a finely tailored suit that seemed completely out of place in the medieval grandeur of the throne room. His eyes widened as he took in his surroundings.
"What… where are we?" the man whispered, his accent revealing him to be French. His gaze drifted upward, meeting the imposing stare of the man on the throne.
Before he could fully take in the sight of the throne and its occupants, another man, equally confused but much more rugged in appearance, pushed himself to his feet beside the blonde man. He was tall and well-built, his muscular frame evident beneath his casual clothes. His dark hair was tousled, and his sharp, inquisitive eyes darted around the room. He appeared to be of Mediterranean descent, perhaps Greek or Italian, though his accent was less distinct than the blonde man's.
"Where the hell are we?" the built man muttered under his breath, his tone one of cautious suspicion. His gaze quickly landed on the knights positioned around the room, each one clad in heavy but well-crafted armor, their faces obscured by helmets, their weapons at the ready—spears, swords, and staffs, each gleaming in the dim light of the room.
The Frenchman turned to him, still trying to make sense of what had just happened. "Do you understand anything about this?" he asked, his voice low but steady, his accent crisp and distinct.
The taller man shook his head. "No idea, mate. One minute I was… I don't even know, and now we're here."
Before either of them could speak further, they both became acutely aware of the imposing man on the throne, staring down at them with an unreadable expression. The man's voice rumbled through the room, deep and commanding, but the language he spoke was foreign to them—an ancient dialect none of the summoned could comprehend.
Around them, the others who had been summoned began to stir, their confused murmurs rising as they too tried to understand where they were. Some exchanged frantic looks, while others called out in their native languages, trying to find some sense in the chaos. A few of the women and men yelled at the armored figures standing guard, but it was no use—none could understand the language being spoken by the man on the throne.
"He's saying something, but I don't understand a word of it," the built man said, his tone edged with frustration.
One of the women in the group, a tall woman dressed in workout clothes, stood up and shouted toward the throne. "We don't understand you! What is this?"
Before the king could continue, the woman beside him—the younger, graceful figure—leaned down and whispered softly into his ear. Whatever she said caused the old man's eyes to widen slightly, and a low chuckle escaped his lips. He nodded and made a subtle gesture to the third figure—the tall woman with long green hair and the golden staff.
She stepped forward, her movement fluid, and the room seemed to hold its breath as she began to chant softly. Intricate runes of light appeared in the air, symbols that floated around her as if drawn by invisible hands. Her voice was calm, almost soothing, but the power behind her words was undeniable. The staff in her hand glowed faintly, its tip releasing small sparks of green energy that crackled in the air.
"What's she doing?" one of the men from the group asked, his voice shaking with fear.
"I don't know, but it can't be good," the Frenchman muttered, his eyes narrowing as he watched the green-haired woman work her magic.
With a final flourish, she pointed her staff toward the group, and a wide beam of green light shot forth, enveloping all twenty of them in its glow. For a moment, the warmth of the light seemed almost comforting, but there was an unmistakable sense of power behind it. Before any of them could react, the light vanished just as quickly as it had appeared.
The group exchanged bewildered glances, some looking down at their hands, expecting something to have changed physically, but everything seemed normal. Then, the deep voice of the man on the throne rang out again, only this time, they understood him.
"Can you understand me now?" the king's voice boomed, his words now clear to each of the twenty individuals standing before him.
The Frenchman looked up sharply, his blue eyes meeting the king's gaze. "Yes," he said cautiously, "we can understand you now."
The rest of the group murmured in agreement, some of them nodding, others remaining silent but attentive, their eyes trained on the imposing figure.
The man on the throne leaned back, his expression softening ever so slightly as he regarded the group. "Good. Then we may proceed."
For the first time, the man seemed less like an intimidating figure and more like a weary king, burdened by the weight of his decisions. "You have been summoned here for a purpose, though I regret that your arrival was not by your choice."
He gestured toward the young woman who had whispered to him earlier. "This is my daughter, the princess of this kingdom. And the woman who stands beside me, the one who cast the spell to make you understand, is our high priestess. It was by her power that you were brought to this world."
The priestess, her long green hair falling over her shoulders, gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, her expression serene.
The king continued. "I am the ruler of this land, the king of the human populace. And you, whether by fate or misfortune, have been chosen to aid us in a time of great need."
The words hung heavily in the air, and the summoned individuals exchanged glances, uncertain of what this "great need" might be. Some looked fearful, others skeptical, but all of them knew they had little choice but to listen.
As the king continued to speak, explaining the dangers that loomed over the kingdom, the priestess, her eyes faintly glowing with an otherworldly green hue, turned her gaze away from the group. Her sharp eyes flicked toward one of the large windows that overlooked the city. She narrowed her gaze as though her sight extended beyond the castle walls, stretching out across the kingdom.
Her eyes fixed on a distant part of the town near the palace, and a faint signal, a whisper of magic, caught her attention. She blinked once, her expression hardening, and with a swift motion, she signaled to one of the knights standing nearby.
The knight, startled by her sudden command, quickly nodded and hurried out of the room, his armor clinking as he disappeared into the hall. None of the summoned noticed the quiet exchange, but one of the women, a tall figure with sharp features, caught the subtle tension in the priestess's movements. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, but she said nothing—for now.
The king finished his speech, his voice lowering as he addressed the group once more. "You have much to learn, and I will not force you to assist us. But know this: your presence here is no accident. Our world is on the brink of great change, and it is not only the fate of this kingdom that hangs in the balance—but perhaps your world as well."
With those words, the weight of their situation finally settled over the twenty strangers, each of them left with a single, undeniable truth: there was no going back, not yet.
...…
Elsewhere, far from the towering castle and the watchful eyes of the king, in a quiet town beyond the gated walls of the royal city, something entirely different was happening.
The town was modest in size, though bustling in its own right, with winding streets and homes built of stone and timber. It was nestled against the edge of a grassy expanse that stretched out toward the horizon. Beyond the town's borders lay a building that seemed out of place—part of a small but significant compound, bordered by low stone walls. It had an air of quiet isolation about it, though not unfriendly, as if it had simply existed there for generations, forgotten by the hurried world beyond its gates.
In the middle of the grassy field near the building, a lone figure lay on the ground, his body still as if he had simply fallen asleep there. The figure was dressed in a high school uniform, the familiar black and white of a Japanese schoolboy, the fabric starkly contrasting with the vivid green of the grass around him.
As the setting sun cast its warm, golden rays across the field, the light fell upon the young man's face. Slowly, a faint twitch formed in his brow, the warmth of the sun coaxing him out of unconsciousness. His eyelids fluttered for a moment, and then, with great effort, he opened his eyes to the bright orange sky above.
Tadashi Kurose blinked several times, his vision hazy and disoriented. The cool breeze brushed against his face, gentle but persistent, carrying with it the scent of grass and something unfamiliar—a smell that he couldn't place, something earthy and ancient. As his senses slowly returned, he felt the tickle of the grass beneath him, gently brushing against his skin through his uniform.
"What…?" Tadashi muttered groggily, his voice hoarse and thick from disuse.
Before he could fully gather his thoughts, a shadow loomed over him. His still-bleary eyes registered a figure standing above him, small and close. Tadashi blinked again, trying to focus, and as his vision cleared, he found himself staring directly into the pale blue eyes of a child. The boy couldn't have been more than six or seven years old, his face round and innocent, with dark hair that fell messily around his chubby cheeks.
The boy smiled down at Tadashi, his expression curious and joyful, as though he had found something wonderful. He said something in a soft, melodic voice, the words rolling off his tongue in a language Tadashi didn't understand. It wasn't Japanese, or English, or any other language Tadashi had ever heard.
Tadashi's mind, still slow and heavy from the strange sleep he had awoken from, struggled to process what was happening. He stared up at the child, blinking in confusion, trying to understand the boy's words. The child repeated himself, a little louder this time, clearly expecting a response.
Tadashi felt a surge of panic rising in his chest. His body jerked into action, and he quickly pushed himself up from the ground, sitting upright with a gasp. His heart pounded in his ears as he turned his head, taking in the sight of the unfamiliar town around him.
This wasn't Japan.
The streets, the buildings, the clothing of the people he could see in the distance—none of it was familiar. The architecture was old-fashioned, like something out of a medieval fantasy story, the kind with cobblestone paths and wooden beams crisscrossing the windows of homes. There were no cars, no power lines, no familiar city skyline in the distance.
And there was no signs of this place, being earth.
Tadashi's breathing quickened as the weight of realization began to settle in. His mind raced, trying to piece together what had happened. He remembered being in school, sitting in the courtyard with Yusuke and Ayumi, and then… the voice. That strange, whispering voice. The light. The beam that had enveloped him, pulling him away from everything he knew. And now, here he was, in a place that seemed impossible.
The boy, still standing next to him, tilted his head and said something again, this time with a note of concern in his voice. He pointed toward Tadashi's uniform, then at the town in the distance, as if trying to communicate something important. But the words were still unintelligible.
Tadashi could feel the confusion and frustration building inside him, a pressure that had no outlet. His hands trembled slightly as he ran them through his hair, trying to make sense of this bizarre situation.
"Where… am I?" Tadashi whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the sound of the breeze. He glanced at the boy, then at the distant town, his mind spinning.
And yet, everything felt all too real. The ground beneath him, the cool wind against his skin, the faint hum of distant voices from the town. It was as if he had been plucked from his ordinary life and dropped into the pages of some strange story.
The boy, growing impatient with Tadashi's silence, reached out and tugged at his sleeve, his wide blue eyes staring up at him with innocent curiosity. Tadashi looked down at the boy, his thoughts still in a fog, and for a moment, all he could do was blink.
Finally, one word slipped from his lips, a single curse that seemed to sum up everything he was feeling in that moment.
"Shit."