Year 1257 of the Argaron calendar.
The emperor leaned back in his ornate chair, his fingers steepled under his chin as he surveyed his council. The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with uncertainty about their future.
"Your majesty," the master of war spoke up again, trying to regain control of the discussion. "Even if we manage to summon these heroes, we must prepare our forces for the inevitable conflict. We cannot rely solely on hope."
"Indeed," the emperor nodded, "but we must also have faith. The church has provided guidance for centuries. Perhaps this is the sign we have been waiting for."
The master of whispers shook his head, a smirk on his lips. "Hope is a poor strategy, Your Majesty. History is littered with the bones of those who placed their faith in legends rather than preparing for reality. We should focus on fortifying our defenses and seeking alliances with neighboring kingdoms."
"Or we could simply increase our recruitment," suggested a council member, adjusting his spectacles. "If we bolster our numbers, we could at least delay the inevitable."
The emperor waved a hand, silencing the murmurs. "While your points are valid, we will not abandon this opportunity. I want our best scholars to assist the pope with the summoning. If there's a chance—no matter how slim—of bringing forth these heroes, we must explore it."
The master of war sighed but nodded, recognizing the emperor's resolve. "As you wish, Your Majesty. But I will hold the military in readiness. We cannot afford to be caught unprepared."
The pope's eyes gleamed with fervor. "I assure you, your majesty, the staff holds immense power. The ancient texts speak of it—how it can bridge the gap between realms. With your permission, I will gather the clergy and begin the preparations."
"Do it swiftly," the emperor commanded, his voice carrying authority. "The demons grow bolder by the day. We cannot delay."
As the council members began to discuss the logistics of the summoning, the emperor's gaze drifted to the window, where dark clouds loomed in the distance. A storm was coming, and he felt it in his bones.
"Your Majesty," the master of whispers interjected once more, his voice low and insistent, "what if the summoning fails? We must have a backup plan. Perhaps—"
"Enough!" the emperor snapped, his patience waning. "I will hear no more of this doubt. We will summon the heroes, and we will find a way to defeat our foes. Now, let us move forward with our plans."
With that, the council resumed its discussions, but the weight of uncertainty hung over them all. In the shadows, the master of whispers exchanged a glance with the master of war, both men harboring concerns about the future they were forging.
The emperor's faith was unwavering, but as the skies darkened further, a sense of foreboding crept into the hearts of those who would soon face the demons—both real and imagined.
3 days later...
In the dim light of the underground chamber, the atmosphere was thick with anticipation. The 50 men in white stood still, their faces masked by the solemnity of their purpose. The white gate loomed before them, a silent promise of power and potential.
As the pope, clad in ornate robes, bowed deeply before the gate, a hush fell over the assembly. His staff shimmered with an ethereal glow as he raised it high, channeling the energy of the gathered souls. The two male statues on the right, one brandishing a sword and the other a spear, seemed to radiate strength, while the two female statues on the left, one poised with a bow and the other gripping a mage's staff, embodied grace and intellect.
"My lord," the pope intoned, his voice echoing against the stone walls. "Today I give you the gift of your devotees' souls. We wish to destroy the demons and make the world yours! Please bless us and grant our summons to be true!"
As he closed his eyes, the air around him vibrated with magic. The men in white held their breath, eyes fixed on the pope as he began to chant an ancient incantation. The words rolled off his tongue like a wave, invoking powers long forgotten.
Suddenly, the white gate began to shimmer, pulsing with light that seemed to respond to the chant. Whispers filled the air, a chorus of voices echoing the pope's plea. The statues stirred slightly, as if awakening from a long slumber, their forms shimmering with potential.
As the chant reached its crescendo, the ground trembled beneath them, and a brilliant light erupted from the gate. The men stepped back, shielding their eyes from the radiance, while the pope's voice rose above the chaos, determined and unwavering. The world was about to change, and destiny awaited just beyond the threshold.
18 years later….
On the watchtower eyeing over the human war camp, 4 four people now commonly known as the 4 heroes stood. The Hero of the Blade, Oliver; The Hero of the Bow, Anita; The Mage, Rebecca; The Hero of the spear, Zackary. They had long since made their name in the human realm, viewed as the
Oliver, the Hero of the Blade, stood tall with a sword gleaming at his side. His confidence was palpable, the weight of his weapon a reminder of the countless foes he had vanquished.
Anita, the Hero of the Bow, held her bow, her keen eyes scanning for movement. She was the embodiment of grace and precision, each breath a reminder of her bond with nature and the wind.
Rebecca, the Mage, leaned against the stone wall, her fingers dancing with wisps of magical energy. Her mind raced with spells and incantations, ready to unleash the power of the elements at a moment's notice.
Zackary, the Hero of the Spear, stood silently, his spear glinting like a lightning bolt. If one was to look at his face, they'd see his fierce determination, his focus unwavering as he viewed the looming demon army.
Together, they formed a power unequal to any-other. The battle would not be won easily, but with their combined powers, hope flickered like a flame in the darkness.
Oliver, clearly the most influential of the group turned around, smirked, and addressed the group, "Well, it looks like we have to get the party started"