So basically, we all got summoned here because we're a collective bunch of brain-dead morons.
Remember that weird sucking thing from earlier? Yeah, turns out everyone here saw it. Alone. And they all thought, "Oh, hey, this mysterious glowing anomaly looks safe! Let me touch it."
Next thing you know—boom. Here we are.
I'm not gonna lie, I felt the deep, soul-crushing embarrassment for myself just thinking about it. But hey, at least I wasn't the only idiot in this story. Misery loves company, after all.
Before anyone could marinate too long in the collective shame, Lirienne's voice sliced through the awkward silence. "The symbol beneath your feet serves as a medium for me to manifest a kind of… let's call it a Rift Conduit, It pulls in individuals within its range."
She paused—probably to let the information sink in—then continued. "As some of you may have already guessed, this isn't the first time something like this has happened. And unfortunately… it's unlikely to be the last either. But let's set that aside for now."
My shoulders stiffened slightly. I couldn't stop the edges of my expression from tightening. What exactly are we supposed to do here?
There were varying levels of "What in the actual f**k is she talking about?" etched on everyone's faces as well. Well, fair reaction. Where I come from, people who say things like "Rift Conduits" and "summoning rituals" get complimentary straitjackets and padded cells.
Lirienne—seemingly unbothered by our collective mental breakdowns—kept talking like this was a normal Tuesday for her.
"Allow me to address the pressing questions most likely on your minds, such as; Can I return to Earth? Why was I summoned here? What purpose am I meant to fulfill in this place?"
"I—I want to go home!" one of the others exclaimed before shying away instantly. That was Tess, I think? Yeah, Tess O'Malley. From a small town near Dublin. The ridiculously tall girl with the intimidating height but a cute face who towered at six-foot-three. What's crazier, she said that she's sixteen years old! Like, girls these days, man. How could they be so... filled?
Lirienne offered her a look of what might pass as sympathy before dropping the hammer.
"Regarding the first question: unfortunately, we have yet to discover a method for returning anyone to their original world. However," her voice took on that neutral tone, "you are welcome to search for a way… so long as it does not negatively impact our world."
"Oh…"
Ouch.
Tess visibly deflated, like someone had took her bag of foods without asking first.
Before anyone could dwell too long on that bummer, though, Lirienne launched into Question Two.
"As for why you were summoned, it's to request your assistance. Or, perhaps more accurately, to demand it."
Wow. Subtle.
Then she hit us with a geography lesson, confirming that we were, indeed, on another planet. It even had one of those dramatic fantasy-world names. Alnarkiz.
She casually mentioned it meant "Realm of Eternal Dusk" in Bharnavian—which, apparently, was their universal language. Honestly, it sounded like English with extra vowels and a superiority complex.
The place itself sounded like a medieval fantasy starter pack: swords, magic, and every flavor of mythical race you can imagine. Elves, dwarves, orcs, demons—you name it, they were here.
They're not very close. In fact, quite a lot of them hated each other. Classic.
Humans were the most objectively screwed here despite being the stubborn one when it comes to being eradicated. And from the sound of it, Earth "travelers" like us had a huge hand in making sure they didn't bite the dust yet.
There's this thing called the Ascension Cycle—a world-spanning power system that everyone here seems to treat like the Second Coming. According to Lirienne, it's like evolution, but on steroids. This world doesn't just look at you; it grabs your entire personality, stares into your soul, and goes, "Alright, let's work with this." Then it cobbles together a power set based on what makes you… you.
For the locals, though, it's less about raw individuality now and more about good ol' nepotism. Bloodlines and family legacy run the show. Some kid inherits a hand-me-down shard of their parents' power, and by the time puberty hits, they're thrown into this grand event called the Catalyst Rite. Picture your usual dramatic cultivation ritual: chanting, ceremonial candles, maybe a sprinkle of bloodletting for that spicy aesthetic. That's when their Dominion—the core of who they are and what they're gonna grow into—is revealed, like it's some kind of twisted self-discovery seminar.
Dominion is everything. It's your blueprint, your calling card, your big "screw-you" to mediocrity. But the Ascension Cycle doesn't just slap a random power onto your wrist and call it a day. No, it picks apart your personality, strengths, traumas, quirks, and distills it all into something that suits you so perfectly, it's almost offensive. You don't get to cheat the Catalyst Rite. It's how everyone figures out their specific "thing."
But here's the kicker: Dominion isn't just one shiny badge. It's diced up into pieces called Aspects, smaller fragments of your overall deal. Under each Aspect are Virtues—these chill, passive blessings that give you just enough power to not look completely pathetic. Sparks of potential that show up when your Dominion's on a roll, like little reminders that you've still got a long way to go. Yay, progress.
Oh, and speaking of progress, let's talk about the Cycle's stages. Because of course there are stages. This isn't some fairy tale—you grind or you're dead.
From Seedbearer, Unholy Genesis, Apostle of Reformation, Crest of the Changed, Regalia of the Divine, Divine Dishonor, to Avatar of the Symbol. Now, for the description of each one, that'll be too long.
Let's just sprinkle in some resource management, because what's a power system without pain?
First up: Soul Vitality (SV). It's your battery. Burn through it, and guess what? You're stealing from your own life force. Not exactly sustainable.
Then there's the Sanity Threshold. Sounds cheerful, right? Burn too bright, push too far, and you hit something they call Dissonance. Translation: you lose your damn mind. Paranoia, hallucinations, maybe even outright death—but hey, that's the price of ambition.
Here's the moral of the story: every rung on the ladder comes with bigger risks. You screw up? You crash. And that crash isn't soft or forgiving. It's glorious, bone-crunching, existential horror in a bottle.
This is the Ascension Cycle. Climb it or die trying. That's the deal.
But here's the deal; people like us, snatched from whatever halfway-decent existence we had back home, are a goddamn goldmine to this place. Why? Because we're walking repositories of chaos.
Unlike the locals, whose bloodlines and legacies funnel them into a predictable little box, We bring in what the Ascension Cycle drools over most: variety. We're wild cards. Our lives haven't been marinated in centuries of stagnant traditions and rigid systems. Instead, we come with an entire buffet of influences—modern ingenuity, cultural mishmashes, questionable decisions, suppressed memories, you name it.
To this world, we're shiny, one-of-a-kind toys that break all the rules. Dominions that don't fit the usual cookie-cutter mold. Unpredictable, volatile, terrifyingly efficient.
Meanwhile, the locals? Eh. They've been rehashing the same powers for centuries. You've got your warriors, your healers, the usual elemental flavor-of-the-month crowd. It's not bad, just… predictable. It's like comparing a retro arcade game to a high-spec VR RPG. Sure, nostalgia's nice, but once you've seen one fireball-tossing mage or sword-swinging knight, you've seen them all.
Take Lirienne's explanation: Dominion diversity in the native population has been shrinking for generations. The bloodlines, once vibrant and experimental, are now more inbred than royalty. It's gotten to the point where new Catalysts aren't awakening entirely unique powers anymore—they're just recycling watered-down versions of the old ones.
We're something else entirely. Our Dominions are patchwork of creativity and madness, tailored to our psyches. We're volatile, sure, but we're also the unexpected element in a world running on predictability.
The natives need us. Their fancy little legacy system is falling apart under its own weight, and we're the only variable that promises to shake things up. We're not just useful—we're indispensable.
"You've got quite the mouth for giving compliments," Judith quipped with sarcastic tone. She's a 27-year-old military vet—or so she claimed—which is, well, looked every bit the part of someone who would bark orders or could easily smash a guy's jawline. Wild hair, piercing eyes, and a body language that challenged "Try me." She had that step on me, Mommy vibe, and if you're judging me for thinking that, don't. It's a fact.
She was from North Carolina, which felt oddly specific, but whatever.
Lirienne chuckled lightly, the kind of sound that made the hairs on your neck twitch. "It's a necessary skill. A mixture of brutally honest analysis exaggerated enough would make the recipient either unreasonably flattered, utterly culpable to agree, or…"
Yeah, this woman was nuts. Definitely not sticking too close to her.
It wasn't just me—most of the group seemed to take a few step back just not to get a bit closer to her.
"Um, so, what's our specific purpose here, then?" a girl with a faux biker-jacket aesthetic blurted out. That was Sasha Goranov. Twenty-one. Belgrade, Serbia. And look at me actually remembering someone's name for once. She claimed to be a mechanical engineer who loved motorcycles.
Lirienne's unsettling grin softened as she straightened up, scanning the group with a neutral smile. "That is up to you. The process begins with the Catalyst Rite. By completing it, you will unlock the Seed—essentially the core of your power here—and we'll observe its traits to guide you forward. Should you choose not to participate, you'll receive nothing from us but a free, temporary residence for two weeks before needing to leave or pay like any regular inhabitant."
Someone near the back, an olive-skinned man with a voice rough around the edges, raised a cautious hand. "Is it gonna hurt?"
"No," Lirienne answered smoothly, shaking her head. "Not in the slightest. If you're ready, we can begin the next step immediately."
The Japanese guy sighed like he was about to pay taxes and muttered, "I will participate."
Lirienne's eyes flicked to him, her lips tugging into something dangerously close to approval. "Excellent. And the rest of you?"
"Yeah, sure. I'll join," I chimed in, raising my hand. Seemed easier than fighting about it.
For whatever reason, Lirienne's grin widened at me. Not threatening, but weirdly... creepy.
I tried not to overthink it. Maybe it was because of my background? I'm a speedrunner, yes—breaking games for fun, squeezing through code cracks, breaking world records just to say "Ha, I did it!" For someone like Lirienne, maybe that sort of obsessiveness stuck out like a sore thumb. Or maybe I was reading too much into her reactions.
After all, there were plenty of folks here with more useful skills than me. At least that's what my observation told me, though her lingering gaze said otherwise.
Yeah, totally not unsettling.
I figured I'd corner her later when no one else was around and try to pry some answers loose. Asking her here, in front of everyone, felt like the wrong play. Hopefully, the "ignorance kills" philosophy wasn't going to hit me before that.