Somewhere near dawn, birds return to the ruins. Tentative at first. Then louder.

Gray light seeps through the broken ceiling, washing the altar and the anchor in pale morning. The glow remains—steady, unchanged.

Cassian is already awake when the sky lightens. Rook, too, slipping down from his perch without a sound.

The world hasn’t ended overnight.

That’ll have to be enough for now.

I shoulder my pack—heavier with religious tomes and scrolls. Ash is kicked over the fire. The ruins don’t protest when we leave.

The road east follows the river’s old course, shallow banks cutting through low hills. Mist hangs over the water, thinning as the sun climbs. Footprints appear and vanish in the damp soil—travelers, carts.

Cassian takes point. Rook ranges ahead and to the sides, slipping in and out of sight.

By midday, the land changes. Fewer farms. More broken fences. A shrine by the roadside stands gutted, its symbols defaced but not destroyed.

A hand-painted sign leans against a stone marker farther on:

NO FIRES.

The river bends east.

So do we.

I trek alongside Cassian as we travel, periodically sneaking glances over to appreciate the view… of his face. His hands. His neck. Which is really all I can see in his armor.

The road east is narrows as we progress, packed earth damp from river mist. Cassian walks a few paces ahead, armor catching the morning light in dull flashes. His stride is even, unhurried. When he turns his head to scan the treeline, I catch the line of his neck above the collar, the way his hands rest near his sword without tension.

Rook moves somewhere ahead—seen only when he wants to be.

The river murmurs to my right.

“System. Do any of my artifacts work in this world?”

The System responds without delay.

[ARTIFACT CHECK — CROSS-WORLD COMPATIBILITY]
Result: PARTIAL

A short list populates.

Artifact: Eladril’s World-Walker Necklace

▸ Status: Active

▸ Function: Mana Storage - Current charge: 87% (no compatible source detected)

Artifact: Omni-Language Earring
▸ Status: Active

▸ Function: Translating - Contextual Euphemization Engine Active

Artifact: Soul-Bound Ring - Misty

▸ Status: Inactive

▸ Function: Dormant - Incompatible mana framework

Artifact: Soul-Bound Ring - Brock

▸ Status: Inactive

▸ Function: Dormant - Incompatible mana framework

“System. Don’t I have mana. Or whatever this world’s magical energy uses?”

The System answers plainly.

[MAGICAL ENERGY — STATUS]
Personal Mana Pool: 0 (Earthling)
Regeneration Rate: 0 (Earthling)
Native Affinity: Uninitialized (Outsider)

The display fades.

Cassian glances back at me briefly. “You get answers?”

I sigh. Deeply. Then again.

“I’m not used to dealing with these kinds of constraints. It’s fine—I was summoned for a reason. But I don’t know what kind of hero I am here.” I scrub a hand over my face. “And until I understand that, I’m pretty fucking useless. Which is… not great, when you’re walking into a world-ending war and you don’t even know if you can hold a sword.”

Cassian slows just enough to walk beside me instead of ahead.

“You’re not useless,” he says. Flat. Certain. “You’re untrained.”

He doesn’t soften it. Doesn’t dramatize it.

“There’s a difference.”

Rook’s voice drifts back to us as he pops his head out from the shrubbary, “Also, front lines is generous. Right now we’re on the figuring our shit out line.”

“No no, listen.” I scrub a hand through my hair, then drop it, already pacing a step ahead before slowing again. “I appreciate the emotional support. But I assure you this isn’t a matter of skill.”

I gesture vaguely at the road ahead, at the trees, at the invisible threats that could be anywhere.

“We may not be face to face with the demon king right now, but that doesn’t preclude the possibility that we could end up walking right into an ambush at any time.”

I let out a short, humorless breath.

“When you summon a hero, there’s an expectation that they can handle the situation. Usually that’s because they come with some sort of overpowered ability.”

I hesitate, then glance inward, pulling the System window up again despite myself.

“Right now, I have…”

I look at the System window and scowl.

“The power of friendship.” My hand drops to my side, fingers flexing. “So, you can swing your sword better or whatever as long as I cheer you on. That’s not gonna save the world.”

Cassian stops.

Not abruptly. Just enough that I have to stop with him.

He turns, expression steady. “You’re wrong about one thing.”

Rook appears from the brush, perching on a rock. Listening.

Cassian speaks plainly. “Heroes don’t get summoned because they’re ready. They get summoned because the world can’t fix the problem by itself.” He taps his chest once. “If brute force worked, we wouldn’t need you.”

The road ahead bends toward a cluster of trees. Smoke rises faintly beyond them—distant, thin.

Cassian nods east. “And for what it’s worth? Ambush or not—this isn’t the kind of war where one swing decides everything.”

Rook grins. “It’s the kind where the right person standing in the wrong place breaks the whole pattern.”

They start moving again.

I sigh.

Kids these days.

I let them move ahead and slow my pace, boots crunching softly against the road. I lift my hands in front of me and flex my fingers, staring at my palms like I can force something—anything—to answer.

Nothing does.

I’ve done this more times than I can count.

The first time I was summoned, I was seventeen. Now I’m twenty-four. In the last seven years, I’ve been to more worlds than I can remember, spent more time under foreign skies than my own. Earth feels less like home every time I return—too loud, too fast, too empty.

On Earth, I have no power. No magic. No status. I’m not special there. Half the time I don’t even have an apartment, because by the time I make it back, my lease has been canceled and my things have been boxed up by someone who doesn’t know my name.

But everywhere else?

Everywhere else, I matter.

I’ve fought monsters that blotted out the sky. I’ve stood in front of armies and watched them hesitate. I’ve saved kingdoms with magic, with steel, with my bare hands when that’s what it took. Power has always answered me—one way or another.

Until now.

I let my hands fall to my sides, jaw tightening.

This world doesn’t feel hostile. It feels… indifferent.

Did they really summon me to save them like this? No power. No edge. Just a presence. A morale boost. A glorified cheerleader walking into a war that will not care how encouraging I am.

I huff a quiet breath and shake my head.

Someone send me back.

Glancing up, I see the backs of the two men before me—one broad and reliable, the other lithe and graceful.

Well, I’m here now. No point in lamenting it when there’s nothing to be done.

“Hey!” I say, jogging to catch up with the two of them. “How old are both of you?”

Cassian glances back as I catch up, then answers without slowing.

“Thirty-two.”

“Woah, you both look so young,” I say, genuinely surprised. “I guess I should call you uncle Cassian? And big brother Rook?”

Cassian lets out a low laugh. “Try it and I’ll start calling you kid.”

Rook grins immediately. “Big brother, huh? I like it. Means I get to steal your stuff and deny it convincingly.”

Cassian shakes his head. “He absolutely will.”

The trees thin ahead. The smoke resolves into a small settlement—low buildings near the riverbank, one chimney still active. Quiet. Too quiet for midday.

Rook’s grin fades as he squints ahead. “Heads up. That’s not abandoned.”

Cassian’s hand drifts closer to his sword. “Then let’s find out who’s home.”

I lift both hands immediately, palms out in surrender, already taking an exaggerated step back. “Sounds good. You go on ahead.” I plant my feet, then make a vague, swirling motion with my fingers, like I’m channeling something profound. “I’ll stay back here and send good vibes. You got this! Go fight. Win!”

I even give him an encouraging little wave for emphasis.

Cassian gives me a flat look over his shoulder.

I flash him a bright, entirely unserious thumbs-up.

“No,” he says.

Rook laughs once, sharp. “Nice try.”

Cassian gestures with two fingers—stay close. “You don’t hang back alone. You stay where I can reach you.”

Rook adds, already moving, “Good vibes work better when you’re not fifty paces away.”

The settlement comes into clearer view: a handful of river houses, shutters closed, doors barred. Smoke from one chimney only. No voices. No animals.

Cassian slows, boots quiet on dirt. Rook slips ahead, low and fast.

I follow them through the quiet settlement.

The settlement is still.

Too still.

Footpaths are worn but empty. Doors are shut tight.

Cassian moves slowly, boots placed with care. Rook ghosts ahead, appearing briefly at corners, then vanishing again.

We pass the house with the smoking chimney. The door is closed. Warmth leaks through the cracks.

A symbol is carved into the doorframe—old, shallow, deliberate. Not demon script. Not quite church either.

From somewhere deeper in the village, wood creaks. A door opening.

“Guess they’re not very fond of strangers.” I say, looking around at the drawn windows and quiet streets.

Cassian lifts a hand—hold—then angles his body slightly in front of me without making a show of it.

“Or they’re very fond of surviving,” he says quietly.

Rook reappears near a doorway, crouched, eyes sharp. He nods once toward the sound. “One person. Nervous. Not armed.”

The creaking door opens wider down the lane.

A figure steps out—wrapped in a plain cloak, hood up despite the daylight. They stop when they see us. Don’t run. Don’t advance.

Just… watch.

The river murmurs behind the houses. Smoke curls thin and steady into the sky.

The village is holding its breath.

I rub at the bridge of my nose. “You know,” I mutter, “I’m really more of a doer and less of a talker.” I sigh, then step out from behind Cassian despite myself.

“Uh—hey. Sorry to bother you.” I shift my weight, already regretting this. “But my mom is really sick. We’re from a village…” I glance up at the sky, orienting myself by the smear of purple clouds on the horizon. “Uh, pretty far that direction.” I point toward them.

“And we were told someone here might be able to help?” My hand drops, fingers curling loosely at my side. “The normal stuff hasn’t worked, and I’m worried. It’s just her and me—and my twin siblings are still really young.” I hesitate, then push through it. “Is there someone here who can help?”

The figure doesn’t answer right away.

They study me from the shadow of the doorway—long enough that it starts to feel intentional. Then, slowly, they lower their hood.

It’s an older man. Weathered. Not frail, but worn thin. Gray threaded through dark hair. His eyes flick briefly to Cassian’s armor, to Rook’s position in the lane, then back to me.

“You shouldn’t say things like that out loud,” he says. His voice is low. Careful. “Not here.”

A pause.

Then he steps aside just enough to reveal the inside of the house behind him.

I catch glimpses: candles. Herbs hung to dry. Chalk markings on the floor—simple, rough, functional.

Not church-grand. Not official.

Real.

“If you’re lying,” he continues, “you’ll leave.”

“If you’re telling the truth—”
He gestures with two fingers, subtle, urgent.
“—you come inside. Alone.”

Behind me, Cassian shifts. Rook goes still.

The man’s eyes never leave mine.

“Well?”