The marble hall was vast — sunlight broke through stained glass, scattering gold and crimson on polished stone. Guards in black-silver armor stood along the pillars. Their eyes followed Elijah as he was led forward, bare-footed, wrapped in a linen robe that did not belong to him. He heard every whisper. "Another summoned one?" "Too young." "Last one didn't last a month." At the far end, on a dais of white stone, sat King Aldric Valmira. His crown was light, but his eyes were heavy, lined with sleepless command. Around him, nobles murmured — old houses in bright attire, hands folded, faces trained to hide disdain. Elijah's pulse throbbed. His steps echoed. The world's language reached his mind like instinct. Words that were never taught flowed clear. His head pounded, then steadied. So this is the voice of their world, he thought. Not mine.
"Raise your head, summoned one," the king said. His tone carried both fatigue and command. "You stand before the court of Valmira, called through divine right to aid our kingdom in a time of ruin." Elijah raised his eyes. "Why am I here?" His voice felt unfamiliar, like it belonged to someone who had forgotten how to speak. Gasps rippled through the chamber. A duke scowled. "You address His Majesty without bowing? Insolence—" But the king lifted a hand. Silence. "Let him speak. A man torn from his world deserves at least the truth." The chancellor stepped forward, scroll in hand. "By the ritual of covenant flame, you were chosen through the grace of Auvriel, god of Valmira. Your arrival signifies his blessing upon us, and your strength shall—" The words dulled. A low hum filled Elijah's ears. Time bent. The stained glass flickered. Then he heard it — a voice that was not human. "I have chosen you." The court froze, unaware. The nobles' lips still moved, but the world turned silent. Elijah's heart slammed against his chest. "Do not speak of this. Only you will hear me." He swallowed, his throat dry. "Who… are you?" he whispered under his breath. The voice resonated like a quiet echo inside his skull. "The god they serve. Auvriel. You will see through their lies." Sound returned. The courtiers stared, thinking he had faltered. The chancellor resumed, "—and so, you are to serve as Valmira's Champion, to lead against the Demon Frontier." Elijah looked at the king, then the crowd of nobles — masks of loyalty, eyes of fear, a court that worshipped power more than faith. A smile touched the king's lips, faint, tired. "Do you accept your role, hero?" Elijah hesitated. The voice lingered, cold and calm. "Accept. For now." He bowed his head. "I… understand." The court exhaled. Nobles whispered, relief mixed with suspicion. The king nodded. "Then, from this day, you are bound to Valmira. May the god who called you grant you purpose." The guards struck their halberds against the floor. The sound rang like iron thunder. But Elijah heard only one thing — the voice, now distant, fading like a dream. "You will soon understand why you were truly called." And as the nobles applauded, Elijah knew the war outside was nothing compared to the one waiting within these gilded walls.