Xavier lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, the soft mattress cradling him in a world that felt both familiar and alien. The room, adorned in the style of the 18th century—sans any trace of modern technology—was pleasingly furnished, yet it couldn't shake the unease that curled in his stomach.
Sleep eluded him; thoughts swirled in his mind like a storm. How had a simple school trip spiraled into his summoning to this bizarre world? It felt like a cruel joke he just didn't understand. Was it homesickness creeping in?
He wrestled with the notion. An orphan with no family to call his own, he had rejected the surname of the orphanage that raised him—Reaper. It clinged to him like a shroud. So why was he feeling this pang of longing? Was he aching for the simplicity of his old life? Or maybe it was the bleak reminder of his powerlessness here. The weakest rank imaginable—a laughable fate, one that hadn't graced their ranks for centuries. The taunts of his classmates echoed in his mind, a mocking choir.
Fury bubbled within him. Those faithless bastards! He had stood up for them when they were bullied, had been the shield that made them think twice before crossing the line. Had he earned their respect?
"This is pathetic," he muttered, frustration spilling over as he shut his eyes tight.
Rising from the bed, he ventured out in search of the bathroom. The moment he stepped into the hallway, regret washed over him like a cold wave. The sounds that filled the air were unmistakable—not raucous laughter, but passionate cries of ecstasy. Moans and gasps floated from the rooms beside and across from him, the bed creaks mingling with giggles.
He realized, with a hint of irritation, that some girls were clearly indulging in their own desires. Not that it bothered him—he understood how unbearable the boys could be during their teen years.
But the reality stung more sharply. No maid came to offer him assistance, a towel, or even a simple inquiry to see if he was alright. Nothing for the "useless" hero. Anger coursed through him as he pushed forward to find the male bathroom—thankfully marked with a sign.
After completing his business, he returned to his room. He undressed and slipped back into bed, hoping a good night's sleep would lift his spirits. The ceiling above became a canvas for his restless thoughts until, finally, fatigue claimed him.
Peaceful slumber wrapped around him, but the night's tranquility shattered abruptly. Xavier jolted from sleep as raucous banging reverberated off his door. Someone was determined to break in.
"Go ahead, break the door down!" he shouted sarcastically.
The banging halted for a heartbeat before resuming, more insistent than ever. Teeth gritted, he spat back, "I'm coming!"
Surveying the room, he noticed a maid's uniform laid out for him. So they remembered he was hero material, at least.
He dressed quickly and opened the door to find a soldier clad in silver armor, the early morning light glinting off his breastplate.
"Hero, the goddess wishes to see you. I will escort you to the chamber."
"Is that why you had to break down the door?" Xavier shot back, skepticism coating his words.
The soldier narrowed his eyes, irritation flickering to life. "I don't see how that's an offense."
"You wouldn't have done it for the other heroes," Xavier snapped defiantly.
"I suggest you watch your tone. A 'useless brat' like you doesn't deserve respect, but I did this out of kindness. Will you come or not?"
Xavier fought the urge to punch the soldier, settling instead for a simmering silence. With a reluctant nod, he acquiesced.
"Follow me," the soldier said curtly.
Xavier trailed behind, the weight of his anger heavy in his chest as they entered a grand chamber. It was nothing like the goddess's previous meeting place. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, and golden details glittered in the light. A long Persian rug led up to a majestic throne elevated on three steps.
Sitting upon the throne was a boy no older than Xavier. Tall, strikingly handsome, and exuding an aura of cold indifference, he had curly white hair and piercing gray eyes that seemed to read Xavier's soul. He lounged, chin propped in one hand, staring with a mix of boredom and disdain.
"Is this him?" the boy asked, his voice echoing within the opulent chamber.
"Yes, it's him," the goddess confirmed, her expression unusually serious.
"Strange," the boy mused, scrutinizing Xavier. "I expected him to look frail, but he's fit. Looks like he's just been unlucky."
"It appears so," the goddess replied.
The boy sighed, shifting slightly on the throne. "I can't believe I was forced into this situation. I see now why Father wanted me to handle it."
Xavier's heart raced. What does that even mean?
The boy turned his full attention to Xavier. "I'm sorry, hero, but it seems we have no choice but to cast you away."Xavier lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, the soft mattress cradling him in a world that felt both familiar and alien. The room, adorned in the style of the 18th century—sans any trace of modern technology—was pleasingly furnished, yet it couldn't shake the unease that curled in his stomach.
Sleep eluded him; thoughts swirled in his mind like a storm. How had a simple school trip spiraled into his summoning to this bizarre world? It felt like a cruel joke he just didn't understand. Was it homesickness creeping in?
He wrestled with the notion. An orphan with no family to call his own, he had rejected the surname of the orphanage that raised him—Reaper. It clinged to him like a shroud. So why was he feeling this pang of longing? Was he aching for the simplicity of his old life? Or maybe it was the bleak reminder of his powerlessness here. The weakest rank imaginable—a laughable fate, one that hadn't graced their ranks for centuries. The taunts of his classmates echoed in his mind, a mocking choir.
Fury bubbled within him. Those faithless bastards! He had stood up for them when they were bullied, had been the shield that made them think twice before crossing the line. Had he earned their respect?
"This is pathetic," he muttered, frustration spilling over as he shut his eyes tight.
Rising from the bed, he ventured out in search of the bathroom. The moment he stepped into the hallway, regret washed over him like a cold wave. The sounds that filled the air were unmistakable—not raucous laughter, but passionate cries of ecstasy. Moans and gasps floated from the rooms beside and across from him, the bed creaks mingling with giggles.
He realized, with a hint of irritation, that some girls were clearly indulging in their own desires. Not that it bothered him—he understood how unbearable the boys could be during their teen years.
But the reality stung more sharply. No maid came to offer him assistance, a towel, or even a simple inquiry to see if he was alright. Nothing for the "useless" hero. Anger coursed through him as he pushed forward to find the male bathroom—thankfully marked with a sign.
After completing his business, he returned to his room. He undressed and slipped back into bed, hoping a good night's sleep would lift his spirits. The ceiling above became a canvas for his restless thoughts until, finally, fatigue claimed him.
Peaceful slumber wrapped around him, but the night's tranquility shattered abruptly. Xavier jolted from sleep as raucous banging reverberated off his door. Someone was determined to break in.
"Go ahead, break the door down!" he shouted sarcastically.
The banging halted for a heartbeat before resuming, more insistent than ever. Teeth gritted, he spat back, "I'm coming!"
Surveying the room, he noticed a maid's uniform laid out for him. So they remembered he was hero material, at least.
He dressed quickly and opened the door to find a soldier clad in silver armor, the early morning light glinting off his breastplate.
"Hero, the goddess wishes to see you. I will escort you to the chamber."
"Is that why you had to break down the door?" Xavier shot back, skepticism coating his words.
The soldier narrowed his eyes, irritation flickering to life. "I don't see how that's an offense."
"You wouldn't have done it for the other heroes," Xavier snapped defiantly.
"I suggest you watch your tone. A 'useless brat' like you doesn't deserve respect, but I did this out of kindness. Will you come or not?"
Xavier fought the urge to punch the soldier, settling instead for a simmering silence. With a reluctant nod, he acquiesced.
"Follow me," the soldier said curtly.
Xavier trailed behind, the weight of his anger heavy in his chest as they entered a grand chamber. It was nothing like the goddess's previous meeting place. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, and golden details glittered in the light. A long Persian rug led up to a majestic throne elevated on three steps.
Sitting upon the throne was a boy no older than Xavier. Tall, strikingly handsome, and exuding an aura of cold indifference, he had curly white hair and piercing gray eyes that seemed to read Xavier's soul. He lounged, chin propped in one hand, staring with a mix of boredom and disdain.
"Is this him?" the boy asked, his voice echoing within the opulent chamber.
"Yes, it's him," the goddess confirmed, her expression unusually serious.
"Strange," the boy mused, scrutinizing Xavier. "I expected him to look frail, but he's fit. Looks like he's just been unlucky."
"It appears so," the goddess replied.
The boy sighed, shifting slightly on the throne. "I can't believe I was forced into this situation. I see now why Father wanted me to handle it."
Xavier's heart raced. What does that even mean?
The boy turned his full attention to Xavier. "I'm sorry, hero, but it seems we have no choice but to cast you away."