The sky split apart like old cloth being torn by force.
Light descended without a sound, yet everyone fell to their knees.
In the palace hall, five magic circles flared to life upon the marble floor. The nobles held their breath. The priests whispered prayers that sounded more like calculations of profit and loss than sacred pleas.
I stood in the fifth circle.
The dimmest circle.
The other four blazed brilliantly, forming elegant and dramatic pillars of light. From within them emerged figures who immediately looked like protagonists. A tall man with sharp eyes. A silver-haired girl holding a staff. An athletic young man radiating leadership. And another, calm and cold-faced, the type who would sacrifice everything for the world.
And then there was me.
I fell in an undignified heap, my face striking the cold marble floor. No heavenly music. No dramatic gust of wind. My robe was even too large for me.
The High Priest's voice echoed through the hall.
"Four Heroes of Light have descended into this world."
Four.
I slowly turned my head. My circle was still glowing, but its light resembled a dying bathroom bulb. Flickering, steadying, flickering again.
The priest cleared his throat softly.
"And… one reserve."
Several nobles whispered. Someone chuckled under their breath.
Reserve.
The word felt like leftovers on a banquet plate.
The King rose from his throne. His golden robe trailed behind him, his face bearing authority that seemed overly rehearsed. He approached the four main heroes first, patting each of their shoulders in turn, speaking of destiny, hope, and glory.
When he reached me, he paused for less time than he should have.
"You will rest in the barracks for now," he said flatly. "If the heroes fall, the sacred duty will pass to you."
If they fall.
A sentence that sounded like an unspoken prayer.
I didn't know whether to feel insulted or grateful. At least I wasn't burdened with a long speech about saving the world. No pressure. No expectations.
No meaning.
The four heroes had already begun speaking among themselves. They looked natural together. Like the main cast on a movie poster. Even standing still, they looked right.
One of them glanced at me briefly.
Not with hatred. Not with sympathy.
Just… forgetfulness.
As if I truly didn't matter.
The ceremony ended quickly. Music played. Nobles gathered around the four shining lights. I stood alone in the now-extinguished circle, a faint scorch mark left upon the marble floor.
An old knight approached me.
"This way," he said without looking at my face. "The rear barracks. Don't get lost. The palace grounds aren't for everyone."
I nodded.
My footsteps echoed softly along the long corridor. The walls were lined with paintings of heroes from the past. Every face stern. Every story heroic.
Not a single portrait labeled "Reserve."
When we stepped out into the back courtyard, I saw something not shown in the grand hall. Several soldiers carried large wooden crates. The crates were covered with black cloth. The smell of metal—and something heavier—seeped into the air.
I stopped.
"What's that?" I asked.
The old knight was silent for a moment.
"The ones who failed," he finally replied.
Failed.
Not fallen in honor. Not perished in legend.
Failed.
I glanced back toward the hall, now distant behind us. From the outside, the palace looked holy. Clean. Full of hope.
Too clean.
And for the first time since I awakened in this world, something uncomfortable crept into my chest.
Not fear.
Not awe.
But suspicion.
If this world truly needed five heroes, why were only four celebrated?
And if I was merely a substitute, why had my magic circle glowed longer than the others before finally fading?
That night, in a small barracks that barely deserved to be called a room, I lay staring at the cracked wooden ceiling.
I tried to remember my previous life. Nothing special. No extraordinary talent. I wasn't someone who would be chosen to save the world.
Maybe that's why they didn't choose me.
Yet before sleep took me, one small thought surfaced—and refused to leave.
If I truly wasn't important, why was I still alive?
In the distance, the palace bell tolled once.
And for some reason, it sounded like the beginning of something.
Not a tale of heroism.
But a grave mistake.