Summoned Warrior

The morning mist clung low to the grass, cool and silvered in the early sun. Leon stood fully dressed, katana strapped to his back, long before the others stirred.

Today marked the end of another journey.

The village buzzed with quiet activity as Eira and her people gathered near the gates. Woven baskets of fruit, dried meats, and carefully bundled travel herbs were gifted to the party with bowed heads and reverent smiles.

They hadn't saved the world.

But they'd saved enough to matter.

The Crimson Vow gave their thanks, each in their own way — Iris, with a soft bow and a prayer; Darius, a gruff nod of respect; Selene, offering advice on defence runes carved into their walls. Even Velis gave a dramatic little curtsy — which made Lyra pinch her ear hard enough to make her yelp.

Two hours later, the green hills fell away, and the towers of Solmaria rose into view like sunlit lances piercing the heavens.

Leon couldn't help it.

He stared.

The last time they had come here, the city had smelled of ash and demon rot, the streets choked with rubble and fear. Now it shimmered — sunlight dancing on white-stone walls, fresh banners fluttering in the breeze, laughter spilling from open market stalls.

It was beautiful.

And alive.

He walked ahead of the others, gazing around with wide-eyed wonder. The smell of baked honey bread. The high song of cathedral bells. The streets crowded with nobles in silk and merchants in worn leathers.

"You look more lost than usual," Velis commented, her voice cutting through the morning air like a grin.

"Yeah," added Kieran, elbowing her with a sly grin. "Didn't know we picked up a tourist."

Leon flushed. "You two are unbelievable."

The two partners in crime burst into synchronized laughter, laughing so hard they had to lean on each other to keep upright. Leon just shook his head, smiling despite himself.

They reached the Adventurers' Hall by midday. Its tall domed roof shone like polished ivory under the sun, and the insignia of the Solmarian Guild — a sun carved in gold relief — still towered proudly over the doors.

Inside, Darius stepped forward and presented their completion report.

"One mission, no casualties," he said flatly.

The clerk glanced at the seal, then nodded and stamped the ledger.

"Mission complete."

Silence followed.

No one wanted to say it.

Kieran broke it first. "Well," he sighed, turning slightly. "Guess this is where I take my leave."

Velis moved first.

She stormed forward with a dramatic sniffle, her eyes wide with exaggerated emotion.

"My dear, sweet Kieran. Our journey together ends… here?" she cried, dramatically draping herself across his shoulder.

Kieran responded with a fake sob, wiping imaginary tears on her cloak. "Velis, my beloved partner in chaos. Who will scam gullible adventurers with me now?"

They embraced like old war widows, crying loudly and shamelessly into each other's shoulders.

Except, of course, not a single tear was real.

Leon watched the performance, dumbfounded. "They're not even trying to make it believable."

"I know," Lyra muttered beside him, arms crossed. "And somehow, it's still impressive."

Gaius offered Kieran a firm handshake, his grin lazy but warm. "You weren't bad company. Try not to get killed."

Darius added nothing more than a nod — the kind that said everything. Mutual respect earned without words.

Selene stepped forward, resting a hand on Kieran's shoulder. "Thank you. For trusting us."

Iris bowed politely, her voice gentle. "Safe travels. May the stars guide your way."

Leon stepped up last. "Take care of yourself," he said, a little awkward, a little sincere.

Kieran gave him a long look. "You've got good people, Leon. Don't lose them."

Leon nodded. "I won't."

And with that, Kieran turned.

No dramatic waves. No speeches.

Just a lazy hand raised behind him as he strolled into the sunlit street, his silhouette eventually swallowed by the flow of the city.

He didn't look back.

But none of them expected him to.

They left the hall and melted into the streets, grabbing food as they went — spiced flatbreads, skewers of grilled meat, and cold fruit drinks that Leon devoured with abandon. It was then, as Gaius made some ridiculous suggestion about visiting other races' territories, that Leon nearly choked.

"Wait— wait, what do you mean 'other races'?" Leon coughed.

Iris looked at him with a sigh, as though remembering just how alien he still was to this world.

"Humans and demons aren't the only races here, Leon." She counted them off on slender fingers.

"Elves, Dwarves, Beastkin, Drakani, Aetherborn, and the Haldrin."

"Aetherborn?" Leon asked.

"Children born of pure magic. Rare. Dangerous. Unstable."

Selene leaned in, licking sauce from her thumb. "And you'll find no two alike."

Iris continued. "In the old wars, some of those races sided with the demons — mainly the Drakani and some beastkin tribes. The elves and dwarves fought with humanity, while the Haldrin… remained out of it. They're ancient. Detached."

Leon's head spun with the information. "And there are gods here too, right?"

"That's a topic for another day, Leon" Selene smirked.

That was when a voice, smooth and laced with quiet amusement, cut through their circle.

"I couldn't have explained it better myself."

They turned.

Leon saw him first — a slender figure with pale green hair and eyes too old, too calm for his youthful face. A soft smile curved his lips.

"Seris Alune," Iris greeted, her voice guarded but polite.

And flanking him, a tall man with rust-red hair and a half-smirk. Aeron Kestrel.

But it was the figure at their head who stole the air from the street.

Selvanna Dawnblade.

Holy Knight. Wielder of the Virtue of Diligence.

Ivory armor kissed by starlight, storm-grey eyes like frost over a frozen lake. A sword at her hip that radiated a faint golden sheen. Leon didn't know her — but every instinct screamed that this woman was dangerous.

"Selvanna," Iris acknowledged tightly.

Selvanna's gaze moved over the group, unreadable, until it settled on Leon. She held it there for a long, assessing beat before she spoke.

"So you're the summoned hero. The boy who holds Wrath's Blade."

Leon stiffened, swallowing thickly.

Selvanna gave the smallest tilt of her head. "I've heard much."

Iris stepped forward. "These are the Holy Knights Selvanna Dawnblade, her second Aeron Kestrel, and Seris Alune of the Viridian Order."

Leon bowed, uneasy.

And the tension in the air thickened like storm clouds before the break.

 * * * * *

The streets of Solmaria's capital thrummed with the vibrant hum of daily life, the scent of fresh bread and spices mingling with distant incense. But none of it reached Leon.

Leon found his gaze caught — unable to pull away from the silver-haired figure standing at the head of the approaching party. She was striking. Not merely beautiful, but possessed of a terrible, effortless grace, as though the world itself yielded to her step. Platinum hair cascaded down like woven moonlight, storm-grey eyes reflecting a quiet, unassailable strength. In the light, she was the mirror of Iris — save for those eyes.

He didn't even realize he was staring until a sharp tug at his sleeve snapped him back to himself. Sylva stood beside him, expression unreadable, but her grip on his arm was firm. Leon swallowed and managed a sheepish grin.

"Thanks," he muttered.

Selvanna's gaze drifted to him then, and the weight of it was something tangible. She spoke, voice calm, cultured, a blade sheathed in silk.

"I've heard the stories," she began. "A hero summoned from another world. A party of outcasts and killers. A dragon slain. A cult destroyed. But the real stars… a child named Velis, and a girl called Sylva."

Velis gave a smug grin, arms crossed as though basking in rightful praise. Sylva offered a polite, silent bow, her crimson eyes unreadable.

Selvanna's gaze flickered back to Leon, eyes narrowing. "And you… you don't match the reports."

Leon blinked, confused, until she clarified. "The records said black hair. And yet here you stand — black and white. A curious thing."

Leon laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Ah… long story."

Selvanna tilted her head, assessing him like a merchant appraising damaged goods. "The influence of Wrath's Blade, I presume."

At that, the smile fell from Leon's lips.

"…What did you call it?"

"The blade you wield," Selvanna said coolly. "It's no ordinary weapon, summoned one. It bears the sin of Wrath, as surely as night follows day. You walk with a curse at your back, and you don't even know the name of your own executioner."

Selvanna's lips twitched into something faintly condescending. "You've carried a cursed weapon without even knowing what it is? And you claim to walk this world as a hero? Do you know nothing of the history, the sins, the blades forged by the Abyss itself?"

Her words were a lash, and something in Leon snapped.

"You talk like you know me," Leon said, voice low, rough. "Like you understand a thing about my life."

The air thickened. A suffocating pressure unfurling around them like storm clouds gathering before the fall of rain.

"You don't know what it's been like. I didn't ask to be here. I didn't ask for this blade, this war, any of it. Since the moment I came to this god-damned world, I've been fighting to stay alive, barely a breath away from death at every turn. And you stand there, judging me because I don't know about some ancient relic or war you people started long before I ever arrived?"

His voice rose with every word, and the tension in the square turned knife-sharp. Selvanna's party shifted uneasily, hands inching toward hilts and tomes, while Selvanna herself narrowed her eyes, the faintest ghost of a frown on her lips.

Leon's rage shimmered in the air like heat haze.

"I didn't choose this!" he snapped. "And if your cursed blade keeps talking shit to me, you're welcome to take it back."

His magic flared, a silent shiver of power radiating outward.

"Leon," Sylva's voice cut through it, soft but firm.

He stilled.

Sylva placed a hand on his arm. "Enough."

He looked at her — saw the worry in her brown gaze — and let the breath leave him in a sharp exhale. The pressure in the air eased. Leon turned back to Selvanna and gave a rough nod.

Selvanna remained still, studying him with unreadable eyes. The faintest curve of her lips, though whether it was satisfaction or calculation, no one could tell.

"I see. The rumors were too kind," she murmured, almost to herself.

Before another word could fall, a slow, deliberate clap echoed through the air.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

The sound was almost lazy. Mocking.

And no one — not Leon, not Selvanna, not even Velis — had sensed her approach.

A figure stepped from the shadowed edge of the street, cloaked in darkness as though the very night itself clung to her shoulders. A woman with hair like obsidian silk, eyes the color of dusk-violet flame. A scythe rested idly against one shoulder, her lips curled in a smile equal parts elegant and cruel.

The suffocating air returned, thicker now, as if the world itself held its breath.

The sight of her made every hair on Leon's neck stand on end. The others tensed — even Selvanna.

The woman's voice was velvet-smooth and cold. "My, my… what a lively little gathering."

Sylva stiffened, her blood turning to ice, before the name escaped her lips without thought, voice barely a whisper.

"…Cassandra?"