Book I: The Fourth Summoning
Prologue: The Circle Remains
The room was absolute in its darkness—thick, suffocating, ancient. The sort of darkness that felt alive, pressing in from all sides as though eager to swallow any intruder foolish enough to bring light into its domain.
A whisper of arcane words cut through the silence. The mage's voice was calm, deliberate, etched with the weight of centuries. she traced her fingers through the air, leaving trails of pale azure fire in their wake. The spell responded eagerly, as if it had been waiting to be remembered.
One by one, points of blue light shimmered into being, small and distant like stars in a void. Then, like threads pulled taut, they connected, forming glyphs that hovered inches above the cold stone floor. The glyphs rotated slowly, then accelerated, tracing an intricate circular design—the ritual seal. When it was completed, the entire room bloomed with a glow that chased the shadows to the corners and filled the air with a low hum, the sound of magic alive and aware.
The mage lowered her hands and exhaled slowly. She could feel the power anchoring itself in the circle, steady and obedient. For now.
"Alright," She said aloud, voice echoing slightly in the chamber. "Everything's stable on my end, Dragon. The conduit's open, and the spell's holding. Are the ley lines syncing for you?"
There was a pause, then a rumbling voice answered—low, worn, yet still carrying that unmistakable edge of restrained power.
"All is good on my end," said Draco.
"Same here," came the Alchemist
voice—crisp, unbothered, like someone who had grown too used to working with forces beyond comprehension.
The mage allowed herself a moment to relax. A full decade had passed since the last convergence. she asked, more softly than before. The question felt foolish the moment it left her lips, but it was already out.
"So," she said, trying to fill the silence with something softer. "How have you two been these last ten years?"
Alchemist chuckled, though there was no humor in it. "Tired," he said plainly. "Research has slowed. Political pressure's up, and test zones are under surveillance. Still, field tests are... tolerable. The prototypes don't try to kill me anymore…. Well most of them. The new ones show potential"
"Progress," the mage said dryly.
"Pain," Draco replied. "I'm still in pain, Al. The life-extension serum from Rin? It stopped working on me. The side effects are back. Worse. I've got less than a century left, and I feel every damn second."
The mage closed her eyes, letting the guilt surface—for just a moment.
Al didn't reply right away.
Draco pressed on, bitterness bleeding into his tone. "Tell me, Al—how much longer do I need to wait for your miracle medicine? Or are you just planning to let me rot so you can harvest my corpse for another batch of your precious elixirs? Need I remind you who got me into this state in the first place?"
The mage winced. Al had always been reckless, but she hadn't expected the consequences of his past attempts to still burn this deeply.
Al's voice came back, quieter now. "No, Draco. You don't need to remind me."
Another beat of silence passed.
"It'll be ready," Al continued. "By the next summer solstice. You have my word."
The mage arched an eyebrow. A rare thing, Al giving timelines. He must be serious this time.
"Oh," Al added with a sudden shift in tone, as though eager to escape the guilt, "Did you hear? The Empire of—what are they calling it now, Eirenhal?—just summoned a new batch of heroes last week. That makes the third group this year, right?"
The mage smirked. "Fourth, actually. The third group died last month. Ambushed outside Karsen by demons masquerading as refugees Clever ones."
Draco let out a low growl. "Already? Are the summons that weak... or have the demons gotten that good?"
"Both," the mage muttered. He rubbed his temple. His spells weren't enough anymore, not against what was coming. Not without help. Not without sacrifice.
Draco's voice darkened. "Isn't his seal due to break within the next two years?"
That silenced all of them.
The mage's jaw tightened.
"Only if the demons succeed in releasing him. And we haven't confirmed that they're trying—yet."
The mage closed his eyes. she remembered the moment that seal was forged. The screams. The blood. The impossible choice. She still felt the heat of the flame against his hands, centuries later.
"Only if the demons actively work to free him," she said at last. "Which... let's be honest—they probably are."
Al gave a sardonic snort. "So, question: do we guide this set of heroes to the true ending this time... or let them burn again in another pyrrhic victory?"
The dragon snapped, louder than he meant to. "Do you really intend to interfere, Al? After everything?" He took a breath. "You and I—we—suffered the most last time we tried to help. And now? I've lost my immortality. I feel every hour aging me. My body forgets how to regenerate. My magic—" He stopped, swallowing the rest. No need to give voice to despair.
"Calm down,Draco," Mage interjected. "Al has a point. But so do you." Her voice softened. "Of all of us, only you, me, Al... Skelly and Nona remain. That's it. The others are gone. Dust. Memories and legacies. We owe it to them. And to ourselves. We don't have to interfere directly... but we can still help."
The mage folded Draco arms. "You mean play their game."
"Yes," Mage replied. "And win."
The silence that followed was heavy, but not hopeless.
Al sighed theatrically. "Of course. I knew your speech was just a ploy to avoid getting your hands dirty. That means I'm the one who has to plant clues, set the stage, feed the rumors, spread the visions... I'll have to act as a damn Dungeon Master again, won't I?"
The mage smirked in spite of herself. "Yes. You will."
"Draco," Al continued, "You'll be my dragon in the upcoming encounter. Impressive, terrifying, cryptic. We'll workshop your dialogue later."
Draco gave a resigned grunt. "Fine~"
The light within the ritual circle pulsed one final time, growing dimmer as the connection prepared to fade. But the air still shimmered with purpose, with determination, with old bonds not yet broken.
The mage stood alone now in the vast chamber, the afterglow of the spell flickering around her feet. She knew they didn't have many more chances left. One, perhaps two at most.
And then?
Then the world would burn again.
Unless they played their twisted game better this time.
Unless they won.
The ritual circle flickered once more, casting their silhouettes—ghostly, ancient, powerful—against the walls.
The light dimmed.
Their connection faded.
The room returned to darkness.
But far beyond that chamber, in a gilded throne room under a distant sky, new heros opened their eyes for the first time in this world.
And unknowingly stepped into the hands of unseen gods and Puppeteers~