Just as the priest began mumbling a prayer for patience under his breath, a sudden pulse of brilliant light erupted from each of the five summoned strangers.
From Cael's chest, a flicker of amber.
From Alaric's, a glorious shimmer of gold.
Lys glowed with a silvery-blue hue, soft but piercing.
Renna's pulsed a strange pinkish-red, jagged like lightning.
And Thorne's blazed with a blinding white flash, so dramatic it looked like it came with its own soundtrack.
The group froze mid-chaos.
And then—FWOOOM!
Five luminous bursts exploded from each person's chest like magical chest-burps from heaven itself. The room filled with swirling energy, colors colliding and dancing, wind howling in circles like a divine disco storm.
"IS THIS AN ATTACK?!" Cael yelled, instantly dropping to the floor and rolling behind a decorative pillar like a trained secret agent who also happened to be very, very nervous.
"What the hell is happening?!" Renna shouted, shielding her very much new female body from whatever cosmic nonsense was pouring out of her torso.
"IS THIS WHAT DYING FEELS LIKE?!" Lys screamed over the wind, eyes wide, glowing like she'd been selected for celestial jury duty.
Thorne, meanwhile, stood with arms spread, chest out, soaking in the light like he deserved this moment. "FINALLY! My greatness manifests! I KNEW I WAS CHOSEN! BOW BEFORE—OW! That thing is sharp!"
From the storm of lights, five distinct weapons began to take shape, floating mid-air with maximum flair.
From Alaric's light, a sword-like construct spun itself into existence with shifting arcane runes, glowing like an enchanted science project gone right. "Oh my GOD," Alaric gasped, starry-eyed. "It's got a mana coil. I could cry."
Lys's glow twisted into a long, slender bow with threads of magic for string. It thrum-thrum-thrummed like it had a heartbeat of its own.
Renna's burst formed into a short, elegant dagger—sleek, beautiful, and radiating unsettling honesty. "Why do I feel like this thing knows all my sins?"
Thorne's weapon slammed into his hand like it belonged there: a shining white lance with a golden tip that hummed with raw energy. "This," he whispered reverently, "is what I deserve."
And Cael's light... well, it hovered. Then spun. Then warped into a floating, glowing sigil that hung in the air like a mysterious idea made real.
"WHAT IS THAT?!" Cael yelped from behind the pillar. "It's not even solid! Everyone else gets sharp things, and I get a concept?! What even is this?!"
The priest, finally looking mildly pleased, raised his hands. "You have each received a divine artifact—"
"Artifact?" Cael interrupted. "You mean tracking beacon. Or curse. Or psychic brand! You can't just get magic shoved into your chest and call that normal!"
"It did come from inside us," Lys muttered, blinking at her bow. "I feel violated."
"Okay, no one said we were signing up to become magical storage units!" Renna snapped, holding the dagger at arm's length like it might judge her at any moment.
"I demand two weapons," Thorne said smugly. "This lance is a start, but I clearly deserve more."
"You deserve a sock to the head," Cael hissed.
"What even is that thing?" Thorne sneered, pointing at Cael's floating sigil. "What does it do? Glow mysteriously until someone trips over it?"
Cael clutched his head. "You know what this is? This is a symbol. A warning. It's going to activate at the worst possible moment and unlock something terrible inside me. This is a narrative setup for a tragic backstory. I am not okay with this."
Alaric, meanwhile, was just circling the sword, whispering to it like it was a celebrity he'd just met. "I'm naming you Runcible. We're going to be best friends."
The priest nodded, as if none of this was wildly unhinged. "Each weapon has chosen its bearer, in accordance with your soul's essence—"
"Soul essence?!" Cael barked. "That's how viruses choose hosts too! I need a helmet. And gloves. And a lawyer."
"Does anyone else smell lavender?" Lys asked faintly.
Cael's weapon—the strange, hovering sigil—continued to orbit him lazily like a very smug planet. He eyed it suspiciously, then turned toward the old priest, who still stood smiling with the serene patience of a man who'd clearly dealt with one too many prophecies.
Cael raised a hand as if in class. "Question."
The priest blinked, mildly surprised. "Yes, young hero?"
Cael pointed to the glowing objects now floating or shimmering near each of them. "What are these… magical artifacts? Relics? Hexes? Alien parasites? Be honest."
"Oh! Those," the priest chuckled, as if this were the most casual thing in the world. "They are Coe's Gifts—divine weapons granted to you by the god of duality, identity, and reflection."
Cael squinted. "Coe?"
"Yes, the great deity who watches over L'solia—our kingdom. It is by His will you were summoned to protect this world from the encroaching darkness."
Cael blinked slowly. "So... a god named Coe decided to drag five random people from another world, give them suspiciously glowing weapons, and toss them into a war?"
"Well, when you put it like that—"
"Follow-up question," Cael cut in, voice tight. "Is it… say, technically… a crime to refuse the hero's duty? Hypothetically?"
The priest faltered, his serene expression twitching ever so slightly. "Pardon?"
"I mean, is there a fine? Jail time? A public flogging? Asking for a friend."
Behind him, Alaric was testing how many times he could bounce his sword against the wall without scratching it. Renna was still silently mouthing "I had a beard this morning," while Lys stared into the distance, murmuring something about the smell of lavender. Thorne, meanwhile, had found a decorative vase and was now threatening to smash it if he wasn't returned to his game tournament immediately.
The priest cleared his throat awkwardly. "I—er—there is no legal punishment for refusing, per se. But... the fate of the world does rest in your hands."
Cael narrowed his eyes. "So no official law. Got it. But what if I want that in writing?"
Thorne threw his hands up. "Oh my god, are you seriously trying to negotiate a divine contract right now? Just grab your weird symbol thing and let's go slay the demon lord already!"
"Ah yes, because rushing blindly into mortal peril has never backfired," Cael muttered. "I'm sure Coe has an excellent dental plan for posthumous heroes."
"Wait, what's Coe again?" Alaric called from behind a statue. "Is he the sword guy?"
"He's the god of duality," the priest repeated, sighing. "And identity. And reflection."
"Sounds like a philosophical headache," Lys chimed in. "Wait, is that the smell of lavender or am I having a stroke?"
The room buzzed with the awkward hum of glowing artifacts and equally glowing confusion. Each of the summoned heroes stood at varying levels of emotional meltdown.
"I'm telling you, it smells like lavender in here," Lys muttered, sniffing the air like a confused cat. "Did one of the weapons come with a scented enchantment?"
"I think it's just incense," said Alaric, who was now trying to balance his sword vertically on his palm. "Or magic. Or both. This place is awesome."
Meanwhile, Renna was still poking at her chest like it had betrayed her. "I swear my voice was deeper yesterday. And I had chest hair. And no chest. Now it's all—" she gestured vaguely at her torso and then glared at her dagger like it was to blame. "This thing better come with a refund policy."
Thorne was still pacing, swinging his lance dangerously close to priceless church decorations. "I demand a rematch. I was literally at match point. Final round. Sudden death. I had the crowd chanting my name!"
"Was it your real name or your username?" Cael asked flatly, watching him from a cautious six feet away.
Thorne paused. "…That's irrelevant."
Cael turned back to his floating sigil and muttered, "This thing is definitely watching me. I swear it blinked. It blinked, didn't it?"
"Dude, it's a circle," Renna said. "It can't blink."
"You don't know that. We don't even know the rules of this world yet! For all we know, circles blink sideways here!"
Then, as if on cue, a loud clang echoed across the cathedral. Alaric's sword had slipped from his palm mid-balancing act and clattered across the marble floor.
"Oops," he said. The sword stopped glowing and vanished in a soft poof of sparkles.
Everyone stared.
"…Wait," said Lys. "Did it just desummon?"
Alaric blinked. "I think I… dropped it too hard?"
Renna, now fully suspicious of her dagger, made a snap decision and yeeted it across the room like a cursed boomerang. It bounced off a pillar, flared, and vanished in a puff of smoke.
"Okay WHAT?" she said, arms flailing. "That worked?! That counts?!"
"It's probably enchanted to return to you when you need it," Alaric reasoned, already trying to drop his sword again. "Cool magic system."
"Or," Cael said slowly, eyes darting around, "this is a test. A trap. They want to see if we're worthy by luring us into false security. What else disappears if we throw it? Our hands? Our sanity? Our souls?"
"Buddy," said Renna, patting him on the shoulder. "If sanity disappears that easily, mine left two glow-ups ago."
Thorne, growing bored, gave his massive lance a dramatic spin and flung it full-force toward the opposite wall like a spear thrower at the Olympics. The weapon exploded in light before vanishing midair.
"YES!" Thorne shouted triumphantly. "I DESUMMONED MINE IN STYLE!"
The priest, still awkwardly standing in the corner trying to maintain divine dignity, sighed. "Perhaps… we should begin the orientation now…"
"No no," Cael said, hand raised again. "One more question, If I throw myself, do I disappear too?"
"…What is wrong with you?" asked Lys.
Would the world be saved?
With a group like this, it would be a challenge. A very steep, uphill, possibly-on-fire challenge. But one thing was certain chaos would be their traveling companion, confusion their language, and their greatest weapon… sheer unpredictability.
And yet, somehow—just somehow—they would become the greatest heroes Overmorrowland had ever seen.
Even if they couldn't figure out how to properly hold their weapons.
CRACK!
There was a sudden rumble.
Everyone looked at Alaric.
He was standing sheepishly in the center of a newly-formed crater, his sword half-submerged in what used to be a pristine marble floor.
"…I sneezed," he said, blinking.
"This world is doomed," Cael muttered, stepping back like the floor might explode next.