The meeting spot was the same– still and serene, tucked within the towering library of the Academy. Early morning light filtered through high, arching windows, casting long beams that stretched across shelves lined with ancient tomes and scrolls. Dust motes drifted lazily in the sunlight, and the faintest whisper of a breeze stirred through the open windows, rustling the pages of a few forgotten books.

Caelus stood at the edge of the room, half-hidden in the shadows of the towering bookshelves, his gaze drifting over the worn spines countless times. The gentle hush of the library seemed almost too perfect, a quiet too pure for the weight that hung over him. He leaned back against the cool, solid wood of the shelves, his arms crossed loosely, and let his mind wander, a thousand questions swirling just beneath the surface.

He still couldn’t fully grasp the reality of it all. One moment, he had been in his world—his old world, full of mundane struggles and fleeting dreams—and the next, he was here, thrust into this strange, magical existence. The memory of that blinding moment, the finality of his last breath, still lingered like a half-forgotten dream. Part of him had thought that was it. That he’d drift away into nothingness, finally freed from all expectations.

Instead, he was reborn into this fractured kingdom, where he was expected to be a hero, a saviour of a land that wasn’t even his. He was no longer just Caelus, but someone far greater—and somehow, that title came with a weight he hadn’t asked for. He thought back to King Rowan, his desperate eyes, his hands reaching out to him as if he were some kind of legend. The Champions of Helia, he had called them. The words echoed in his mind, cold and heavy, each one sinking like a stone in his chest.

The idea of staying dead had seemed so much simpler. No more responsibilities, no more struggle. Just peace. Now, though, he was bound to this world’s destiny—expected to wield a sword and save people he didn’t even know. Part of him wanted to turn away, to slip into the shadows and let someone else take on this burden. But every time he thought of that, he remembered the look on King Rowan’s face.

He didn’t know if he was ready to carry this weight, to truly be a hero. But standing here, in the silence of the library, he felt the faintest stirrings of purpose, like an ember buried deep beneath layers of doubt.

Lorian was the first to arrive, moving with his usual relaxed confidence. He strolled into the airy, vaulted room with his hands tucked behind his head, whistling a lively tune that echoed softly off the stone walls. His eyes wandered around the library, taking in the quiet, the light, and the towering shelves as if savouring the calm of the moment. He grinned, pleased to be early.

Not long after, Elira made her entrance, munching on a warm pastry with a flaky crust, crumbs falling to the ancient, tiled floor with each bite. She held the pastry between her teeth, mumbling through a mouthful, “This is really good,” her voice muffled, a small trail of crumbs marking her path.

Caelus, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow at her apparent satisfaction. “What is it?” he asked, a touch intrigued.

“Harpy bun,” she replied casually, still chewing, her expression unfazed.

Caelus’s eyes widened, his face freezing mid-thought. Did she just say... harpy? The idea alone left him both bewildered and slightly queasy.

The others arrived in sequence, adding their own unique presence to the quiet of the library. Seraph glided in next, her gaze calm and unreadable, glancing around the room with an almost detached air, her mind seemingly preoccupied with thoughts of her own. Magnus entered with steady, quiet steps, his hand resting lightly on his staff, a calm patience in his demeanour as he took in the library’s expanse.

Riven slipped in just as the bell marked the hour, sharp-eyed as ever. She nodded briefly at the group, her gaze flickering around the room to assess every possible exit and entry point. Her movements were fluid, precise, her presence felt even in her silence.

Finally, Darius burst into the room a few minutes late, leaning against the doorframe with an apologetic grin. His cheeks were flushed from his jog through the Academy halls. “Sorry—huff—we can go now,” he managed, catching his breath and giving them a sheepish smile.

As they all gathered in the quiet sanctuary of the library, the morning sunlight grew brighter, bathing them in a warm glow that softened the age-old stone walls. Despite their differences, they shared a moment of collective purpose—a gathering of champions ready to step into the unknown.

With everyone gathered, they exited the Academy, stepping into the warm sunlight spilling over the courtyard. The day was bright, and the sky stretched endlessly above them, a vibrant, cloudless blue. As they descended the Academy’s old stone steps—worn smooth over countless years and flecked with the moss of age—the architecture of the town unfurled around them, each building an ode to an almost-forgotten era. Their surroundings had a timeless charm, almost European in style, with intricate stonework, arched windows, and spires rising proudly above the rooftops, casting long shadows that danced across the cobblestone streets.

I guess the sky looks the same in every world, Caelus mused as he took in the unfamiliar-yet-familiar sights, a subtle tug of nostalgia settling in.

As they reached the bustling heart of the town, a lively marketplace opened up before them. Merchants called out, their voices mixing in a chaotic harmony. Stalls lined both sides of the street, draped in vibrant fabrics and selling everything from fresh produce and fragrant herbs to gleaming weapons and vials of strange, shimmering potions. The enticing aroma of freshly baked bread and spices wafted through the air, drawing them forward like a subtle enchantment.

Suddenly, Elira stopped, pointing excitedly at a modest stand nearby. “Hey, that’s where I bought this bun!” She held up the last of her pastry, waving it toward the shopkeeper. “Hey, my man! This is good stuff!” Her voice rang out across the crowd as she called out to the baker, her enthusiasm plain.

At first, a few curious glances flicked their way—then came the widening eyes, the startled gasps. Whispers spread like wildfire, rippling through the crowd as more people recognized the champions by their distinctive appearances: Caelus, the azure-haired warlord with his massive sword strapped to his back; Lorian, the young white-haired mage clutching his ancient spellbook; Riven, the halfling cloaked in shadows; Elira, the towering Goliath with her gleaming shield; Magnus, the elf with his staff twisted from enchanted wood; Seraph, the dark elf with her mysterious circlet glimmering faintly in the sunlight; and Darius, the Dragonborn knight, his red scaled skin catching the light in an iridescent shimmer. Heads turned, and soon all eyes were on the unusual group.

“I-It’s them! Our saviours! The champions of old!” a voice cried out from a nearby shop, resonating through the crowd.

In an instant, the marketplace erupted with excitement. People surged forward, pressing in from all sides. Faces blurred together in a wash of emotions—joy, hope, disbelief. Some cried out in gratitude, arms raised to the heavens, while others reached forward just to brush the sleeves of their heroes, hoping for a glimpse or a touch. The air filled with cheers and shouts, blessings and pleas, hopes for Helia’s return and whispers of salvation.

Caelus exchanged a wide-eyed, bewildered look with his teammates as the crowd swelled around them, tightening until they were shoulder to shoulder, chest to chest with the townsfolk. Some clasped their hands in prayer, others sobbed with joy, and many chanted the champions’ ancient names, their voices filled with fervour. The din was overwhelming, the press of bodies intense.

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Riven leaned in close to Elira, glaring pointedly. “So, how are you going to get us out of this?”

Elira chuckled nervously, but before she could answer, the crowd surged closer, nearly engulfing them. Some townsfolk reached out, clutching at their arms and shoulders with trembling hands, eyes brimming with tears of joy. Others called out, their voices cracking with emotion as they shared hurried words of thanks and tales of hardship, creating a chaotic and pressing scene that left the group surrounded, barely able to breathe.

Caelus stood frozen amidst the onslaught of townsfolk, feeling as though he were caught in a storm of emotions. The desperate gratitude in their voices and the warmth of their hands gripping his arms left him stunned, almost overwhelmed. He hadn’t known what to expect when they’d stepped into the village, but he certainly hadn’t anticipated this wave of adoration—a reverence that felt as unfamiliar as it did undeserved.

Faces blurred together in the press of people, each one looking at him with a mixture of hope and desperation. Their eyes held a fierce belief in him, in them, as champions. A tightness formed in Caelus’s chest, the weight of their expectations sinking into him, far heavier than the steel sword strapped to his back. This wasn’t the faceless battlefield he was accustomed to in fiction; this was personal. These were people clinging to him with hope, as if he were a beacon in the dark.

He stole a glance at his teammates, seeing them each reacting in their own ways—some reassuring, some tense, others clearly as caught off guard as he was. In that moment, he felt both an intense drive to protect these people and a deep fear of failing them. Would he live up to their trust? Could he bear the responsibility they placed on him?

Amid the crowd’s fervour, a hand suddenly rose above the sea of bodies—Lorian’s, his spellbook clutched tightly. His voice rang out, clear and focused, “Recurrence!”

In an instant, the bustling noise and the weight of the crowd vanished, replaced by the tranquil stillness of a shaded forest. The sharp sunlight filtering through the dense canopy dappled the ground in patches of warm light, and the soft sounds of birdsong and rustling leaves slowly filled the silence where the crowd’s cheers had been moments ago.

For a beat, they all stood there, blinking as they took in their new surroundings. Then, with a whoop of relief, Elira scooped Lorian into her arms, swinging him around with an infectious joy. “You’re a lifesaver, Lorian!” she laughed, her eyes shining with gratitude as she ruffled his snow-white hair like a proud parent. “How’d you manage that, little guy?”

Lorian’s cheeks flushed pink as he giggled, shrugging modestly. “I, uh… I was reading my spellbook while everyone else was getting ready,” he said, offering a sheepish grin that only made Elira squeeze him tighter.

The group shared a rare, light-hearted moment, the relief palpable in their laughter as they readied themselves to continue the journey, the forest stretching quietly around them.

They regrouped in the shaded heart of the forest, taking in the serene atmosphere that surrounded them. The air was crisp with the earthy scent of moss and damp soil, mingling with the faint fragrance of wildflowers that dotted the undergrowth in clusters of soft purples and whites. Shafts of sunlight filtered through the dense canopy above, creating shifting patterns of light and shadow that danced across the forest floor, adding an almost mystical quality to the scene. The quiet rustling of leaves whispered secrets of the forest, a language only the ancient trees seemed to know.

Magnus stepped forward, his movements unhurried, and let his fingers drift over a tendril of ivy that had wound itself around the low-hanging branch of a nearby tree. He felt the pulse of life beneath its surface, an energy subtle yet unmistakable, almost like the heartbeat of the forest itself. His hand drifted lower to brush the soft, green leaves of a bush, feeling that same rhythmic thrumming—a reminder of the forest’s vitality, a steady and ancient force. The trees around them seemed to recognize him, branches stretching slightly as though leaning closer to their Druid King, welcoming him back to a place where his powers harmonised with the land itself.

A gentle breeze swept through the clearing, causing the leaves to shiver and sending a scattering of blossoms down like tiny stars falling from the sky. Magnus closed his eyes for a moment, grounding himself in the forest's embrace. It was a stark contrast to the weighty responsibility they carried and the harsh battles that awaited them, but for now, the forest seemed to be offering a respite, a moment of peace and reassurance.

Not far from him, Caelus unfolded their map, the parchment rustling in the stillness. He studied it, his brow furrowing slightly as he traced the winding paths marked on the map, following their route through the dense woods and into the open plains beyond. He pointed ahead, his gaze sharp and focused as he found their bearings.

“The village of Ravendale should be just beyond that next hill,” he murmured, the anticipation in his voice cutting through the calm. He could almost see it in his mind’s eye—the village nestled in the valley, bordered by fields and forests, where smoke might be rising from the chimneys of warm homes and peaceful life would be humming. But he knew, from the urgency of their journey, that all was not well in Ravendale.

The quiet determination in his voice rippled through the group, bringing them back to the reality of their mission. They felt it too: the subtle shift from the tranquillity of the forest to the anticipation of what lay ahead. They would need to leave this peaceful grove soon, readying themselves for whatever awaited them.

One by one, they nodded, steeling themselves for the journey ahead. The path was clear now, stretching just over the crest of the hill, where they would leave the serenity of the forest and descend into the unknown—bound together by purpose, their steps echoing softly against the leaf-strewn ground as they moved forward.

But wait! What was that?

They paused in their path, startled by an unexpected visitor—a small, jelly-like creature that hopped across their way with a wobbling, bouncy motion. Its translucent body glistened in the sun, faintly tinted with a pale blue that shimmered as it moved. The creature’s “face” was charming in its simplicity, with two tiny, beady black eyes that sparkled like polished onyx set into its soft, translucent body. The creature seemed timid but desperate, and without hesitation, it latched onto Magnus's leg, clinging with tiny, quivering hands as if seeking protection.

“Huh?” Magnus looked down, surprised by the sudden hitchhiker. Before he could react further, a shriek cut through the silence.

“Eek!” Seraph yelped, stumbling back and darting behind Elira, her eyes wide with horror as she peered around Elira’s shoulder. Elira, meanwhile, bent down, observing the creature with open curiosity.

Magnus, recovering from his own surprise, squatted down to get a better look at the trembling creature. “Hey, little guy,” he said softly, his tone gentle and coaxing. “What’s got you so scared?” He extended a hand, slowly and carefully, giving it a light poke. The creature jiggled in response, its gelatinous form quivering like a bowl of jelly before bouncing back, burrowing its face into the folds of Magnus’s robes for comfort.

"Maybe it's a slime," Lorian suggested, tilting his head thoughtfully as he watched the little creature wobble. With a quick motion, he flipped open his spellbook, fingers skimming over familiar pages until he found the one he needed.

"Usually friendly and harmless monster," he read aloud, brow furrowing as he scanned the entry. "Weaknesses include high and low temperatures…" His voice trailed off as he looked back at the trembling blob, his curiosity piqued.

A monster? This little creature? Caelus wondered, eyebrows knitting together as he studied the trembling slime. The thought seemed absurd—how could something so small and helpless-looking, with its round, beady eyes and tiny quivering form, be anything remotely dangerous?

Magnus gave the creature a reassuring pat, murmuring softly, "So that’s why you’re shaking, huh? Poor little guy."

Elira, watching with interest, leaned in closer. "Guess he’s not much of a fighter, then."

Riven scoffed. “It’s useless, just leave it.” She crossed her arms.

Magnus chuckled, patting its back lightly, feeling an odd warmth of protectiveness toward the little blob. The creature shook again, though this time it seemed to be gathering its courage. From its squishy body, a tiny, wobbly arm extended, pointing a trembling finger toward the direction of Ravendale. It turned back to the group, looking up with wide, pleading eyes that seemed to sparkle with an unspoken worry.

Elira crouched beside Magnus, studying the creature’s tiny face, her own brow creased in concern. “Looks like it came from the village,” she murmured, glancing between the creature and the distant plume of smoke visible above the trees.

Caelus exchanged a look with Magnus, his expression hardening with resolve. “Then whatever frightened it might still be out there.”

The creature gave a tiny, urgent squeak, bouncing up and down as it pointed once more toward Ravendale, as if urging them to hurry.