Chapter 2: The Weight of Expectations Cover [https://i.imgur.com/k50f58Y.jpg]

Whisker

The cold stone beneath Whisker’s feet felt wrong—rough, cold, and unwelcoming against his bare skin. He missed the soft sensation of paws, the silent padding that had once been second nature to him. Now, his toes curled awkwardly, finding only the hard edge of this new reality. His breath came in shallow gasps, each one louder in his ears than it should have been. Every sound in the chamber felt amplified: the faint rustle of fabric, the distant hum of magic, the soft groan of ancient walls settling.

His hands—his human hands—trembled at his sides, fingertips brushing the strange tattoos now etched into his skin. They glowed faintly, casting a dim light that he found disturbing, reminding him constantly of the power within him that he neither wanted nor understood. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the overwhelming noise, but the pounding in his chest grew louder, like a drumbeat driving the panic deeper into his bones.

This isn’t right.

A damp, musty scent filled his nostrils—like dust, stone, and something else, something older. It seeped from the cracks in the floor, rising like the breath of forgotten centuries. The smell made him feel small, like a child lost in a world too big for him to understand. When he opened his eyes again, the vastness of the room stretched out before him, lit dimly by the unnatural glow of their arrival.

It wasn’t the room, though, that held his attention. It was the others. They were scattered around, each lost in their own bubble of confusion and unease. Tanaka stood nearby, his posture as solid as the sword at his side. Whisker couldn’t understand how he was holding it together. There was a tension in his shoulders, though—an intensity in the way his hand rested a little too firmly on the hilt.

How is he so calm?

A faint hum of magic rippled through the air, and Whisker’s ears—well, the space where his ears should have been—twitched reflexively. He tried to pinpoint the source of the sound but found nothing. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, crawling over his skin, making the tattoos on his arms glow brighter with each pulse. His head swam, the weight of disorientation pressing down on him in waves.

His gaze shifted to another figure—a woman standing apart from the others. She was still, her silver hair catching the dim light as she watched the unfolding chaos with a quiet calm that Whisker envied. He didn’t know who she was, didn’t know why she was here, but there was something in the way she carried herself that drew his attention. The room was tense, thick with fear and confusion, yet she seemed… focused.

Whisker swallowed hard, his throat dry. The weight of the moment was crushing him.

I don’t belong here.

The thought crept into his mind, unbidden but insistent. He glanced down at his hands again—the glowing tattoos pulsing, reminding him of everything wrong with this body, this situation. He was trapped in something he didn’t understand, something he wasn’t ready for. His fingers twitched with the urge to tear it all away, to peel off this human skin and find something familiar beneath, but he clenched his fists instead.

Just breathe.

The murmurs from the robed figures—the Heralds, as he overheard them being called—cut through the rising panic, though their words offered little comfort. “The ritual... it wasn’t supposed to fail...” The whisper carried through the air like a bitter wind, cold and sharp. Failed? The weight of that realization hit Whisker like a punch to the gut.

They weren’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be here.

Whisker’s pulse quickened again, panic clawing at the edges of his mind.

This isn’t right. I’m not right.

The thought sank deeper, twisting in his chest. He felt out of place, like a mistake—a piece of a puzzle that didn’t fit. His gaze flickered to the others, seeking reassurance, some sign that they felt the same way. Tanaka was still calm—at least outwardly. Lucas stood with his arms crossed, his sharp amber eyes scanning the room, as if waiting for something to go wrong.

I wish I could be like them.

Whisker swallowed hard, trying to choke down the rising panic.

But I can’t.

Then, a new voice cut through the tension. Calm. Steady. “We need to focus.” The woman with the silver hair—her tone quiet but firm—stepped forward. She had been so still before, blending into the shadows at the edges of the room, but now she commanded attention. Her eyes, sharp and clear, swept across the room, landing briefly on each of them.

When her gaze met his, Whisker felt a jolt—a strange sensation of being seen, truly seen. She didn’t look at him like he was a mistake, or a failed experiment. There was something else in her eyes—something close to understanding.

“You may not feel like heroes,” she continued, her voice unwavering, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t become them.”

Whisker blinked.

Heroes?

He wasn’t sure he could believe that. He barely knew what he was doing here. But the certainty in her voice, the way she spoke as though the possibility was already real, made something stir in him. Maybe… maybe there was something to it.

The weight of the moment didn’t lift entirely, but something had shifted. Whisker’s breath came a little easier, the pounding in his chest less oppressive. The panic still simmered beneath the surface, but now there was something else—something like determination, or at least the beginning of it. He looked around the room again, at Tanaka, at Lucas, at the woman whose name he still didn’t know, and he felt it.

Maybe we don’t belong here. But maybe… we can figure this out.

The hum of magic rippled through the room once more, and Whisker closed his eyes, focusing on the steady rhythm of his breathing, on the distant sounds around him. He didn’t know if he could do this—any of this—but maybe, just maybe, they could take the next step together.

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Hiroshi Tanaka

Tanaka’s hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword, a familiar weight that grounded him in the present. Yet, even with that reassurance, he could feel the cracks forming in the calm facade he’d carefully crafted since they’d arrived. His mind hummed with the responsibilities and the burden of leadership he had taken on, even if he hadn’t asked for it. He felt the eyes of the others on him—silent expectations that weighed heavier than the blade at his side.

He couldn’t let them see. He couldn’t let Whisker see.

This new world was chaotic, unknowable, but in some cruel twist of fate, it wasn’t that different from the world he had left behind. The chaos of work, of life, and of holding his family together after his wife had died, had been no less crushing. Back on Earth, he had allowed the responsibilities of the salaryman’s life to bury him. Day after day, he threw himself into work, thinking it would ease the pain of loss, thinking it was the only way to provide for Ryota—his son.

And what had that earned him? A heart that gave out on the train platform, missed calls from Ryota blinking on his phone, and a lifetime of guilt.

I wasn't there when he needed me.

Now, here he was again, tasked with protecting this group, feeling that same insidious pressure creep in. But this time, failure meant more than just personal regret—it meant life and death.

“We were meant to summon the Champion. Not you,” one of the Heralds said, breaking the tense silence that hung over them like a blade waiting to drop.

Tanaka straightened his back, meeting the Herald’s gaze with practiced stoicism.

We may not be who you wanted, but we’re all you have now.

Beside him, Lucas snorted, his arms crossed as he leaned back against the crumbling stone wall, his fox-like ears twitching with annoyance. His amber eyes were sharp, cutting through the tension with a dangerous edge. “So we’re what? Plan B?” Lucas’ voice was filled with venomous sarcasm. “Or maybe we’re even Plan Z, huh? Your ritual messed up, and now we’re the leftovers.”

The Herald’s expression tightened, but they said nothing. Tanaka could see the strain in the way their fingers gripped the edge of their robe, their knuckles white with tension.

“We didn’t ask for this,” Lucas continued, his voice rising. “None of us did. So maybe you should stop acting like we’re here to clean up your mess. You didn’t get your precious Champion—well, tough luck. What do you expect us to do about it?”

Tanaka shot Lucas a sharp look, his calm mask slipping just enough to let the irritation show. “Lucas, that’s enough.”

“Enough?” Lucas pushed off the wall, his sharp eyes glaring at Tanaka. “We’ve been here for what—minutes? And you’re already playing leader. You’ve barely said a word since we got here, and now you want to tell me when to shut up?”

Tanaka kept his voice steady, even as he felt the heat rising in his chest.

Calm. Stay calm.

“We don’t have time for this. The situation is what it is, and arguing with the Heralds won’t change it.”

“Won’t change it?!” Lucas took a step closer, his voice low and biting. “You don’t get it, do you? We’re not the heroes they wanted. We’re not even supposed to be here. And I’m sure as hell not going to follow you just because you think you can act like everything’s fine.”

Tanaka clenched his jaw, the weight of Lucas’s words pressing down on him.

He’s not wrong. None of us are supposed to be here.

But he couldn’t let this group fall apart, not now. Not when they were already so fragile.

“We were summoned for a reason,” Tanaka said, his voice quieter but no less firm. “We may not know what that reason is, but we don’t have the luxury of standing here and questioning it. If we don’t act—”

“If we don’t act, what?” Lucas interrupted, his voice dripping with disdain. “You think we’ll save the day? You think we’ll magically figure out how to fix this mess? We can’t even trust each other, and you’re over here pretending to be the perfect leader, like you have all the answers.”

Tanaka felt something inside him snap, a crack in the armor he had spent years building. “I don’t have the answers!” His voice was louder than he intended, and the room fell silent, even the Heralds watching him with wide eyes. “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do. I don’t know how to fix this. But standing here and tearing each other apart isn’t going to help.”

The silence was deafening. Tanaka’s heart pounded in his chest, and for the first time in a long time, he felt exposed, raw. He had always been able to control the narrative, to be the rock that others leaned on, but here—now—he felt the pressure of that role buckling under the weight.

Lucas stared at him for a long moment, his eyes narrowed, before he scoffed and turned away. “Yeah, well. Good luck with that,” he muttered under his breath.

Tanaka exhaled slowly, trying to regain his composure. He couldn’t afford to lose control. Not now. Not when they were all looking to him for guidance.

But in that brief exchange, he realized something. He had been trying to play the part of the unshakeable leader, to hide his own fear and doubt behind a mask of calm, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. Not Lucas. Not Whisker. Not himself.

Maybe I am just pretending.

The thought cut deeper than he expected.

The Herald, sensing the tension still simmering between them, stepped forward. “We don’t have much time,” they said, their voice trembling slightly. “The barrier protecting the Last Bastion is weakening. The Seven Houses are already moving. If we don’t prepare, Aetheria will fall.”

Tanaka’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. The words hung in the air, heavy with impending doom. He could feel the eyes of the group on him again, waiting for him to speak, to lead. But the weight of it was suffocating.

I failed Ryota.

The thought stabbed at him, unbidden, and he pushed it down, forcing himself to focus. He wouldn’t fail again. Not here. Not now.

“We don’t have a choice,” Tanaka said, his voice steady once more. “We have to be ready.”

Lucas muttered something under his breath, but Tanaka didn’t react. He couldn’t afford to. He had to stay composed, for their sake. For Whisker’s sake.

As the group prepared to leave the grand hall, Tanaka cast a glance at the others—Ava, Felix, Aria, Whisker, and the rest—all of them uncertain, all of them scared.

I have to keep them together.

Even if he didn’t have the answers, even if the pressure of leading weighed him down, he couldn’t let them see his doubt.

For now, he would hold the line.

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Lucas Reid

Lucas leaned back against the crumbling wall, arms crossed, his sharp amber eyes flicking between the others as the tension in the room lingered like a thick fog. His ears twitched, catching the tail end of Tanaka’s lecture, the self-righteous leader voice that grated on his nerves.

Great, more of the “we don’t have a choice” speech.

He was doing his best to rally them all, but Lucas could see through the cracks in the man’s stoic facade.

He felt the frustration simmering beneath his skin, itching to spill out. The argument with Tanaka still burned in his chest, but the man had backed off, and for now, Lucas let it slide. There would be another time to press him—another time to remind everyone that this wasn’t some noble quest. They were stuck in a game they didn’t understand, and no amount of pep talks from Tanaka would change that.

“Is this really our fate? Playing second string to a failed summoning?” Lucas muttered to no one in particular, his voice low but laced with venom.

Whisker glanced his way, wide-eyed and anxious, but didn’t say anything. The raccoon-turned-human was still trembling, obviously trying to pull himself together.

He’s just as lost as the rest of us.

Lucas scoffed quietly, more to himself than to anyone else, and pushed off the wall. He felt restless, every fiber of his being screaming to get out of this suffocating hall. He wasn’t supposed to be here. None of them were. The weight of that truth gnawed at him like a persistent itch he couldn’t scratch.

The Heralds were murmuring amongst themselves, still rattled by the failed ritual, but Lucas couldn’t bring himself to care. They were panicking, too—a lovely touch of irony. The supposed keepers of Aetheria’s fate were just as clueless as they were.

“Good job, gods. Really nailed it this time,” Lucas muttered under his breath, his sarcasm biting. He leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, watching the Heralds like a predator studying cornered prey.

“I don’t see how any of this is going to help us,” he said, louder now, cutting through the muffled chatter. “This whole ‘chosen ones’ shtick? That died the second your ritual blew up in your faces. Maybe it’s time you admit you have no idea what you're doing.”

Tanaka’s voice, calm but edged with steel, broke through. “You think complaining will change anything? You think we’ll figure this out by attacking each other?”

Lucas pushed off the wall, stepping toward him, his sharp amber eyes flashing. “No, but at least I’m not pretending to have it all together. Face it. We’re stuck in a nightmare, and none of us—especially you—know what we’re doing.”

Tanaka didn’t flinch. His expression hardened, jaw tight as he spoke. “What do you expect? We’re obviously not on Earth anymore. This is another world, and we have to adapt. We don’t have a choice.”

“You keep talking like you’re still in control,” Lucas shot back, his voice rising. “Newsflash: this isn’t your world to control. You may be used to barking orders back where you’re from, but you’re not in charge here.”

“I’m trying to keep us alive,” Tanaka said, his voice calm but intense, stepping closer, “something I suggest you start caring about.”

Lucas took another step forward, his fists clenched. “And you think you’re the one to do that? Just because you’ve got the dad voice down doesn’t mean you can lead us through this hell.”

Tanaka’s jaw twitched. “I’ve faced worse than this in my life. Unlike you, I’m not afraid to lead.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should be!” Lucas barked, his anger flaring. “Look around. You’re in over your head. We all are.”

The tension between them crackled like electricity, the room growing hotter with every word. The woman with silver hair, standing off to the side, stepped forward, each strand shimmering under the dim light. “Stop,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “We don’t have time for this.”

Neither man responded, their gazes locked like two predators ready to strike. Lucas’s heart pounded in his chest, his instincts screaming to lash out, to fight. He could see the same fire in Tanaka’s eyes.

But before either of them could make another move, the air shifted.

The temperature in the room dropped suddenly, the very air freezing in their lungs. Lucas stiffened as a deep, unnatural darkness gathered in the far corners of the room, crawling like a living thing. The oppressive energy was suffocating, like the weight of the world pressing down on him.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

“What the hell is that?” Lucas whispered, his voice barely audible as the shadows twisted, warping the space around them.

From the darkness, seven figures emerged, phasing into existence like ghosts. Each one was a distortion of reality itself—monstrous, terrifying, and wrong.

Each of the seven figures exuded an aura of dread, their presence suffocating. They were monstrous in ways Lucas couldn’t quite describe. One was a void—just an empty, gaping hole in reality itself—its very existence wrong. Eyes peering from the periphery of its entropy.

Another shimmered with maddening reflections of itself, like a living mirror distorting everything around it. The others were no better: a small madness filled entity draped in flames, a slender figure swathed in dreamlike illusions, and more.With each look Lucas observed, and they all only got worse—all terrifying, all wrong.

The room seemed to buckle under the weight of their presence, and Lucas's heart pounded in his chest. For the first time since he had arrived in Aetheria, he felt fear—real, cold fear.

Lucas’s breath caught in his throat. His body screamed to move, to run, but his muscles refused. He was frozen, every nerve in his body locked in place as the figures loomed closer, exuding an aura of dread so thick it was suffocating. He had faced danger before, hell, he’d run into it willingly. But this... this was something else.

As the figures stood in a circle around them the women with silver hair reacted first. Her hands moved swiftly, and in a heartbeat, a shimmering barrier of light formed around the group, protecting them from the oppressive energy. But even then, Lucas could see the strain in her face, her magic barely holding them together.

“They shouldn’t be here,” one of the Heralds stammered, their voice trembling. “The barrier... it must be weakening.”

The figures spoke as one, their voices layered in a distorted symphony of madness.

“Do you think you can stop it?” one whispered, the sound like a thousand voices in unison, crawling under Lucas’s skin.

“These are the best those fools could muster,” another added, its voice colder than ice, “but we have seen the truth. You are all mistakes.”

Lucas’s fists clenched. He could feel the terror gnawing at his gut, but he forced himself to speak. “Who the hell are you?” His voice wavered, but it was enough to cut through the suffocating silence. “What do you want?”

The void-like figure stepped forward, its form a gaping maw of nothingness. “We are the will,” it said, its voice an echo of countless lives extinguished. “We are the end.”

Tanaka reacted instantly, his sword drawn in one fluid motion. With a roar, he lunged at the nearest figure, his blade slicing through the air with lethal precision. But it was as if the blade passed through smoke. The figure didn’t flinch, didn’t move. It simply remained, unaffected by Tanaka’s strike.

“What does a mistake expect to do,” it said, its voice dripping with contempt.

Lucas watched, his body still locked in place, his mind racing.

Move, damn it. Do something.

But he couldn’t. His legs refused to respond. He was used to charging into danger, to fighting. But here, with these things... he was powerless.

Behind him, he could hear the reactions of the others, barely audible over the pounding in his ears.

Ava’s dark form had flickered, her eyes narrowing as her energy surged defensively around her. Felix, who had remained quiet until now, looked pale, his hands trembling as he took a step back. Aria’s mouth was set in a grim line, her usually sharp eyes wide with unease. Mira’s wings fluttered faintly, her gaze locked on the figures, but Lucas could sense the fear she was holding back. Even she, with all her detachment, wasn’t prepared for this.

But Whisker—Lucas’s gaze flickered to him.

Whisker’s response was unnerving. Lucas’s eyes flicked to him, catching the way his body reacted. He looked like an animal caught in a trap—his teeth bared, eyes wide, all the hair on his neck standing up as if he were still that damn raccoon. His fingers twitched, balled into fists, ready to lash out. He was on the edge, torn between fight and flight, his new human body betraying instincts that hadn’t left him.

Lucas could almost feel the tension in Whisker’s muscles, every fiber screaming at him to run. But his lips were curled in a silent snarl, like a cornered animal. And even though it was horrifying to see, part of Lucas couldn’t help but feel a flicker of admiration.

He’s scared shitless, but he’s still ready to fight.

The silver haired woman’s barrier flickered, and Lucas caught her whispering an incantation under her breath, her eyes narrowed in concentration. The magical pressure in the room was crushing, but she held firm.

One of the Heralds, pale and trembling, stepped forward. “You have no right to be here! The Last Bastion is sacred—”

The figure that had spoken earlier tilted its head, and the Herald’s voice choked off. “The Last Bastion will fall. You are delaying the inevitable.”

The darkness around them pulsed, the room warping under the sheer force of their presence. And then, just as suddenly as they had appeared, the figures vanished, their forms dissolving into the shadows.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Lucas’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath ragged. He could feel the sweat on his palms, the tension in his muscles finally releasing as the oppressive magic faded. He glanced at Tanaka, who still stood with his sword drawn, his shoulders heaving from the effort.

For a moment, neither man spoke. The Heralds were shaken, their faces pale, their earlier composure shattered. Whisker was trembling, his glowing tattoos flickering faintly as he stared at the spot where the figures had been.

“They were watching us,” Lucas muttered, his voice quiet but sharp. He met Mirabelle’s gaze, and for the briefest moment, he saw something in her eyes—fear. But it was gone in an instant, her mask of calm slipping back into place.

“They’re not supposed to be able to breach the barrier,” she said, her voice low but steady. “But the fact that they did means the Last Bastion is no longer safe.”

Tanaka sheathed his sword, his face grim. “Then what the hell are we supposed to do?”

Lucas scoffed, shaking his head. “Well, whatever plan you had? It just got a whole lot worse.”

The tension hung in the air, thick and heavy, as the realization settled over them all. Whatever had just happened, it was clear that they were no longer in control. The Seven Houses, whoever they were, had made their move.

And now, we’re all playing catch-up.

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Mirabelle Cullen

The moment the Seven Houses vanished, the oppressive weight in the room lifted, but the air still felt charged, like the calm after a lightning strike. Mirabelle lowered her hands slowly, the barrier she had summoned dissolving into shimmering particles. Her heart was pounding, but she kept her expression steady, controlled.

She had to.

The others were shaken, clearly rattled by the sudden appearance of those... things. They didn’t know what they were up against—not yet. But she did. Mirabelle’s mind raced, cataloging the faces and forms of the Seven Heralds. They were worse than she had feared.

The Gravemancer... Echo... The Void...all of those others

Each one of them represented an existential threat to the Last Bastion, and they had just phased into this room like it was nothing. It meant the barrier around the city—the only thing keeping the darkness at bay—was weakening faster than anyone had anticipated. The ritual hadn’t just failed; it had made everything worse.

“They shouldn’t have been able to enter,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Lucas snorted. “Yeah, well, they did. So what now, fearless leader?”

Mirabelle’s eyes flicked to him. His biting sarcasm didn’t mask the fear underneath, and she knew the others felt it too. Whisker was still standing rigid, his body tense like an animal ready to flee or fight. Felix was pale, his fingers trembling as he rubbed his hands together nervously. Ava, usually so composed, floated in place, her dark energy swirling around her like a protective shell, though her face was impassive. Aria’s gaze was sharp, but even she looked like she was calculating their odds of survival, and Mira, standing near the back, hadn’t said a word, her wings barely stirring.

Mirabelle took a slow breath, forcing herself to push down the rising tide of doubt.

I need to keep them calm. They’re not ready for this...

But how could she tell them the truth? That the Last Bastion was crumbling, and they were likely the only thing standing between Aetheria and total destruction? How could she guide them when they weren’t even a team—just a group of strangers thrown together by fate?

Tanaka’s voice broke through her thoughts, steady and measured. “We need answers. Now.” His eyes met hers, and for the first time since they had arrived, she saw the cracks beneath his calm. He was holding it together, but barely.

She nodded, stepping forward, her silver hair brushing her shoulders as she straightened. “You’re right,” she said, her voice firm but quiet. “There’s no point in pretending we’re in control anymore. We’re not.”

The room was silent, her words hanging in the air like a weight. She could feel their eyes on her—expecting something, anything. But what could she offer them? She wasn’t the Champion they needed. She wasn’t even supposed to be leading them.

“I... I was part of the ritual,” she admitted, the words heavy on her tongue. “I was meant to guide the soul of the one who would save us. The Champion who died. But something went wrong.”

Ava floated closer, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Went wrong, how?”

Mirabelle hesitated. She had been avoiding this. The truth. The failure. But there was no point in hiding it now.

“I don’t know. I had his soul in my hands and then,” she said slowly, her gaze dropping to the floor. “They sent you.”

Silence. It stretched on, heavy and suffocating. Mirabelle could feel the tension building again, thicker than before.

Lucas, of course, was the first to break it. “So we’re the understudies?” His voice was sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. “The backup plan?”

Mirabelle shook her head, trying to maintain her composure. “No... I don’t know why you were sent. I thought—maybe—the Seven Houses interfered. But their reaction to you... it wasn’t what I expected.”

“Reaction?” Felix asked quietly. “You mean... they didn’t expect us either?”

Mirabelle nodded. “They seemed just as confused as I am.”

“That’s comforting,” Aria muttered dryly, arms crossed as she leaned against the wall. Her expression was sharp, calculating. “So we’re not even Plan B. We’re just... accidental players in this mess?”

“We don’t know that,” Tanaka interjected, his voice steady. “We must have been brought here for a reason.”

“Were we?” Lucas shot back, his tone biting. “Because right now it feels like if we were, we’re just here to die for a cause we don’t understand.”

Mirabelle’s hands tightened into fists at her sides. She understood Lucas’s frustration, but his cynicism was a poison spreading through the group, deepening the cracks that were already there. She couldn’t let them fall apart—not now.

“Enough,” she said sharply, her voice carrying authority she wasn’t sure she felt. “This isn’t helping.”

Lucas opened his mouth to retort, but something in her tone made him stop. His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t push further. Not yet.

Mirabelle took another breath, steadying herself before she continued. “Yes the truth is, you weren’t supposed to be here. But now you are. And that has to mean something.”

“What does it mean?” Felix asked, his voice small, but earnest. “Why us?”

“I don’t know,” Mirabelle admitted, the weight of her failure pressing down on her again. “But what I do know is that if we don’t start working together—if we don’t figure out what’s happening—we’re all going to die.”

The silence that followed was colder than the void left by the Seven Houses. Mirabelle could see the uncertainty in their faces—the doubt, the fear. They weren’t a team. They weren’t even companions. They were strangers, brought together by some cosmic accident. And yet...

And yet they were all she had.

“I’m not asking you to trust me,” she said softly. “But if we’re going to survive, you need to understand what you’re fighting for. You need to see it for yourselves.”

Whisker shifted, his eyes darting around the room nervously. “What do you mean?”

Mirabelle’s gaze softened. Whisker reminded her of someone—someone she couldn’t afford to think about right now. “I mean you need to see the Last Bastion. What’s left of it. Before you make any decisions, you need to understand what’s at stake.”

Lucas snorted softly. “You think seeing a crumbling city is going to make us feel better about any of this?”

“No,” Mirabelle said, her voice firm but gentle. “But maybe, just maybe, it will give you a reason to stay.”

Lucas didn’t respond, but his silence was answer enough.

Tanaka nodded. “She’s right. We need to at least see what we’re protecting. And then decide for ourselves what we want.”

The others remained quiet, but Mirabelle could see the faint glimmers of agreement in their eyes. They were scared. So was she. But they needed to act. They couldn’t stay here, waiting for the darkness to consume them.

Everlight... where are you?

The thought crossed her mind, unbidden, and she pushed it away before it could take root. Everlight wasn’t here. She was.

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Whisker

The air tasted charged—like electricity was woven into every breath, a reminder that magic was part of this world’s very fabric. It made Whisker’s skin prickle, the sensation strange and unfamiliar to his newly human body. His instincts were still there, buried deep under the surface of his thoughts, and they screamed at him to run.

The others had their own reactions. Felix stood motionless, his clockwork gears whirring faintly, but his half-human face remained stoic, as though his mechanical mind was still calculating the situation. Mira’s eyes were glazed over, lost somewhere in her own thoughts, probably attuned to whatever magical forces had just shifted the room’s atmosphere. Ava was less composed, her ethereal form shimmering with agitation, while Aria seemed to coil and uncoil nervously, her serpentine lower body twitching.

Whisker’s reaction, though, was different. His muscles tensed, his teeth bared in an unconscious snarl, and all the hair on his arms stood up as if his entire body was ready for a fight. His mind raced, torn between the instinct to flee and the urge to defend himself, a primal need to strike first. His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, loud and fast, but he fought to steady himself.

The air in the room felt thick, like he was breathing through a damp cloth. Whisker’s heart was pounding, each thud louder than the last, and he couldn’t shake the image of the Seven Heralds from his mind. The way they had appeared—out of nowhere, like nightmares made real—had triggered something deep inside him, something primal.

He could still feel the hair standing up on the back of his neck even now, his human skin prickling with the same tension he used to feel, right before bolting into the nearest alley or trash bin. But this time, running hadn’t felt like an option. The moment those figures had stepped into the room, his body had gone rigid, his muscles tensing with that raw, animal instinct: fight or flight.

Except I didn’t run.

He’d wanted to—every instinct in him had screamed to turn and flee, to get as far away from those creatures as possible. But something kept him rooted in place and his body caught between the overwhelming fear and an uncharacteristic surge of defiance. His muscles tensed, his teeth bared in an unconscious snarl, and all the hair on his arms stood up as if his entire body was ready for a fight. His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms as his mind raced. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, loud and fast, but he fought to steady himself.

He hadn’t fought, but the fact that he’d stood his ground—even though his heart had been racing, even though every fiber of his being had screamed for escape—was... strange.

He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to standing and facing the danger head-on.

When Tanaka had moved, swinging his sword at the nearest Herald, Whisker had felt that rush of adrenaline spike in his veins, something like anger surging alongside his fear. His lips had curled back, a low, guttural growl building in his throat, and his muscles had coiled as if ready to pounce. But before he could do anything—before he could lash out or bolt—the Seven had vanished, leaving nothing behind but the suffocating weight of what they represented.

He wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t a fighter. And yet, in that moment, he had wanted to fight them.

I couldn’t let them die—not if I could help it.

But even though every fiber of him wanted to lunge, some deeper part held him in place.

What am I?

He thought to himself, shaken by how animalistic his instincts still felt despite his human form. He wasn’t used to being a creature that could stand and fight. And yet, here he was, standing ready to bare his fangs if it came to that. His will betrayed his fear, but also his body was there to defend the people around him.

As the Seven Houses departed, the oppressive weight in the room lifted, and the others began to breathe easier. Whisker, still on edge, lowered his fists, though his heart didn’t slow down. He could still feel the adrenaline buzzing in his veins, his body unsure whether to relax or stay alert.

The lingering tension still clung to his skin, his hands twitching as the energy slowly drained from him. He could feel the others, too—could sense their reactions in that strange, instinctual way he had always been able to pick up on emotions. Even before he had been reincarnated, he could tell when humans were afraid, when they were on edge, just by their body language and the way they smelled. It wasn’t any different now.

Whisker swallowed hard, trying to focus, trying to suppress the terror coursing through him. He looked around the room again.

He glanced at the others, feeling their tension even now. Tanaka was scowling, his knuckles white on his sword hilt. Lucas was muttering something under his breath, his eyes darting between them all. Felix stood motionless, his clockwork gears whirring faintly, but his half-human face remained stoic, as though his mechanical mind was still calculating the situation. Mira’s eyes were glazed over, lost somewhere in her own thoughts, probably attuned to whatever magical forces had just shifted the room’s atmosphere. Ava was less composed, her ethereal form shimmering with agitation, while Aria seemed to coil and uncoil nervously, her serpentine lower body twitching.

Lucas hadn’t moved at all, still frozen by the overwhelming presence, and Whisker could sense the fear radiating from him, though Lucas would never admit it.

Whisker felt a strange pang in his chest.

We’re all strangers to each other.

He could sense their individual fears, their uncertainties. But there was also something else. Something that told him they had to stick together. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t survive.

As Mirabelle spoke, trying to calm the tension and guide them forward, Whisker’s mind wandered. He couldn’t shake the image of the Seven Houses, the way they had seemed to phase in and out of reality, their presence suffocating. He had never seen anything like them, but then again, he had never seen anything like this world.

“We need to see what’s at stake,” Mirabelle’s words echoed in the back of his mind, but Whisker wasn’t sure if he was ready for that.

Still, he nodded along with the others as they all began to make their way toward the exit of the grand hall. Whisker lingered at the back of the group, his eyes darting around, senses still on high alert. As they stepped outside, he froze, his breath catching in his throat.

And yet, as they stepped out of the hall and into the open air, something shifted. The world beyond the grand hall was like nothing he had ever seen—or smelled, or heard. The sky was a deep, swirling purple, like a bruise stretched across the heavens, and strange, shimmering creatures flitted through the air, leaving trails of light behind them. Whisker blinked, his eyes wide as he took in the scene.

The air itself felt wrong. It was even thick outside, too sweet, humming with the latent static that seemed to hang in the atmosphere, like the entire world was alive in a way that made his instincts quiver.

There were creatures—beings—walking the streets, and Whisker’s mind struggled to make sense of them. Some were small, flitting around with translucent wings, their bodies glowing like fireflies. Others were large, lumbering figures with rough, stone-like skin and eyes that glowed from deep within their heads. There were creatures covered in fur, in scales, in feathers, all walking, talking, existing in ways that defied everything he knew.

What is this place?

A tall, humanoid figure passed them, its body shimmering with the same tattoos that now marked Whisker’s skin, but in different patterns. There were others like it—humans, but not like the ones Whisker had known back where he was from. Some of them had tattoos that glowed faintly like the woman with the silver hair, like embers, while others were covered in intricate designs that pulsed with magic. He couldn’t even begin to understand what it all meant.

And then there were the creatures—the undead. He didn’t know what they were, but they moved like shadows, their forms twisted and hollow, some barely more than bones with flickers of light in their empty eye sockets.

I don’t like that at all.

He could smell them, too—like old earth, like decay. But they weren’t... dangerous. Not here. Not now.

Whisker’s heart pounded in his chest as he looked around, his mind racing. It was too much to process, too much to understand. But one thing was clear: this was not where he was from. This was the world they had been brought into. And this was what they were supposed to fight for.

For a moment, he was paralyzed by the sheer enormity of it all—the weight of everything they were up against. But then, just as quickly, that strange flicker of defiance surged up inside him again.

I don’t know what any of this is, he thought, his teeth baring slightly in a reflex he didn’t even realize he still had.

But I’m not going to run.

The sky above them rumbled, and Whisker’s eyes darted upward, catching sight of a massive, serpentine figure coiling through the clouds. His breath caught in his throat. This world—this place—was so much more than he had ever imagined. And yet, here they were, standing on the precipice of something he couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

He glanced at Tanaka, then Lucas, then the others. They were all seeing it too—the strange beauty, the impossible danger.

This is what we have to protect.

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End of the Chapter