A door clanged shut in the distance. And then, as far as he knew, he was alone.
It was a strange, not entirely comfortable feeling. The huge bottom level of the Basileus University research library was filled with rows of wooden shelves, each eight feet tall and perhaps forty feet long. The shelves were spaced a bit too tightly, the lights just a bit too dim. It felt like a forest in twilight. Lonely, but with the odd feeling that someone, or something might be lurking just out of sight.
With a quiet sigh, Leo tried to suppress his overactive imagination and get on with finding the books he needed. He'd only come to the library near its midnight closing time because he'd had work right after class. Now he was fuzzy with fatigue, and kept finding himself reading the titles of books that had nothing to do with what he was looking for.
Which was Isaac Babel's "Red Cavalry", a book that didn't seem to be in the right place. It was difficult to be sure, because a number of the books were old, with worn spines that were hard to make out.
Hesitantly, he pulled out a handsome blue cloth-bound book with no title at all. Perhaps the cover had been replaced? But it looked old, maybe old enough to be an original edition. He cracked it open.
Blank on the first page. He flipped forward. There were a couple strange illustrations, then the title page, in an odd, dated serif font:
"A Summoning to Another World"
Strange title. He shut the book.
After a moment, he reopened it. That was just too odd.
Back on the title page, he noted that there was no author. No copyright page, no ISBN number, no table of contents. The text simply started.
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In another world, there is a library much like the one you stand in. I know this because I am in that library, and you are in yours. My library is part of a school, and so is yours.
Unlike your world, however, mine is a locus. It can draw people to it. You may think of this phenomena as gravity, or like a river which flows only in one direction, whose eddy may sweep you down an unexpected branch.
If you have found this book, you have begun this process of being pulled to my world. You will continue reading, as I describe to you the world, and the institution, which you will be entering.
Our world is known as Grand. Here, humans are powerful. We have magic. My school is the prime institution in our country, Charun. While all people have a soul and the ability to use mana, the graduates of Arkfel are the champions of Charun.
But we are not alone. The human kingdoms are islands in a sea of peril. The other races are many, and strong. The dangers we face are may be our equals or, often, our betters. Beholders, skinwalkers, orcs, vampires, dragons, elves, trolls, titans -- you recognize many of these names, do you not?
There is some connection between the legend and myth of your world, and our lived in reality. What that connection is, our best scholars have not yet uncovered.
Despite our commonalities, our worlds are very different. That is why we summon people from your world: an outside perspective, a divergent viewpoint, is often valuable. And if you are reading this, you can rest assured that you have been well chosen.
Arkfel is a microcosm of our world, a place where students can gain power -- but also face uncertainty and danger. Be cautious, and clever, and you may do well here.
Come, step forward through the door of darkness, and join us...
As he read, numb with lack of sleep, the library had seemed to darken around Leo. Turning the page, he found that the next page was a blank, pure black as if covered with ink. The darkness around him merged with the page, and the world fell away.
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He rushed forward in a tunnel of pure blackness. Leo knew that he had entered and that, somewhere at the far end, there was an exit. Yet the feeling of surging forward he had begun with faded away. Time passed, slowing, until he hung unmoving in the void.
Hello? Is anyone there?
The question echoed. Lifetimes crept past. The dark became all, and Leo rested, awaiting the end of the summoning.
...
....
... .. .
...... . .
.. . . . . . .
Above the old village, atop the cragged cliffs, the old school's towers rose, high enough to brush the grey clouds that crept down from the Iron Mountains.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Once, it had been a school of magic. But for two hundred years, it had stood silent and sealed, waiting for a time that students would again be ready to learn.
Wider than the Palace at Aginholm, taller than the Colossus of Shem, more impregnable than the forts in the high passes. Though after the first few attempted intrusions by adventurers and explorers, it needed nothing more than its reputation to be left alone. It was also rather far from the current borders of Charun.
But for the first time in decades, an expedition had not only made it past the doors, but had also gotten past the initial dangers -- old defenses and wandering creatures. Now, the survivors were in a chamber on the second floor, gathered around an ornate ring on the floor.
Within the ring, ancient sigils flared and extinguished, going through a sequence. But there were flickers and apparent misfires. Twice, soft popping sounds had come from the floor after a rune had increased in brightness too quickly then suddenly disappeared.
"Not a good sign," muttered Nemtal, the expedition leader.
The group of six had little to do besides feed the ring. It was drawing mana from them at a prodigious rate, manifested as a multi-colored fog drifting out from their bodies and into an invisible vortex. They were chewing vetal leaves to replenish their reserves, but if the ritual went on for too long, they were bound to run out.
And then, who knew what would happpen? The ring was at least two hundred years old, set in place but never triggered. Had its creators sought to create a weapon? To attract a guardian? Or to simply get advice from beyond?
Nemtal had decided it was worth the risk. While he didn't recognize most of the sigils being used, he understood the general setup. It was a simple ring -- not meant to contain or bind what was summoned. The few sigils he knew indicated time and distance, not potential dangers like the elements, spirits, or raw force. And its weathered appearance indicated that it had been used many times before.
The final point in favor of initiating the ritual was that Nemtal's expedition was running out of options. Arkfel itself seemed intent on either killing or driving them out.
The inner third of the ring suddenly flared to life, and a repeating circle of runes began spiraling, around and around. That likely meant the summoning was in a holding pattern until it built up enough power. Sweat beaded on Nemtal's brow. He noticed that Janso, the weakest member of the group, was having trouble remaining upright.
If this ritual did summon something threatening, they were done for. Nobody would have the strength left to fight.
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A great distance away, Leo felt something change.
In the dark, lightless space, he had been in a state near to sleep. Yet he was still aware enough to sense the shift in his surroundings. Something like a breeze seemed to drift past, although there was no air, and he had no body.
With the resumption of movement, his mind roused from its suspended state. Dreamlike, he began to wonder.
Where am I? What is happening?
Light flared. At the other end of the long tunnel he was in, a door seemed to be opening. And as the light reached out to him, his consciousness began to flow toward it.
The pull became stronger as the door opened wider. Quickly, it became a raging torrent. He hurtled toward the light.
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Janso had long since sagged to his knees. Nemtal couldn't spare a thought for him: he was digging into his deepest reserves to continue feeding mana to the ritual. Across from him, Suzat was mumbling a strengthening incantation, sweat dripping from her brow.
In center of the ring, a bright glow was building, expanding outward. But slowly, so slowly. Mana swirled in a cloud around it, above the fading sigils.
Janso fell over. After another minute, the last of Nemtal's mana left his body, joining the cloud. He sat down heavily, the strength gone from his legs. One by one, the other expedition members fell, stricken down by mana burn. The ritual glowed on, but the bright shell in the middle ceased growing, starved for power.
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On the other side of the glowing door, Leo felt the pull fade away. The door remained open, but his motion drifted to a halt.
The darkness had held him in its comforting embrace -- he didn't know for how long. But he knew it was an old, familiar friend. Part of him wanted that door to close, to let him return to his rest in the familiar void.
But another part of him yearned toward that light.
Experimentally, he tried willing himself toward the door, perhaps to peek through it. Nothing happened. He hung in place, motionless.
Not being able to move seemed to fuel his curiosity. Now he really wanted to know what was there. The light beckoned to him. But he couldn't reach it.
He had no body, and thus no way to give himself momentum. Distantly, he seemed to recall having appendages that he could move, something that might let him hurl himself toward that door. Now, he was simply a point in space.
Or was he? He tried to examine himself, but he realized he couldn't change his viewpoint -- in fact, he seemed to be able to simultaneously sense everything around him, except for himself.
What was in that blank spot in the center of his awareness? What was he?
In his introspection, Leo realized that he could, in fact, feel something. His body, for lack of a better term, was something similar to the light coming through that door. Somehow, Leo knew this was the first time he'd ever sensed himself, at least in this way.
Experimentally, he tried to direct his light, shining it toward the door.
As he did, he felt himself diminishing -- but also, beginning to move again! He exulted in the feeling of motion, this time achieved through his own agency.
The light from his body intermingled with that coming through the door, seemingly pulling both ways. But it was such a long distance away, and Leo felt his essence diminishing. Worse, he somehow knew that he wouldn't regain what he had lost. If the door closed, and left him in this dark place again, he would be weaker. He might even disappear entirely.
He urged himself onward, his self awareness ebbing as the light flowed out. With a sense of sorrow, he realized that he wouldn't make it to the door. He would simply evaporate into that light.
Frustrated, he almost missed the voice whispering through the doorway.
"Do you wish to come?" it seemed to say, without words.
"Yes!" he cried back.
"It has been a long time. A very long time. Should I help you?" The voice seemed to be speaking to itself.
"I want to come! Please help me! I'll be... I'll be good." Leo wasn't sure what, exactly, he would be good about.
A short silence passed. Leo felt like he was experiencing eternity for the first time. He wished himself toward the glowing doorway, but nothing happened.
"Very well," the voice finally said.
Suddenly, the door flared, brightness pouring through. The light took hold of Leo, flooding into him and drawing him toward it. He shot forward.
His last thought was a brief regret for the lost darkness. Then the light washed away everything.
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In the ritual ring, the light grew to the borders of the area, increasing in intensity until, briefly, it seemed to become a solid shell. Then it winked out. Left behind on the floor, there was very naked, dazed looking young man.
Nobody could see him, though. Arrayed around the ring were six unconscious bodies, sprawled out in various uncomfortable looking positions.
Leo sat up, rubbing at his head. He looked around.
"What the hell?"