The cell was cold stone and iron bars. Edric sat on the thin straw mattress, every movement sending fresh waves of pain through his bruised body. The brandy flask Halric had left sat untouched beside him.

  “A little something to dull the sorrow,” the guard had said, his gruff voice carrying an unexpected note of sympathy.

  *I don’t need your pity,* Edric thought, but accepted it anyway. *Though maybe I could use the brandy,* he added bitterly.

  He left it unopened. Part of him wanted to stay sharp, to hold onto the anger burning in his chest. The other part feared that if he started drinking, he wouldn’t stop until the pain of losing Sarah faded—and he wasn’t ready to let that go. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

  Sleep came in fitful bursts, each dream bringing him home only to wrench him back to cold stone and iron bars when he woke. The morning light had barely begun filtering through the high window when he heard footsteps and the rattle of keys.

  Halric appeared, escorting a young woman laden with an assortment of fine clothes and bathing supplies. She moved with the etiquette of someone trained to serve nobility, her auburn hair neatly tied back, everything about her suggesting someone who took her duties seriously. There was something subtly distinctive about her features—a delicate darkness rimming her eyes, and the tip of her nose had an unusual texture, like fine leather.

  “Keep the failed hero company,” Halric smirked as he locked them in. “Try not to get too friendly.”

  The woman coughed slightly, maintaining her composure as she ignored the comment entirely. She began laying out her supplies.

  “I’m Mira,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of rehearsed formality that didn’t quite mask the younger enthusiasm underneath. “I was to be your attendant.” A flicker of disappointment crossed her face before she added, “I suppose I still am, circumstances notwithstanding.”

  “So you drew the short straw, then?” Edric asked, then added a soft apology. “Look, I’m sorry.” As bitter as he was, this wasn’t her fault.

  Her eyes lit up despite his apology, though there was a tinge of sadness too. “Actually, I’ve dreamed of this role since I was a child. The legendary heroes, their noble deeds…” She trailed off, seemingly caught between her lifelong aspirations and recent reality. “I studied for years to earn this position. To serve the heroes has been my life’s purpose.”

  *And instead of a honroable fabled hero you got stuck with me,* Edric thought, watching her carefully arranged expression. *The dud hero who can't even shoot straight. Boy, that would suck.*

  Mira dipped a soft cloth into a basin of warm water she’d brought, wringing it out. Without hesitation, she reached for the dried blood on Edric’s neck.

  He jerked back instinctively. “What are you doing?”

  “Cleaning your wounds,” she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Please hold still.”

  “I can do that myself,” Edric said firmly, holding out his hand for the cloth.

  Confusion flickered across her face, but she handed over the cloth. “Fine,” she said, clearly puzzled by his insistence. “Though I don’t understand why you’re being difficult about it.”

  As he dabbed at his neck, she began laying out an array of clothing that looked more appropriate for a royal court than a prison cell—rich fabrics of color, with intricate fasteners he didn’t recognize.

  “These seem excessive for a prisoner,” he commented, still focused on cleaning himself.

  “You’re not just a prisoner,” she replied, smoothing out a formal jacket. “You’re still a Hero of the Harold, regardless of yesterday’s… events.” There was that hint of disappointment again.

  *Apparently you can be considered holy Hero and a disgrace locked in chains at the same time,* he thought.

  When he finished washing, she moved to help him dress. Again, he held up a hand. “I’ll manage. Just… turn around, please?”

  “I’m no child, you know,” she said with a touch of exasperation. “I’ve dressed plenty of nobles and warriors.” Nevertheless, she turned to face the wall.

  “Different customs where I’m from,” he explained, struggling with the unfamiliar fastenings. *Sarah would be laughing at me right now, fumbling like a child with buttons… and lacing.*

  “You’ll need help with the jacket’s clasps,” Mira said to the wall. “They’re rather complicated.”

  “What’s all this for, anyway?” he asked, trying to decipher what appeared to be a series of intricate strings and hooks.

  “Originally, you were supposed to meet with Master Thaddeus, the court wizard, right after the summoning. But since you were…” she paused diplomatically, “...indisposed, that meeting got rescheduled for this morning instead.”

  Edric sighed in defeat. “Alright, I give up. You can turn around now.”

  Mira’s hands moved quickly, adjusting and fastening with ease. *At least someone knows what they’re doing,* he thought as she transformed the jumble of fancy fabric into something resembling proper attire.

  “There’s a mirror here,” Mira said, producing a small hand glass. “You’ll want to make sure everything is properly arranged.”

  Edric took the mirror, and his breath caught. Even after yesterday, the sight of his transformed face struck him like a physical blow. He traced fingers along sharp cheekbones that hadn’t been there two days ago, through hair pale as fresh straw. *This isn’t my face. This isn’t my body.* His throat tightened as he tilted the mirror to examine the pointed ears.

  “Is something wrong?” Mira asked, noting his distress.

  “This isn’t… *me.* I didn’t look like this before,” he said quietly, still staring at the stranger in the reflection. “Before I was summoned, I mean.”

  “What?” Mira moved closer, studying his features with new interest. “You looked different? How so?”

  “Human,” he said simply. “Round ears. Dark hair. Broader features.” He gestured at his face. “Not… whatever this is supposed to be.”

  “I didn’t realize the summoning changed your appearance—even your race,” she said, fascination mixing with concern. “What was it like, the transformation? Did it hurt?”

  “I don’t know. One moment I was in my workshop, the next I was drowning in that pool.” His fingers kept returning to his ears, as if hoping to find them normal again. “Everything happened so fast. I didn’t even notice until later, in the holding cell before the tournament.”

  “Your workshop?” Her eyes lit with curiosity. “What sort of craft did you practice?”

  “I was a gunsmith,” he said, then caught her blank look. *Right. No firearms here.* “I… restored weapons. Old ones, mainly.” *Not exactly a lie.*

  He pulled aside the collar of his new shirt, revealing the glowing crest. “And this definitely wasn’t there before. Some kind of magical brand?”

  Mira glanced toward the cell door, checking that they were alone. Then she carefully loosened her own collar enough to reveal a similar mark.

  Edric studied both crests, noting the differences. *The lines on mine are deeper, more complex. And hers lacks some of the inner patterns.* He caught himself staring and quickly looked away, a blush creeping up his neck. *Sarah would understand.*

  “Were you summoned too?” he asked.

  Mira shook her head. “No, mine is different. The clergy applied this mark when I took my position. Yours is the Harold’s divine blessing.” She hesitated before adding, “The crests allow heroes to be summoned anywhere in the realm when needed.”

  “Summoned? You mean they can just… transport me wherever they want?” Edric asked. *Some blessing that would be. More like a magical leash.*

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Only in times of great need,” she assured him. “Demon raids, mostly. When a hero’s power is urgently required.”

  *Great. Not only am I trapped in this world, but I can be yanked around it at their whim.* He handed the mirror back to Mira, having seen quite enough of his new face for one morning.

  Mira tucked the mirror away, her movements becoming more businesslike. “Master Thaddeus will be testing your magical aptitude this morning.” She smoothed an invisible wrinkle from his jacket. “He’s quite distinguished—one of our foremost scholars of magecraft. After that, there’s a dinner with the realm’s nobility. Many have traveled far to meet the new heroes. You’ll have a valuable opportunity to speak with the other heroes tonight as well.”

  Edric let out a soft tisk at the mention of the other heroes.

  “Why bother?” The words came out harsher than he intended. “I’m hardly living up to expectations.” *Yesterday’s tournament is probably just the beginning of the public humiliations.*

  Mira’s hands stilled their fussing with his clothes. When she spoke, her voice carried an edge of defensive idealism despite recent disappointments. “You’re still one of the Harold’s chosen. That means something, even if…” She trailed off, apparently unable to find a diplomatic way to describe his failures.

  *Means something to everyone except me,* he thought, watching her struggle between her lifelong reverence for heroes and the reality standing before her.

  The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted his thoughts. Keys rattled in the lock.

  “Ready for your magic assessment?” Mira asked, making one final adjustment to his collar.

  “No,” Edric replied immediately—no irony, no bravado. *Not ready for magic. Not ready for nobles. Not ready for any of this.*

  Mira’s hands dropped from his collar to her hip, and her eyes lingered on his face, her composure flickering for just a moment.

  “Well,” she said softly, “at least you’re honest.”

  Halric’s keys rattled as he unlocked the door. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  Movement in the morning sky caught Edric’s eye as Halric walked him through the university grounds. At first glance, they looked like sailing ships from Earth’s eighteenth or nineteenth century, their massive forms lumbering through the clouds. But even at this distance, the details didn’t quite match—proportions slightly wrong, rigging arranged in unfamiliar patterns. *Must use the same magic as those floating platforms from the arena,* he thought, his mind trying to decode their construction. Neither Mira nor Halric gave the ships a second glance, treating them as mundane as the birds passing beneath their hulls.

  Stone walls soared overhead, the university buildings aspiring to grandeur with flying buttresses and ornate spires reaching skyward. Students in dark robes hurried past, some pausing to stare at Edric’s chains before quickly averting their eyes.

  The testing chamber proved to be a high-ceilinged laboratory. Morning light streamed through tall windows, illuminating curved workbenches and brass instruments alongside crystalline devices Edric couldn’t begin to identify.

  “Wait here,” Halric said. “Don’t leave this room until I return. Try anything stupid, and I’ll…” He left the undefined threat hanging as he closed the door.

  *As if I could go anywhere in these,* Edric thought, letting the chains clink softly as he settled onto one of the wooden stools. *Besides, where would I even go in this world?* Mira straightened his formal wear one last time, her movements dampened by visible anxiety about the coming test.

  The heavy oak door opened, hinges rotating silently. Master Thaddeus entered, his robes adorned with symbols and trinkets from dozens of traditions—feathers, bells, carved tokens, and woven patterns that spoke of connections to various spiritual powers. His wire-rimmed spectacles gave him a scholarly air, and his movements carried the grace of one accustomed to ritual.

  He paused at the sight of Edric’s chains, a slight frown crossing his features before his academic composure reasserted itself. “Well then,” he said, laying out a worn cloth covered in circular patterns. From his satchel came an eclectic collection: bones, crystals, coins from various nations, and what appeared to be a deck of elaborately illustrated cards. “Let’s see which powers have chosen to form bonds with you.”

  *He looks like a fortune teller had an ugly child with an anthropology professor,* Edric thought, watching Thaddeus arrange his tools. *Great. I’ve gone from medieval fantasy straight into new age crystal shop nonsense.* He could practically hear Sarah’s voice teasing him to keep an open mind. The thought of her made his throat tight. *Should I ask him? About going home?* But the words stuck. As long as he didn’t ask, there was still hope—however slim.

  “Most practitioners spend years building relationships with their spiritual patrons,” Thaddeus explained, as he arranged his odd collection. “Through tradition, ritual, and devotion, we earn the trust and favor of various powers. The Harold’s blessing is… unique. Through his influence, bonds can form instantly that might otherwise take a decade to cultivate.”

  “Now then,” Thaddeus said, selecting an ornately decorated card with anticipation. “Given your evident elven heritage, I expect we’ll find a strong ice affinity. Quite valuable, ice magic—essential for skyship operation and an effective tool in combat.” He laid the card down with a flourish. Nothing happened.

  “Ah… no matter,” he said quickly, though his smile had slipped. “Sometimes the connections aren’t immediately apparent…”

  *Is this guy serious?* Edric thought as the professor shuffled his decorated cards. *Knockoff tarot cards and trinkets from a gift shop. What’s next, reading my palm?*

  The next card revealed nothing. Nor the next. Thaddeus’s movements grew less certain with each failure. “Most unusual,” he muttered, flipping through the deck faster. “There must be something…”

  Mira’s fingers worried at her sleeve. “Master Thaddeus—” she started, uncertain of what to ask.

  “We have other methods. Don’t despair yet.” He abandoned the cards, reaching for his crystals with barely concealed anxiety. These too remained stubbornly inert. The coins refused to align. Each failed divination added a new crease to his brow.

  “This is… concerning,” Thaddeus said, voice tight as he emptied his first bag of implements. “A hero must have *some* connection to the powers. Must have…” He rifled through his satchel with increasing urgency, producing ever more obscure tools.

  Mira had gone pale, her hands clasped tightly before her.

  Finally, a single carved stick rolled in an unexpected direction. Thaddeus seized upon it like a drowning man clutching driftwood, arranging more sticks in an intricate pattern. “Ah! There it is…” His voice carried forced enthusiasm, relief overwhelming his usual restraint. “Air conjuring!”

  “Air… conjuring?” Edric couldn’t keep the skepticism from his voice. *Of all the made-up magical powers…*

  “Yes, yes,” Thaddeus said, brightening slightly as he shifted into lecture mode. “The ability to create air from nothing. Quite unique. Traditionally used for underwater breathing, though there is a simpler version…” He flipped through a book, using the index to find a page. “The instructions for both forms are here. Quite straightforward, really. Simply follow the mental visualization and—”

  “You mean this is actually supposed to do something?” Edric interrupted.

  Thaddeus blinked at him. “Well, of course. Would you like to try it now?”

  *Might as well play along with whatever this is,* Edric thought. Accepting the book in his shackled hands, he read the lines Thaddeus indicated. The instructions were indeed simple—almost insultingly so. Hold out your hand, visualize air emerging into existence. His mind barely registered that he’d just read a foreign language as easily as if it were written in his own.

  *This is ridiculous,* he thought, but held out his hand anyway. *Just think about conjuring air and—*

  He felt a slight pressure against his palm and a cool current whirling between his fingers. The edge of the nearest paper fluttered against the table. *Must be a draft,* he thought, glancing at the windows. He tried again. Another flutter of paper and the same sensation of air brushing his hand. *Coincidence?*

  The third time, he held the visualization longer. A continuous gentle pressure pushed past his hand, just enough to stir loose strands of his pale golden hair—a good deal weaker than your average house fan.

  *Holy shit.* “Does it get stronger with practice?” he asked, still staring at his palm.

  “Ah, no,” Thaddeus replied apologetically. “Air conjuring is rather… consistent in its strength.”

  The question about home had been building in Edric’s throat, heavier with each passing moment. Now, with such abundant proof of magic before him… *Just ask. Get it over with. You need to know.*

  “Master Thaddeus,” he began, his voice rougher than he intended. “Is there… is there any way to reverse a summoning? To send someone home?”

  Thaddeus’s face fell, and Edric knew the answer before he spoke. “I’m afraid not. Summoning magic, by its very nature, operates in a single direction. It's unlike conjuring, generic elements may be dispelled, but summoned Heroes can not be returned.”

  “But with magic being real, surely there must be some way—” Edric clenched his teeth, stopping himself. Desperation had crept into his voice. *His soul protested against accepting it.*

  “How would the magic know where to send you?” Thaddeus asked gently. “The only possibility would be if someone in your original realm performed a summoning ritual to call you back. And that would require a prior—” He stopped abruptly, adjusting his spectacles. “Well, the fact is, it’s impossible to send heroes back.”

  The finality etched away the little hope he’d been guarding. His chains clinked softly as he let their weight hang. Somehow, the shackles felt much heavier than moments ago.

  Mira touched his arm hesitantly, but he barely felt it. The morning light through the windows suddenly seemed harsh, wrong.

  “I wish I could tell you otherwise,” Thaddeus apologized for the bad news.

  “I understand,” Edric whispered, then asked, “We’re done here?”

  “Y-yes, yes, quite done,” Thaddeus said, gathering his implements. He paused at the door, resuming the formal bearing of a court wizard. “It has been my honor to serve the Harold’s chosen. I look forward to seeing you both at tonight’s dinner.” With a slight bow, he left the laboratory, leaving Edric and Mira alone.

  The silence stretched between them in the empty room. Edric stared at his reflection in one of the brass instruments, unsettled by the stranger looking back at him. Finally, desperate for distraction, he turned to Mira.

  “Do you have any magic yourself?” Edric asked, watching her idly fidget with her sleeve.

  Mira’s hands stilled. “No,” she said quietly. “Not for lack of trying.” She moved to straighten papers on the workbench, keeping her hands busy. “I spent years in ritual and prayer, trying to earn the blessing of healing spirits. Later, any spirit really—protection, guidance, conjuring, anything that could help the heroes…” She gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. “Eventually I had to accept that some people just aren’t meant for magic.”

  The resignation in her voice made Edric look at her more carefully. *No wonder she was so tense during the testing.* Edric let the moment sit without reply.

  “There are other ways to be useful,” Mira said, though he caught the edge in her tone. “Even if you can’t heal wounds, you can change bandages. I can’t create barriers, but can still guide someone to safety.”

  Lingering silence again hung between them.

  “You’re still a hero,” she abruptly interjected. “Perhaps not the kind from the stories, but…” She trailed off, apparently unsure how to finish.

  Edric smiled, appreciating the earnest but flawed sentiment. *I’m no hero.*