Rin stood among the assembled students as the instructors formally introduced their group to the otherworlders. Twenty students from the Academy had been selected for the mentoring program, yet only fifteen otherworlders had been summoned—twelve young men and three young women. The numerical imbalance was immediately apparent: five students would depart the hall without an assigned charge, leaving them free from the responsibilities and expectations that came with mentoring one of the summoned champions.
Rin considered her own prospects bleak and, in truth, preferred it that way. She had been drawn into the program solely through Sylph’s intervention, without the academic prominence or social standing that marked her peers as natural candidates. Being passed over for selection would allow her to withdraw from the increased scrutiny inherent in a formal mentoring role, preserving the relative obscurity she had so carefully cultivated. To remain on the periphery, uninvolved and unremarked upon, suited her far better than the alternative.
The instructors addressed the otherworlders, who had spent the preceding days in a state of enforced acclimation within the royal citadel. The substance of their remarks largely reiterated the assurances already conveyed by the royal court—formal declarations from the king and his ministers, meticulously phrased to elicit cooperation from those who had been irrevocably displaced from their own worlds.
“Rest assured,” one of the senior instructors proclaimed, his voice carrying clearly through the vaulted hall, “once your duty has been fulfilled and the demonic threat has been subdued, you will be returned to your own world. Every effort will be made to restore you to the precise circumstances from which you were summoned.”
“Until that time,” another instructor added, “you will be provided for in full. Housing, sustenance, equipment, and comprehensive training will be supplied without cost or obligation beyond the task for which you have been brought here.”
These promises—generous stipends, honors to be bestowed upon victory, guarantees of unwavering institutional support—were presented to the group of teenagers who had been designated the continent’s hoped-for saviors. Most of the otherworlders appeared to accept these assurances without reservation. Their expressions varied from cautious optimism to resolute determination, as if the repeated emphasis on eventual repatriation and royal patronage provided sufficient foundation for their commitment to this alien conflict. Only a small minority—three or four among the fifteen—betrayed visible skepticism: their postures remained guarded, their gazes narrowed with unspoken reservations about the feasibility of the guarantees being offered.
Rin, having played no part in the summoning ritual itself, harbored no illusions regarding the veracity of these promises. Even without firsthand involvement in the arcane processes, she understood the profound technical barriers that rendered the pledged return effectively impossible. The theoretical framework of interdimensional translocation posited a multiverse comprising hundreds, if not thousands—or potentially an infinite number—of discrete realms, each separated by vast, unfathomable distances in both spatial and metaphysical terms. The summoning of even fifteen individuals represented a staggering achievement, made possible only through the fairies’ rare and exorbitantly costly intervention, which drew upon reservoirs of power unavailable to conventional mages. To execute a reverse translocation demanded far more: pinpointing the precise metaphysical coordinates of each otherworlder’s origin, stabilizing a conduit across an incomprehensibly complex array of parallel planes, and ensuring the physical and temporal integrity of those being transported.
No known ritual, theoretical or otherwise, possessed the precision or reliability to accomplish such a feat.
Discreetly scanning the assembly, Rin searched for any indication of concealed knowledge—a momentary ripple in ambient mana, a fleeting exchange of glances, or the subtle physical tells of suppressed awareness. The instructors revealed none of these signs; their composure was absolute, as if the promised repatriation were merely a question of arranging transportation across neighboring territories. This lack of reaction came as no surprise to her. Those among the adults who possessed genuine expertise in summoning magic—particularly the spatial and planar theorems underpinning it—could not possibly be ignorant of the insurmountable limitations involved. Their unflinching delivery of the assurances was thus a deliberate choice, rooted in necessity rather than naivety.
The responses among the other students were more varied. Those from prominent noble houses or with specialized studies in spatial magic and summoning theory mirrored the instructors’ impassivity, suggesting either prior knowledge of the ritual’s inherent constraints or a practiced discipline in concealing their understanding. Others, however, displayed no such restraint, their attention fixed on the otherworlders with evident confidence in the stated promises, whether due to genuine ignorance of the underlying principles or a willingness to set aside such considerations in favor of immediate exigencies.
Rin maintained a carefully neutral expression, her thoughts veiled behind an unremarkable facade of quiet attention. The glaring discrepancy between the assurances being proffered and the immutable realities of interdimensional magic was undeniable, yet it served an indispensable purpose. Without the prospect—however implausible—of eventual return, the otherworlders’ motivation to engage fully in a war not of their making would likely erode, jeopardizing the fragile hope that their summoned strength could turn the tide against the demons. For the present, this carefully constructed framework of trust endured, upheld by precisely worded pledges and the overwhelming imperative of collective survival.
This knowledge left Rin in a state of internal conflict. She could not resolve whether her sympathies aligned more with the world of her birth—a realm teetering on the brink of collapse, utterly dependent on these unwilling champions—or with the otherworlders themselves, who had been torn from their lives and bound to a cause under promises that bordered on delusion. The necessity of their participation was irrefutable, as was the calculated omission required to secure it, leaving her suspended between pragmatic understanding and a deeper unease at the profound inequity of their enforced conscription.
Yet awareness and action were distinct matters. Rin recognized that any impulse to voice her reservations—whether to the otherworlders or anyone else—carried unacceptable risks. To challenge the assurances publicly would invite scrutiny, disruption, and potentially the unraveling of the tenuous cooperation upon which the war effort depended. Preserving the relative peace and anonymity of her own existence demanded restraint: remaining silent, fulfilling whatever obligations were placed upon her without drawing attention, and avoiding any entanglement that might compel her to confront or expose the uncomfortable truths she alone seemed to fully apprehend. Whatever her private misgivings, the path to maintaining her carefully guarded life required compliance with the prevailing deception, however distasteful that necessity might be.