The morning sun filters through the stained glass windows of our massive bedroom, casting rainbow patterns across the marble floor. I stand in the center of the room, arms outstretched like some kind of medieval mannequin, as a dozen female servants swarm around me with the precision of a well-trained army.
“Arms up, please, Hero Christopher,” says a petite woman with freckles and a stern expression. She’s been barking orders at me since they burst into our room at what felt like the crack of dawn.
I comply, feeling ridiculous as they drape me in layers of white fabric. The ceremonial garments are surprisingly comfortable. Light and airy, with enough give that I could probably do a cartwheel if I wasn’t terrified of embarrassing myself in front of these serious-faced women.
“Turn,” commands another servant, this one with silver-streaked hair pulled into a tight bun.
I rotate slowly, catching sight of Brooke across the room. She’s surrounded by her own team of servants. One of my attendants is currently adjusting the collar of my shirt, her fingers brushing against my neck in a way that makes me want to squirm.
“This is the ceremonial belt of the Hero,” says a third woman, kneeling at my feet to wrap a silver-embroidered sash around my waist. Her hands linger a moment too long, and I clear my throat awkwardly.
“Thanks,” I mutter, not sure what the proper etiquette is when a stranger is dressing you.
The servant smiles up at me, her eyes lingering on my face. “It’s an honor to serve the Hero of our realm.”
I’m about to respond when Brooke’s voice cuts through the room, sharp as a knife.
“Awfully close to my boyfriend, aren’t you?”
The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees. All movement stops. The servant at my feet freezes, her hands still on my belt.
Brooke stands tall in her own ceremonial outfit, similar to mine but somehow more regal on her athletic frame. Her blue eyes are narrowed, fixed on the kneeling woman with an intensity that makes me want to hide behind the nearest servant.
“I… I apologize, Hero Brooke,” the woman stammers, quickly rising to her feet and taking several steps back. “I was merely ensuring the belt was properly secured.”
“Mmhmm.” Brooke’s tone is skeptical as she crosses the room. She positions herself beside me, one hand coming to rest possessively on my shoulder. “I think he’s dressed just fine now.”
The servants exchange nervous glances. The one who was adjusting my collar earlier has backed away so quickly she nearly trips over a footstool.
“Of course, Hero Brooke,” says the silver-haired woman, bowing her head slightly.
The servants file out of the room with their heads bowed, leaving Brooke and me alone in the suddenly quiet chamber. The door closes with a soft click, and Brooke steps closer to me, her hands finding the belt around my waist.
“Let me just...” she murmurs, adjusting the silver-embroidered sash.
“Sorry,” I say, feeling my face heat up. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
Brooke shakes her head, her expression softening. “No, that one’s not on you... I’m sorry I got jealous.” She looks down at her hands, still resting on my belt. “It’s just... this whole situation is so weird.”
“It’s fine, Brooke,” I tell her, reaching up to tuck a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “I get it.”
She smiles at me, and it’s like the sun breaking through clouds. “This world is a lot different than ours.”
I nod, thinking about everything Morgana told us last night. The matriarchy, the goddesses, the cursed brands. “Yeah, it’s definitely not what I expected when we used to talk about getting isekai’d.”
“I’m glad we’re here together,” she says, her smile widening.
I smile too, feeling a warmth spread through my chest that has nothing to do with the morning sun. “Me too.”
She leans in, and I meet her halfway, our lips connecting in a kiss that starts soft but quickly deepens. My hands find her waist, pulling her closer as she wraps her arms around my neck. The ceremonial robes rustle between us, the fabric surprisingly soft against my skin.
A sharp knock at the door interrupts us. We break apart, both slightly breathless, and Brooke gives me one last quick peck before turning toward the door.
“Just a moment,” she calls out, straightening her robes and running a hand through her hair. I do the same, trying to look like we weren’t just making out.
“Come in.”
The door swings open to reveal Morgana, her tall figure silhouetted in the doorway. She’s wearing another dramatic outfit, this one a deep purple robe with silver embroidery that seems to shimmer when she moves.
“See?” she says with a smirk. “This time I waited.”
“Progress,” Brooke replies dryly.
“I’m here to escort you both to the Altar of Heroes,” Morgana says, gesturing toward the door with a dramatic sweep of her arm. “The ceremony begins soon, and we mustn’t keep the masses waiting.”
“Man, I wish we had a camera right now. I’d love to document all of this.”
Brooke shoots me a confused look. “Don’t you have your phone?”
I grimace, patting my robes where my pockets would normally be. “It died last night while I was playing Balatro.”
Brooke’s eyebrows shoot up, her expression shifting to something between disbelief and amusement. “You knew it was your last moments with technology, and you just decided to waste it on that poker game?”
“Woah, woah!” I hold up my hands in mock defense. “Playing Balatro is assuredly not wasting anything. That was the best game I had on my phone. If anything, it went out like a champion.”
Brooke considers this for a moment, her lips twitching with suppressed laughter. “Fair...”
Morgana watches our exchange with those unsettling purple eyes, her head tilted slightly as if trying to decipher our conversation. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Brooke says firmly, straightening her shoulders and adjusting her sash.
We follow Morgana through the castle’s labyrinthine corridors, our footsteps echoing off the stone floors. The place is a maze of hallways and winding staircases, each one seemingly identical to the last. I quickly lose all sense of direction as we descend through the massive structure, passing servants who bow deeply as we pass.
Finally, we emerge onto the ground floor and step outside into the bright morning sun. A magnificent carriage awaits us, drawn by four white horses with golden manes.
“Is the altar not in the castle?” I ask as Brooke helps me into the carriage.
Morgana settles into the seat across from us, her dark robes pooling around her like spilled ink. “No, they built a stadium around it a millennium ago.”
“Why?” I ask, genuinely curious as the carriage begins to move, the rhythmic clop of hooves creating a soothing soundtrack to our journey.
“Because the people need to know when the heroes have returned,” Morgana explains, her purple eyes fixed on me. “It puts them at ease.”
I nod, trying to imagine what awaits us. The carriage moves through the city streets, and I catch glimpses of the world outside through the small windows. People line the roads, cheering and waving as we pass. Their faces are a blur of excitement and hope.
“It’s like a parade,” Brooke whispers, squeezing my hand. Her palm is slightly sweaty, and I realize she’s nervous too, despite her confident exterior.
The carriage turns a corner, and suddenly we’re approaching a massive structure that looks like a cross between a Colosseum and a medieval cathedral.
Morgana leans forward, her purple eyes gleaming with excitement. “Listen carefully, both of you. When we arrive, we’ll pull through a tunnel into the stadium. Queen Olyndra will announce you, and then you’ll follow a path to the pedestal where the twin swords await.”
I nod, trying to absorb all this information while my stomach does somersaults.
“You’ll approach the pedestal together,” Morgana continues, gesturing with her elegant hands. “The Queen will ask you to pull the swords, and you must pull them at the same time. Then hold them to the sky.”
“Like this?” Brooke demonstrates, raising her arms dramatically.
“Exactly. The crowd will clap and cheer, and then the Queen will dismiss you. After that, you’ll return here. The path is impossible to miss. It’s adorned with flowers.”
I blow out a breath, feeling overwhelmed.
“After the ceremony, we’ll head back to the castle to have your mana measured in front of the nobility and other royalty,” Morgana explains. “And then we’ll have the Banquet of the Heroes.”
“Jesus,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “What a busy day.”
Morgana’s smile widens. “Well, you’re the heroes after all. But fear not, your training starts next week.”
Brooke beams at this, her eyes lighting up. “With the swords?”
“Yes, that and magic,” Morgana confirms, her gaze shifting to me.
“Wait, we’re really going to get to learn magic?” I ask, my voice rising with excitement. The idea of actually casting spells, of wielding power beyond what I’ve ever imagined, sends a thrill through me.
“Of course,” Morgana says, her purple eyes locking with mine. “And I’m your teacher.”
The carriage suddenly stops, and Morgana gestures with her head toward the door. “Alright, you two. Go put on a show for the peasants.”
I swallow hard as a servant opens the carriage door. The roar of the crowd hits me like a physical force, thousands of voices raised in anticipation.
“You ready for this?” she asks, her blue eyes searching mine.
“Not even a little bit,” I admit, “but let’s do it anyway.”
We step out into the sunlight. People are hanging from balconies, leaning out windows, packed into every available space of the massive stadium. The path before us is indeed impossible to miss, a carpet of white and gold flowers stretching toward a raised platform where Queen Olyndra stands waiting.
“Holy Empire of Aurelis!” the Queen’s voice booms across the stadium, amplified by some unseen magic. “I present to you our salvation. Brooke Pearson and Christopher Dalton!”
The crowd erupts into a deafening roar that makes my ears ring. I’ve never heard anything like it. Thousands of voices raised in a unified cheer that vibrates through my chest. We walk forward together. The white and gold flowers crunch beneath our feet.
My heart hammers against my ribs as we approach the pedestal. The swords waiting there are surprisingly simple, elegant in their minimalism. Black grips with golden guards, each centered with a white jewel that catches the sunlight. They look almost too plain to be legendary weapons.
Queen Olyndra steps forward, her silver-white braids catching the light as she raises her arms for silence. The crowd quiets immediately, the sudden hush almost more unnerving than the noise.
“Heroes,” she says, her voice carrying across the stadium without effort. “Place your hands upon the swords.”
I exchange a glance with Brooke. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated with excitement. We reach out together, our fingers hovering just above the hilts. I take a deep breath and wrap my hand around the grip.
The moment my skin touches the black leather, a jolt runs up my arm like static electricity. Brooke gasps beside me, clearly feeling it too.
“Now,” the Queen commands, her amber eyes intense. “Pull with all your might!”
I grip the sword tighter, feeling the weight of it in my hand. Brooke gives me a determined nod, and together we pull.
At first, nothing happens. My muscles strain against what feels like an immovable object. Then the pedestal beneath our hands begins to glow, a brilliant golden light that spreads outward like liquid sunshine. A strange humming sound fills the air, starting low and growing louder with each passing second.
“Keep pulling!” Brooke urges, her voice tight with effort.
The humming intensifies, vibrating through my bones. The light grows blinding, forcing me to squint as I continue to pull. The sword budges, just a fraction of an inch, and I feel a surge of hope.
“Come on!” Brooke grunts beside me.
With one final, desperate heave, the swords slide free from their resting place. The crowd explodes into cheers so loud they make the ground beneath my feet tremble.
Brooke turns to me, her face split by the widest smile I’ve ever seen. Her eyes are shining with tears of pure, unadulterated joy.
“We really are heroes,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “This is actually happening.”
The weight of the sword in my hand suddenly feels heavier. Not physically, but emotionally. This isn’t just a cool prop… This is a real weapon, and I’m expected to actually use it. Against what? A demon queen? Monsters? People who want to kill me?
My throat tightens as the reality of our situation crashes down on me. We’re not just playing hero… We’re going to have to fight. People might die. I might die. Brooke might…
“Chris?” Brooke’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. She’s looking at me, her expression shifting from joy to concern. “You okay?”
I try to smile, but it feels weak on my face. “Yeah…”
The crowd’s cheers fade into a dull roar in my ears as fear coils in my stomach.
“Come on,” Brooke whispers, her voice soft but firm. “Raise it to the sky with me.”
I look at her, really look at her. The confidence in her eyes, the strength in her stance. If she believes in us, I can too.
I take a deep breath, pushing the fear down, burying it deep. I won’t let her down.
We raise our swords to the sky together, the sunlight catching on the blades and sending shards of light dancing across the stadium. The crowd erupts into a new wave of cheers, but all I can focus on is Brooke beside me, her face turned up to the sky, looking every bit the hero she was meant to be.