The next morning dawned in gold. Lumeris bathed in the light of its three suns, the whole city glittering like a jewel laid upon the earth. Yet for all its brilliance, something in the air had changed, the stillness before thunder, the pause before judgment. The heroes had begun to settle into roles without realizing it. Arin led the conversations during royal briefings. Reina served as their interpreter of this world’s logic, cataloguing its symbols and language. Hiro and Daisuke represented strength, Ayane faith, Kaito obedience.

  And Raizō, he became the quiet one at the end of the table. King Arathen’s eyes often lingered there. When Raizō met that gaze, it felt less like curiosity and more like confirmation. Confirmation that he didn’t belong.

  The palace had resumed its rhythm, but beneath the routine was something calculated. Meetings increased. Scrolls arrived from temples and scholars. Priests spoke of celestial alignments unseen in centuries. One afternoon, while the six basked in new privileges, training, study, and meals with nobility. Raizō stood apart by the balcony, watching clouds drift across the triple suns.

  King Arathen approached, robes whispering against the marble. For a man of grace, his presence carried a heaviness that drew attention.

  “You do not ask questions,” the king said softly.

  Raizō bowed his head. “The others already ask enough for me, Your Majesty.”

  King Arathen smiled faintly. “Humility… or detachment?”

  Raizō didn’t answer. The King turned his gaze to the horizon, his tone shifting into something that felt more like a confession. “Eryndor has waited for an age. We were promised the coming of seven champions, the bringers of light who would banish the age of chaos. Six to lead, one to balance.”

  “Balance?” Raizō asked.

  King Arathen’s eyes met his, patient, unreadable. “Not all balance is harmony. Sometimes, you have to weigh good against evil… and remove the heavier side.”

  He smiled again, the kind of smile a ruler gives when he’s already decided what truth should be. Raizō didn’t understand his meaning, but his chest tightened. Something about the King’s phrasing, six to lead, one to balance, felt less like prophecy and more like a verdict waiting to be delivered. Arin’s authority grew naturally, but unnaturally fast. The others had started changing as a result. People followed him, even the nobles. The King’s advisors spoke to him directly, often in front of the others, asking his thoughts on governance and mana flow. Raizō stayed silent during those meetings. When he tried to contribute, once, about the palace’s energy conduits, Arin politely interrupted and the conversation moved on. The others didn’t notice. Or perhaps, they didn’t care.

  From the high balcony of the western tower, Lyra watched them train. The seven, now the six, as the priests already called them, sparred with each other. They have been taught well. This was the first lesson the King required the instructors to teach them, how to use a weapon. When Daisuke struck the ground, the earth shook in response. Reina murmured a practiced line under her breath, a ritual she’d been taught. Her mana tightened around her in response. Mana manipulation never required words, but the priests, and her father, insisted that everyone in Eryndor recite those chants. Even Kaito was getting a better understanding of this new power. Raizō stood there, still and unarmed. She’d seen him try. His expression never changed, but his shoulders tensed with every failure. When he reached for mana, nothing came. The guards whispered about it already.

  Lyra’s hand rested on the balcony rail. She knew cruelty well, how quickly admiration turned to mockery when power drew lines between people. She had seen her father encourage that divide a thousand times before. When she saw Raizō bow politely to a priest who barely concealed his contempt, she felt something shift in her chest. Not pity, she despised pity, but a sharp, instinctive recognition.

  He reminded her of herself before she learned that power demanded masks. And in contrast, Arin disturbed her. He smiled too easily. His voice was too measured. Whenever he spoke, people agreed, not thoughtfully, but reflexively. Lyra had trained her entire life to resist influence. Yet when he looked at her, she felt something pressing behind her mind, like invisible hands testing her will. It made her teeth clench. She turned away.

  Weeks went by. The servants’ gossip had spread from kitchens to corridors. They spoke of signs, of divine markings, of affinities. Each of the six had shown extraordinary control over mana, unnatural for newcomers.mAnd then there was Raizō. The one who could not feel the divine pulse. The anomaly. They didn’t call him cursed. Not yet. But the word lingered on their tongues. The priests began visiting at night, performing blessings outside his quarters. They never said why. They didn’t have to. Raizō never complained. He didn’t look angry. He just looked tired, a quiet kind of exhaustion that came from recognizing when a room stopped seeing you as human. When he walked past the courtyard one evening, the guards lowered their voices.

  “…the prophecy said one would fall,” one whispered. “Maybe he already has.”

  He kept walking. He didn’t need to ask what they meant. At the end of the week, the great bells of Lumeris tolled thrice. The sound reverberated through the palace, deep, deliberate, ceremonial. King Arathen gathered them in the Hall of Radiance, the heart of the palace where light poured from a crystal dome that shifted hues with the suns.

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  “You have all shown promise,” he said, his voice echoing. “But faith must be tested. The time has come for the Affirmation of Light.”

  Reina blinked. “Affirmation?”

  “A trial,” King Arathen said simply. “To measure the resonance of your souls with the divine breath — the essence we call mana.”

  Raizō’s hand curled slightly at his side.

  “Prophecy has brought you seven to our world,” King Arathen continued. “Yet history remembers only six heroes of the last age.”

  The room fell silent.

  Raizō looked up. “What happened to the seventh?”

  Arathen smiled, serene and cold. “He was unworthy.”

  That night, Raizō didn’t sleep. He stood on the balcony outside his quarters, the air cool and bright under the light of three moons. The city of Lumeris glowed below, alive and endless. He thought of Emi, her voice, her laugh, her stubborn way of worrying. He wondered if she was still waiting for him. He didn’t notice when his thumb began tapping his knuckle. Once. Twice. Three times. He didn’t notice the faint shimmer in the sky above, as if something vast had turned its gaze toward him.

  The Palace of Light was never darker than when all three suns rose together. The radiance that filled the city that morning was almost unbearable, gold and silver burning through glass, scattering over the crystal streets like liquid fire. Every tower reflected it; every window screamed brilliance. It should have been beautiful. But Raizō couldn’t shake the feeling that a light this perfect left no room for shadows or for mistakes.

  The Affirmation of Light was to be held in the Hall of Resonance, the most sacred chamber in the palace. It was circular, with a domed ceiling of translucent crystal. In its center stood seven marble platforms arranged like petals, each carved with ancient runes. Guards, nobles, and priests filled the hall. Incense curled in golden spirals toward the ceiling. Raizō stood at the edge of the formation beside Kaito, who avoided meeting his eyes. The others looked radiant, dressed in ceremonial white and gold, the very image of divine heroes. He had been given the same robe, but it felt heavy, like someone else’s skin. King Arathen stepped forward, his voice echoing through the chamber.

  “Children of another world,” he said. “The prophesy has chosen you to bear the light. Today, you shall awaken the truth within you, and Eryndor shall witness it.”

  The crowd murmured approval. Raizō’s hands stayed at his sides. His mind drifted — not to glory, but to Emi. If the gods could bring them here, couldn’t they send him home? When the King’s gaze met his, he seized the moment.

  “Your Majesty,” Raizō said quietly, though the hall carried his words. “Before this begins… Is it possible to return?”

  The silence that followed was suffocating. Even the nobles seemed caught off guard by the simplicity of the request. Arathen’s face softened, just enough to look kind. “We are working on it,” he said. “But until the divine purpose is fulfilled, the path home remains closed.”

  Raizō nodded once. “I see.”

  But he didn’t. The words sounded like reassurance, but they felt like chains. One by one, the six stepped forward. Reina went first. Her platform glowed blue-white, symbols flaring around her feet. Gasps rippled through the hall as ribbons of light coiled around her arms like gentle serpents.

  “Hero of Mind,” the priests whispered.

  Then Daisuke, his runes burned crimson, heat shimmering in the air. The marble cracked under his power.

  “Hero of Wrath.”

  Ayane’s light came soft and golden, warmth instead of fire. She wept openly as she was named the

  “Hero of Spirit.”

  Hiro’s platform shone silver, steady and pure.

  “Hero of Strength.”

  Kaito followed, steel-grey light forming armor-like plates over his skin.

  “Hero of Steel.”

  Then Arin. When he stepped onto his platform, the entire hall vibrated. The runes flared white gold, the very air warping as the crowd shielded their eyes. The priests fell to their knees.

  “Hero of Light,” they cried. “The chosen leader!”

  Arin looked down, feigning humility, but something flickered behind his calm expression. A quiet satisfaction that made Lyra’s stomach turn. She stood at the edge of the chamber, armored and silent, her captain’s insignia hidden beneath royal cloth. The way the others looked at him, devotion laced with pride, unsettled her deeply. Then came Raizō. When he stepped onto his platform, nothing happened. No glow. No sound. Not even a flicker. He waited, breathing evenly. He half expected a delay, a soft hum, a light too slow to start. But the marble stayed cold. Murmurs began to spread like rot.

  Reina’s brow furrowed. “Is… is something wrong with the seal?”

  A priest shook his head. “All the seals are divine. They do not err.”

  Raizō’s heartbeat quickened, but his face remained calm. “Should I try again?”

  “Step back,” King Arathen said softly.

  The king’s voice carried the same warmth as before, but it had changed. There was something beneath it now. Something final.

  He turned to the priests. “Confirm it.”

  They obeyed, drawing symbols in the air. The marble glowed faintly, then died again. One priest’s voice cracked as he whispered, “No resonance… no trace of mana at all.”

  The silence that followed was worse than laughter. Raizō felt the air drain from the room. The light of three suns pressed heavier against his skin. Arin’s hand rested on Daisuke’s shoulder, a small gesture, but it silenced whatever insult was about to leave his mouth.

  Reina spoke first. “That’s… not possible. Everyone has mana, don’t they?”

  “No,” said Arathen. “Not everyone. Some souls are simply untouched by the divine.”

  The words were carefully chosen, but the meaning was cruel. A ripple of whispers spread through the audience. Untouched. Anomaly. Worthless. Raizō’s throat tightened. He didn’t bow. He didn’t apologize. He just stepped back quietly. But the damage was done. After the ceremony, when the hall emptied and the nobles dispersed, Lyra remained in the shadows. She watched as Arin placed a hand on Reina’s shoulder, smiling as if he were consoling her for someone else’s failure. The others laughed, softly, nervously, at some comment Daisuke made. The laughter was wrong. Forced. Raizō stood apart, staring at the same platform that had refused him. His reflection in the marble looked pale and small.

  Lyra had seen humiliation before. But this was different. This wasn’t the shame of a man who failed, it was the quiet grief of someone who had expected nothing and still lost everything. She wanted to speak to him but didn’t. He turned and left before she could move, disappearing into the corridors of light.

  That night, as the suns set and three moons rose over Lumeris, Lyra stood on her balcony and watched the city glow. Something was wrong, not with Raizō, but with the others. Their smiles were sharper, their words too smooth. Arin’s influence wasn’t domination. It was suggestion, amplifying what was already there. Reina’s pride. Daisuke’s anger. Ayane’s fear of insignificance. Hiro’s inferiority complex. Even Kaito’s loyalty, twisted into servitude. And as she watched the lights flicker against the sky, Lyra realized what her father refused to see. The King might have summoned seven heroes, but only one of them still looked human.