The grand dining hall loomed before them, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadow despite the abundance of warm yellow light. Edric paused at the entrance, adjusting the unfamiliar formal wear that still felt wrong against his transformed body. Halric stood near the Queen, watchful as ever, though he had finally removed the shackles at Mira’s insistence.

  Edric rubbed the tender skin on his wrists where the restraints had hung. It felt freeing to use his hands as he pleased—and not having Halric nipping at his heels was a small mercy. Despite that, people still reacted as if the shackles were still there, their minds already made up about him. Edric sighed.

  As if to confirm his thoughts, nearby nobles drew back slightly as he passed, their whispered conversations falling silent. The contrast with his fellow heroes’ reception couldn’t have been starker. Ahead, Liora and Garrick were already surrounded by admirers, their fine clothes marking them as proper champions rather than prisoners on temporary release.

  The mosaic floor caught his attention—intricate patterns of colored glass and stone forming swirling gradients that seemed to flow beneath his feet. Along the walls, private alcoves had been sectioned off with rich tapestries and curtains. Through the gaps, attendants hurried about preparing elaborate place settings.

  *Sarah would have loved this,* he thought, then immediately wished he hadn’t. The pain of that loss was still fresh.

  “The Queen’s about to speak,” Halric announced to the crowd.

  At the far end of the hall, Queen Valerius rose from her ornate throne. Beside it stood a small tent pavilion—presumably for private audiences. She raised her hands for silence, though the gesture was hardly needed; the crowd had already stilled in anticipation.

  “Noble lords and ladies,” her voice carried effortlessly through the space, “we gather to celebrate the Harold’s newest champions.” She gestured to where Liora and Garrick stood proudly. “Through their prowess, they have already proven worthy of their calling.” The Queen’s gaze swept past Edric without a flicker of acknowledgment. “In these dark times, with demon raids growing bold and our homes threatened…”

  She continued speaking, but Edric had stopped listening. There was no point in giving her more of his attention than she deserved. Instead, he distracted himself by meeting the surrounding nobles’ barely concealed looks of disdain with hostile indifference. *They see me as worse than worthless—a disappointment to their god, an embarrassment to their traditions.* He shrugged. *Let them hate me.*

  Through the crowd, Edric spotted Mira standing near the heroes’ table, her familiar face a welcome sight among a sea of unfriendly strangers. She caught his eye and beckoned him over with a warm smile, though he noticed how the other two attendants stood apart from her.

  Mira pulled out his chair and served him with an honest smile, ignoring the disapproving looks from both Edmund—Liora’s attendant—and Sera—Garrick’s attendant.

  Their expressions made it clear they considered Mira’s friendly willingness to assist such an undeserving, contemptuous master entirely repulsive.

  *Reputation tainted by association.* While unfair, there was no point in being upset about it now. Edric ignored their contempt and decided to enjoy Mira’s hospitality if only to spite them.

  The aroma hit him first—roasted meat with herbs he didn’t recognize, fresh bread that made his mouth water. After days of prison rations, the feast before him seemed almost unreal.

  “The wine is from the southern vineyards,” Mira explained, pouring him a glass of deep red liquid. “Please, enjoy.”

  *Sarah always said I was a lightweight,* he thought, taking a careful sip. The rich flavor surprised him—somehow both familiar and alien at once.

  “Mind if I join you?” Garrick’s deep voice drew his attention. The warrior hero settled into the chair across from him, his broad shoulders stretching the formal attire. “Needed a break from the… enthusiasm out there.” Sera arranged things for him, then excused herself from the partitioned room—apparently, she had other duties to attend to.

  Initially, Edric hid his involuntary scowl behind the wineglass.

  “Lesser men would have taken that shot,” Garrick said after a moment, his voice heavy with sincerity. “What you did at the tournament—refusing to risk my life just to prove yourself… I’m truly grateful.” He met Edric’s eyes. “I know how much that decision has cost you. If you ever need a favor, you need only ask. I’m in your debt.”

  Edric was surprised. Perhaps he’d judged this man too quickly. He exhaled softly and decided to let it go—*water under the bridge.* Edric set down the glass and reached across the table, clasping Garrick’s offered hand. “Wouldn’t have hit you anyway,” he said with a shrug.

  “Still,” Garrick’s mouth twitched in what might have been a smile, “back home I was law enforcement—twenty years on the force. You learn to recognize character in that line of work.”

  *Character didn’t keep me out of chains,* Edric thought, but kept it to himself, leaning back and taking another sip.

  Garrick rubbed his chest absently, gaze distant. “You know, when they pulled me through, I was already gone. Stage-four lung cancer.” A quiet laugh escaped him. “I’m grateful. This new body… a new chance at life… It’s more than I could’ve hoped for.”

  His eyes met Edric’s briefly, acknowledging without words that their situations were vastly different. “Whatever your path forward here, I wish you well.”

  “Thanks,” Edric replied softly.

  Garrick straightened, changing the subject. “They’re still finalizing assignments tonight. Word is I’m headed to the border territories—still working out the details. That’s what tonight’s about: sorting who goes where, with what resources. Politics.”

  He grimaced at the word, earning a small chuckle from Edric.

  “The borders?” Edric leaned forward, glad for the shift in topic. “Have you heard what it’s like?”

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  “Reports are scattered. And honestly, I’m still trying to understand what’s really out there—what they’ll put me up against. Haven’t learned as much as I’d like, just sketches and briefings so far,” Garrick admitted, unconsciously touching the sword at his hip. “Apparently, there’s quite a variety—some like twisted versions of normal predators, wolves and bears. Others are straight out of mythology.” He frowned. “And those are just the known species.”

  “How dangerous are they?” Edric asked. *If experienced soldiers are struggling, what chance does a former cop have—magic sword or not?*

  “Depends on the type. They say that the smaller ones a skilled warrior can handle. But the larger varieties…” Garrick shook his head. “They say the attacks are getting more organized—coordinated, intelligent strikes rather than random raids. The military’s struggling to predict where they’ll hit next, and I’ll be honest—going in blind against something like that makes me nervous.”

  *I’m glad he’s realistic about it,* Edric thought. *Not buying into all this ‘chosen hero’ nonsense.*

  “Well, I hope you’re better with that sword than I am with a bow,” Edric said, managing a wry smile.

  Garrick looked a bit sheepish. “Funny thing about that—back home I was really into HEMA, Historical European Martial Arts.” At Edric’s raised eyebrow, he chuckled. “Yeah, I know. Some guys do boxing or MMA; I spent my weekends playing with swords.”

  Mira’s expression showed mild curiosity as the conversation drifted into a world she had yet to comprehend.

  *Of course the Harold would pick the one cop who was already a sword fighter,* Edric thought, amused despite himself.

  “Used to compete in tournaments,” Garrick continued. “Never thought those skills would be… actually relevant.” He patted the ornate sword at his hip. “Though this is a far cry from the practice weapons I used. The balance is perfect—like it’s part of my arm.”

  “At least one of us got a useful combat skill in this world,” Edric remarked, thinking of his own abilities. *So why’d their sorry excuse for a god go wrong with me? Couldn’t he have chosen someone who’d actually used a bow before?*

  Their conversation was interrupted when Liora approached the table. Edmund, her attendant, had already prepared her chair. Edric noticed his sideways glances at Mira, who stood quietly behind him.

  Liora’s dark hair gleamed under the warm lights. Where Garrick filled the space with his presence, she seemed to cut through it—each movement precise, deliberate.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said, settling gracefully into her chair as Edmund hurried to assist. “But I couldn’t help overhearing talk of martial skills.” Her smile was warm, but something about it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Though I’ve been blessed with an unprecedented array of magical affinities, I’m most looking forward to applying my knowledge to healing magic. The possibilities for combining modern medical understanding with magical healing…” Her eyes lit with genuine enthusiasm.

  “You were a doctor?” Edric asked.

  “Trauma surgeon,” she confirmed, accepting a glass of wine. “Though that career ended rather… abruptly.” A shadow crossed her face. “Patient woke up during a procedure. Grabbed a scalpel. Ironic, really—I spent my life saving others, only to die on my own operating table.”

  *Another one who died,* Edric thought, studying her more carefully. *Is that why the Harold chose them? Because they were already leaving their world behind? Was I moments from death before being summoned—only I didn’t know it?*

  A faint smile tugged at her lips. “Funny thing is, I used to unwind by reading these fantasy stories on my breaks—manga, mostly. Magic academies, other worlds, that kind of thing.” She gave a little laugh. “Never thought I’d end up in one. Turns out the real thing’s a lot less glamorous and a little more terrifying.”

  Garrick chuckled. “Guess we all got more realism than we bargained for.”

  “What about you, Edric?” Liora asked, her tone friendly but searching. “Garrick has his swordplay, I have my medical knowledge. There must be some reason the Harold chose you, even if archery isn’t your strength.”

  “Actually, I’ve been wondering about that myself,” Garrick added with a smirk. “There must be some reason it was you, after all.”

  Even Mira leaned forward slightly, and Edmund showed enough interest to pause in his work.

  “I’m a marksman,” Edric said carefully. “Just… not with a bow.”

  Understanding dawned on both heroes’ faces. Garrick let out a short laugh. “The Harold mixed up rifle skills with bow skills? That’s…” He shook his head, still chuckling. “Actually explains a lot.”

  The attendants remained confused, clearly lost. Mira’s brow furrowed as she mouthed the unfamiliar word *‘rifle’* to herself.

  “You’re a shooter then?” Liora’s warm demeanor cooled slightly—almost imperceptibly. “Military?”

  “Sport, actually,” Edric replied, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. “Competitive shooting. I was good at it too—regional champion three years running.” *Sarah always said I just liked showing off.*

  “Ah.” Liora nodded politely. “And was that your profession?”

  “Hah! There’s no real money in competition shooting,” Edric replied with a slight shrug. “I was a gunsmith by trade. Specialized in historical restoration, replicas, and custom work.”

  “A gunsmith,” Garrick perked up, genuinely interested. “Did you do custom modifications—optics milling, lightened triggers, that sort of thing?” He grinned. “The department armorer used to hate when officers brought in modified service weapons.”

  “Yes, some of that,” Edric said. “Mostly I restored antique firearms—bringing history back to life, you could say.”

  “Restored?” Liora’s voice was carefully neutral, but her fingers had tightened around her wine glass. “So you understand their construction completely—the principles, the materials, the manufacturing process…”

  *She’s quick,* Edric thought, matching her razor-edged stare. The implications of his knowledge in this world clearly weren’t lost on her.

  “Must be frustrating,” Garrick said sympathetically, missing the tension entirely. “Having skills that don’t translate here. Though maybe some of that mechanical knowledge could be useful for other things?”

  “Heh, yes, let’s hope those particular skills don’t… translate.” Liora’s short laugh was just a little too sharp.

  Mira glanced between Edric and Liora, sensing she was missing something critically important.

  Edmund noted his master’s focus on Edric. He, by contrast, looked certain—not about the details but about whose side he'd be on if it came to that.

  Garrick’s gaze flicked between the two, finally noticing the tension but clearly unsure of its source.

  A commotion near the hall’s entrance drew everyone’s attention—raised voices and hurried footsteps.

  Garrick turned toward the disturbance, his expression hardening.

  The silence that followed felt brittle. Liora’s gaze hadn’t left Edric, her earlier warmth replaced by careful calculation. Edric met her stare evenly, neither backing down nor provoking. *Judge all you want, doctor.*

  Sera, Garrick’s attendant, returned breathless. “My lords, my lady—word from the border. A coordinated attack on three villages near Blackthorn Pass. The local garrison was…” She hesitated. “Overwhelmed, but holding. They’re saying new varieties of demon beasts—larger than before.”

  “Casualties? And wounded?” Liora asked sharply, her medical instincts surfacing.

  “Unknown, my lady.”

  Garrick’s expression darkened, his earlier enthusiasm gone.

  Having delivered her message, Sera straightened her clothes, then stepped over and whispered something to Mira—whose eyes widened.

  Mira then stepped forward and bowed slightly. “My lord Edric, I bear an invitation from the Regent of Galenmurk. Lady Zylenaia requests the honor of your company at your earliest convenience.”

  “Some noble actually wants to meet me?” Edric couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice. *After yesterday’s disaster? Probably just wants to see the new thing everyone’s been mocking.*

  “That’s excellent!” Garrick said, clearly pleased for him.

  Liora’s wine glass clinked softly as she set it down with deliberate care. Her gaze lifted, her eyes flicking between Edric and the others in the room, thoughts clearly racing behind her diplomatic expression.