"Isn't it great, Aldrin? I'm debuting."
Aldous's voice had been bright. Too bright.
"I'm an idol now."
Aldrin remembered the room clearly. The practice mirrors, the scuffed floor, the faint hum of the air conditioner that never quite worked. They stood side by side, identical faces reflected back at them, same height, same build, same hair.
But the people watching them never looked at Aldrin for long.
"That's amazing," Aldrin had said back then, forcing a smile. "I knew you'd make it."
They were twins. Trainees. They trained together for years. Dancing until their legs burned, repeating choreography until it became instinct. Aldous had better vocals, that was undeniable. But Aldrin could dance. He worked harder. Stayed later. Practiced until his body screamed.
He thought effort would be enough.
It never was.
"I guess I didn't make it," Aldrin muttered later that night, sitting alone in the dorm room they once shared. "Again."
Becoming an idol had been their dream. A shared one. Or at least, Aldrin thought it was shared.
Outside of that dream, nothing changed.
Sports. Academics. Social circles.
Aldous stood in the spotlight. Aldrin stood beside him, smiling politely.
A backup.
"I'll just live a regular life," Aldrin said quietly to himself back then. "I guess I'll forever be a nobody."
There was no bitterness in his voice at the time. Just resignation.
If he couldn't debut, if he couldn't stand out, then he would fade quietly. Live normally. Work normally. Watch his brother succeed from a distance.
That was the plan.
But plans shattered easily.
The message came on an ordinary day. No fanfare. No warning.
A glowing notification appeared before his eyes, vivid and impossible.
[Your world is on the verge of collapse. As a parting gift, the gods will send you to a new reality. Please choose your spawn point.]
Aldrin had laughed.
"A new shot," he whispered. "In another world."
He didn't hesitate.
He asked Aldous where he planned to go.
The Eastern Kingdom. A land of martial artists, heroes, and disciplined warriors.
So Aldrin chose the opposite.
The Central Kingdom.
"Was it petty?" Aldrin said now, smiling faintly as he lifted his teacup. "Yeah. I'll be the first to admit it."
Steam curled upward, mixing with the cold air of the northern refuge. The tea was dark, bitter, warmed with herbs Firak had gathered from the forest.
Around him sat his growing group.
Brago stood with his arms crossed, massive presence filling the space even while seated. Firak crouched nearby, silent as ever. The imp gnawed on something in the corner. A faint, wavering shadow hovered near the ceiling, the one star spirit of darkness drifting lazily.
Across from Aldrin sat Guiera.
The dark elf swordsman.
She had arrived only a few hours ago, summoned through his latest monthly ritual. Three stars. Calm. Sharp eyed. Her silver hair was tied neatly behind her head, armor maintained meticulously even while resting. She listened without interrupting, green eyes fixed on Aldrin as he spoke.
"He's probably off becoming some kind of hero on the other side of the world as we speak," Aldrin continued. "Saving villages. Being loved. Being remembered."
He took a sip of tea.
"That's why I'm okay with being this villain."
Silence settled.
"If he's going to be a hero," Aldrin said softly, "then I'll be a villain. One so potent that they'll have to etch my name into history whether they want to or not."
Brago chuckled.
"At least your ambition is honest," the demon said. "Many pretend otherwise."
"One month," Aldrin went on, shifting the topic. "It's been one month since Brago's summoning."
He glanced around the group.
"Firak was my first real servant. Then the imp. After that, a spirit of darkness. Then a skeleton captain. And now Guiera."
The skeleton captain stood near the entrance, unmoving, eyes glowing faintly blue beneath his helm. Unlike lesser undead, this was an evolved skeleton equal to a ghoul.
"Every summon has taught me something," Aldrin said. "Not just about power, but about responsibility."
Guiera raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Responsibility," she echoed. "From a Summoner labeled a calamity."
Aldrin smiled.
"Ironic, right?"
Brago shifted.
"Speaking of calamities," the demon said, "Heinz has made contact."
That drew everyone's attention.
"The necromancer?" Aldrin asked.
"Yes," Brago replied. "Cordially. He acknowledges our presence and wishes to open communication. He is aware of my strength. Curious about yours."
Guiera's hand moved subtly closer to her sword.
"And he is trustworthy?" she asked.
Brago laughed softly.
"He is a vampire noble. Trust is irrelevant. Mutual interest is what matters."
"He wishes to introduce us to the Vampire King," Brago continued. "Eventually."
Aldrin leaned back, processing that.
"So the locals have noticed us," he murmured.
"Yes," Brago said. "But they do not see you as prey. Not yet."
Firak spoke quietly.
"Heinz views you as an anomaly," the ghoul said. "A Summoner without allegiance. That makes you dangerous, but also valuable."
Aldrin nodded.
"Figures."
He stared into his tea, thoughts drifting.
One month ago, he had been alone. Weak. Hiding in a city, barely surviving his first summon.
Now the Church hunted him. Heroes marched north. Vampires watched from the shadows.
And he was not alone anymore.
"This is only the beginning," Aldrin said finally. "They call Summoners calamities because they don't understand them. Because they're afraid of what happens when someone like me stops asking for permission."
He looked up, meeting each of their gazes.
"I won't rush. I won't burn everything down for the sake of it. I'll grow. Slowly. Carefully."
His eyes gleamed faintly.
"And when they finally come for me again, I won't be running."
The spirit of darkness pulsed, reacting to his emotion. The imp cackled quietly. The skeleton captain tightened its grip on its weapon.
Guiera smiled faintly.
"A villain who drinks tea and plans," she said. "I think I can follow that."
Brago's grin widened.
"Good," he said. "Because the world has already started moving against you."
Outside, the northern fog thickened.
And somewhere far away, a hero with the same face prepared for a future that would inevitably collide with Aldrin's.
The Summoner had chosen his role.
Now the world would learn what that meant.