---
Himari stood in the Grand Cathedral, staring up at the vaulted ceiling where light streamed through stained glass windows. She'd come here alone before dawn, unable to sleep, drawn by something she couldn't name.
Or maybe she could name it. She just didn't want to.
Guilt.
The cathedral was where they'd been summoned. Where one hundred heroes before them had been pulled from their worlds and given false hope. And beneath her feet, somewhere in the depths of this beautiful building, one hundred souls screamed in eternal agony.
She could almost hear them if she listened carefully enough.
"They're quieter in the morning," a voice said behind her.
Himari spun to find High Priestess Seraphina standing in the entrance, wrapped in a simple shawl against the morning chill. She looked tired—she always looked tired now, Himari had noticed.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude—"
"You're not intruding. This is a place of worship. Anyone may come." Seraphina approached slowly. "But you're not here to pray, are you?"
"No. I'm here because... because I can feel them. The trapped souls. My power—it's restoration magic, right? Healing. And I can sense injuries, damage, things that need fixing." She gestured vaguely downward. "They're hurt. All of them. Constantly. And I can't help them."
"No one can. The magic that binds them is beyond even my ability to break."
"Yuki thinks she can do it. Eventually. If we have enough time."
"Do you believe her?"
Himari considered. "I want to. Yuki's brilliant. She sees the world as code, as something that can be rewritten. But even she admits this might be beyond her capabilities."
Seraphina sat on one of the pews, patting the space beside her. Himari joined her, and they sat in comfortable silence for a while, just listening to the cathedral's echoes.
"Tell me about your mother," Seraphina said eventually. "If you want to. You died because of her, didn't you? The grief was too much."
Himari hadn't talked about her mother since the summoning. Hadn't let herself think too deeply about it because the pain was still raw, still immediate.
But something about Seraphina—her own grief, perhaps, or the quiet sanctuary of the cathedral—made it feel safe to speak.
"She was a singer," Himari said. "Professional, before she had me. Nothing famous, but she performed in hotels and lounges. She had this voice that made people stop whatever they were doing and just listen. She taught me everything—how to breathe, how to project, how to make each note count."
"She sounds wonderful."
"She was. Until the accident." Himari's hands clenched in her lap. "Drunk driver. She survived, but the brain damage... she never woke up. Just laid there in that hospital bed for two years, breathing but not living. The doctors said there was almost no brain activity left. That she was already gone."
"But you couldn't let go."
"I couldn't. She was my only family. My father left when I was three. I barely remember him. It was just Mom and me. How could I be the one to decide her life was over? How could I pull the plug?"
"So you stayed. Gave up your dreams to sit with her."
"I had an audition. A real one, with a real label. The day I was supposed to go, she coded. Heart failure. And I... I'd been about to leave her. I'd chosen the audition over staying by her side. I felt like I'd killed her."
"You didn't kill her, Himari."
"I know. Logically, I know. But logic doesn't help when you're drowning in guilt." She wiped at her eyes, surprised to find tears there. "I took all the sleeping pills I had. I just wanted the pain to stop. I wanted to see her again. I thought maybe wherever she'd gone, I could apologize."
"And instead you woke up here."
"Instead I woke up here. Given a second chance I didn't ask for, powers I don't understand, and a death sentence hanging over my head in four months." Himari laughed bitterly. "The universe has a terrible sense of humor."
"Or perhaps it's given you exactly what you need."
"What do you mean?"
Seraphina gestured to the cathedral around them. "You felt guilty about your mother. About not being able to save her, about choosing yourself over her. Now you have the power to save people. To heal injuries, to restore life. And you have a clear enemy to fight—a system that destroys innocents."
"You think I was summoned specifically for this?"
"I think the summoning pulls souls that fit certain patterns. Trauma, sacrifice, unfulfilled potential. Your grief over your mother, your desire to heal and help people, your beautiful voice—all of it shaped your power. You're not just a healer, Himari. You're hope given form."
"I don't feel like hope. I feel like I'm drowning."
"That's because you're trying to carry too much alone." Seraphina took her hand gently. "Your power comes with a cost. I've watched you use it. Each time you heal someone, you give away a piece of yourself. Literally. You're burning your life force to restore others."
"I know."
"And you're doing it anyway. Because you'd rather die helping people than live with the guilt of doing nothing."
Himari couldn't argue with that.
"Let me teach you something," Seraphina said. "A technique I learned from a previous hero—one from eight summonings ago. Her name was Aria, and she had restoration magic like yours. She discovered a way to minimize the cost."
"How?"
"By accepting that you can't save everyone. By choosing who to help and letting go of those you can't reach. By forgiving yourself for being human and limited." Seraphina's voice was soft but firm. "Aria tried to save everyone at first. Within two months, she'd burned herself out so badly that her healing stopped working entirely. She died during harvest—not from the ritual, but because she'd already consumed her own life force."
The warning was clear.
"I'm heading toward the same fate, aren't I?"
"If you don't learn to set boundaries, yes. Your power is incredible, Himari, but it will kill you faster than any harvest ritual if you're not careful."
"Then teach me. How do I set boundaries when people are dying? When I have the power to help but choose not to?"
"That's the question every healer must answer for themselves. But I can show you techniques for efficiency—how to heal more with less cost, how to target your power precisely, how to use your voice to amplify rather than fuel your magic."
They spent the next two hours in the cathedral, Seraphina teaching and Himari learning. The techniques were complex—breath control, emotional focus, precise targeting of injuries rather than blanket healing. It was exhausting work, but Himari felt something shift inside her. A sense of control she hadn't had before.
"Your power is tied to your voice," Seraphina explained. "But the voice is just the delivery mechanism. The true power comes from your intent, your desire to restore and heal. If you can focus that intent without depleting your life force, you can heal for much longer."
They practiced on small things—wilted flowers that bloomed under Himari's song, cracked stones that mended, injured birds that flew away healed. Each time, Himari felt the drain, but it was manageable now. Controlled.
"Better," Seraphina said. "Much better. Keep practicing, and you'll be able to heal entire battlefields without killing yourself."
"Thank you," Himari said. "For teaching me. For being honest about the cost."
"I couldn't save my daughter. But maybe I can save you five." Seraphina stood, preparing to leave. "One more thing, Himari. Your power doesn't just heal bodies. I've watched you—you restore hope, calm fear, inspire courage. That's perhaps your greatest gift. Don't forget that healing isn't just about wounds."
After Seraphina left, Himari remained in the cathedral, practicing the techniques, feeling the power flow through her more efficiently. She thought about her mother, about the two years she'd spent singing to a woman who couldn't hear her.
But maybe her mother had heard. Maybe that's where this power came from—all those hours of singing, of pouring love and hope into the void, of refusing to give up even when logic said it was hopeless.
*I'm still singing, Mom,* she thought. *But now people can hear me. Now I can actually help.*
---
That afternoon, Himari volunteered at the city's healing ward—a large building where injured soldiers and sick civilians received treatment from mages and priests. It was crowded, understaffed, and the smell of sickness hung heavy in the air.
A healer named Brother Marcus—elderly, with kind eyes—welcomed her gratefully.
"A hero, here to help? Bless the gods. We've been overwhelmed since the last demon incursion. Fifty soldiers wounded, and we've only got six trained healers."
"I'm still learning," Himari said. "But I'll do what I can."
"Your presence alone will help. The patients will take heart knowing a hero cares."
He led her through the ward, explaining cases. Most were soldiers—sword wounds, broken bones, infection from demon poison. But there were civilians too—illness, accidents, the normal tragedies of life that continued even during war.
A young boy, maybe seven, with a terrible fever. His mother sat beside his bed, red-eyed from crying.
"Please," she begged when she saw Himari. "Please, he's all I have. The healers say they can't break the fever. Please."
Himari knelt beside the bed and felt for the boy's injury with her new senses. There—infection in his lungs, spreading rapidly. Deadly if untreated, but within her power to fix.
She sang softly, focusing her intent on the infection. Golden light spread from her hands, and she felt the technique Seraphina had taught her working—targeting precisely, using minimal life force, letting her voice carry the healing rather than her essence.
The boy's breathing eased. Color returned to his face. He opened his eyes and smiled weakly.
"Angel," he whispered. "Are you an angel?"
"Just a hero," Himari said, fighting tears. "You're going to be fine now. Rest."
His mother sobbed in relief, clutching Himari's hand. "Thank you, thank you, thank you—"
Himari moved to the next bed. Then the next. Then the next.
She worked for four hours straight, healing everyone who needed it, using the careful techniques to preserve her strength. By the end, she was exhausted but not depleted. She'd healed thirty-seven people and felt like she could continue if needed.
*This is what I'm supposed to do,* she realized. *Not fight. Not kill. Heal. Restore. Give hope.*
But even as she thought it, she remembered Millbrook. Sometimes healing wasn't enough. Sometimes you had to fight to protect the people who needed healing.
Brother Marcus thanked her profusely as she prepared to leave. "Will you come back? Please? You've done in four hours what would have taken us days."
"I'll come back," she promised. "As often as I can."
Walking back to the palace, Himari felt lighter than she had since the summoning. She had a purpose now. A role that fit. Yes, she was a hero. Yes, she'd have to fight sometimes. But her true strength wasn't in battle—it was in the quiet moments afterward, healing the wounded, restoring what war had broken.
She found the others in the common area, deep in discussion about something. They looked up when she entered, and Yuki immediately noticed the difference.
"You look better. More centered."
"I am. Seraphina taught me some techniques. I think I'm finally understanding my power."
"Good timing," Ren said. "Because we need to discuss something important. All of us."
They settled in, and Ren explained: Princess Celestia had sent a message through the Garden of Remembrance. She wanted to meet with all five heroes, to discuss an alliance against her father.
"Kaito, you said you could read her emotions, right?" Ren asked. "Tell if she's genuine?"
"I can try. My range is better now, and I'm learning to distinguish between surface emotions and deeper intent."
"Then we meet her. Tonight, in the garden. Somewhere private where we can talk without being overheard."
"And if it's a trap?" Daichi asked.
"Then we fight our way out and accelerate our plans. But I don't think it is. I think Celestia is genuine—she has too much to lose by exposing herself if she's lying."
They agreed to meet the princess at midnight in the Garden of Remembrance—a memorial space within the palace grounds where statues honored fallen heroes. The irony wasn't lost on any of them.
---
The garden was beautiful and terrible. Statues of heroes from previous summonings stood in a semicircle, their names and supposed deeds inscribed below. But Himari knew the truth now—these weren't monuments to glory. They were tombstones for murder victims.
Princess Celestia waited beneath the largest statue—one depicting five figures raising swords to the sky. "The First Heroes," according to the inscription. The ones who'd started the cycle.
"Thank you for coming," Celestia said quietly. She was dressed simply, no crown or jewelry, just practical clothes. She could have been any young woman, not a princess.
"Your Highness," Ren said, neither warm nor cold.
"Please, just Celestia. Not here, not for this." She looked at each of them. "I know what you're planning. Not the details, but the broad strokes. You've met with Malachar. You're gathering information. You're preparing to break the cycle."
"And you're going to report us to your father?" Yuki asked bluntly.
"I'm going to help you." Celestia's voice was firm. "I've been working against my father for three years, since I learned the truth about the harvest. I've been building a network of sympathetic nobles and military officers who are disgusted by the practice. We're not strong enough to move openly yet, but we can provide support, information, and protection."
Kaito stepped forward, his empathy extending toward her. Himari watched his face carefully—he'd promised to tell them if Celestia was lying.
After a moment, Kaito nodded. "She's genuine. I feel determination, fear, and guilt. A lot of guilt. But no deception."
"Why guilt?" Himari asked, her healer's instinct picking up on pain.
Celestia's expression crumbled slightly. "Because I knew about the last summoning. The one twenty-five years ago. I was too young to understand fully—I was only three—but I remember the heroes coming to the palace. I remember playing with one of them. A woman with kind eyes who taught me a song."
"Seraphina's daughter," Ren said. "Elena."
"Yes. Elena sang to me. And three months later, my father had her executed along with the other four heroes. I remember my father explaining it to me when I got older—how they'd 'betrayed' the kingdom, how it was 'necessary' for the greater good." Celestia's fists clenched. "I believed him at first. And then I learned what really happened. That they'd discovered the truth about the harvest and tried to escape. That my father murdered five innocent people to maintain his power."
"And you've been working against him since," Daichi said.
"As much as I can without exposing myself. It's not enough. It's never enough. But maybe with your help, we can actually change things."
"What can you offer us?" Ren asked practically.
"Intelligence about the palace, the nobility, the military structure. I can tell you which nobles are sympathetic, which knights might defect, which mages are having doubts about the harvest. I can provide cover for your activities—if you need to leave the capital, I can create diplomatic reasons. If you need resources, I can divert them. And when you move against my father, I can ensure that at least some of the royal guard stands down rather than fighting you."
"Why should we trust you?" Yuki pressed. "You're still your father's daughter. You benefit from the system even if you claim to oppose it."
"You shouldn't trust me completely. That would be foolish." Celestia met her eyes. "But consider: if I wanted to betray you, I could have done it already. I know about your meeting with Malachar. I know you've been studying the barriers. I know Seraphina has been teaching you things she shouldn't. Any of that information could have you executed as traitors."
"Unless you're building a case," Yuki countered. "Gathering more evidence before moving against us."
"Yuki," Kaito said softly. "She's not lying. I'd know if she was."
"Empathy can be fooled. People can believe their own lies."
"Not like this. Not this deeply." Kaito turned to Celestia. "You're planning to betray your own father. To potentially start a civil war. That takes conviction."
"It takes disgust," Celestia corrected. "I love my father in the abstract way you love family. But I hate what he's done, what he continues to do. And I refuse to inherit a kingdom built on the screams of harvested souls."
Himari felt her own conviction strengthening. Celestia reminded her of herself—someone who couldn't stand by while people suffered, even when acting meant risking everything.
"I want to help," Himari said. "We should accept her offer."
"Himari—" Yuki started.
"No, listen. We need allies. We can't do this alone—Malachar himself said that. Celestia can provide things he can't—access to the palace, insider knowledge, political support. If we're going to break the cycle without destroying the kingdom, we need someone on the inside."
Daichi nodded. "She's right. And my instincts say Celestia is genuine. I've spent years reading people to protect my siblings. She's not playing us."
Ren looked at Yuki, who sighed.
"Fine. But cautiously. We don't reveal everything to her. We maintain operational security. And if she betrays us, we respond immediately."
"Agreed," Ren turned to Celestia. "We accept your help. But understand—if this is a trap, we'll bring the whole palace down fighting our way out."
"I'd expect nothing less," Celestia said. "Now, let me tell you what I know about the World Altar and the harvest ritual. I've had access to the restricted archives for years..."
She spent the next hour sharing information: the altar's exact location in the cathedral catacombs, the wards protecting it, the ritual's specific requirements, the king's schedule and habits. It was intelligence they desperately needed.
"The harvest requires three things to work," Celestia explained. "First, the heroes must be at peak power—which you're approaching. Second, the High Priestess must perform the ritual—Seraphina is bound to comply. Third, the King must give his blessing—a magical component, not just ceremonial. Without all three, the harvest fails."
"So if we stop any one of the three components—" Ren began.
"The ritual fails. But the barriers also fail, and the kingdom falls to Malachar's armies within weeks. That's the trap. You can't stop the harvest without dooming millions."
"Unless we provide an alternative power source," Yuki said. "Which I'm working on. But I need more time to study the existing barriers and develop a replacement."
"I can arrange that," Celestia said. "There are observation posts on the barrier network. I'll create a research assignment that gives you access."
They planned for another hour, coordinating strategies, establishing communication methods, identifying potential allies. By the time they finished, Himari felt both hopeful and terrified. They had a real chance now. But the margin for error was razor-thin.
As they prepared to leave, Celestia caught Himari's arm.
"The healing ward. I heard you were there today. Brother Marcus sent me a report—he's one of my network. He said you healed thirty-seven people in four hours."
"I was just helping where I could."
"You were doing more than that. You were showing the city what heroes should be. Not weapons, not soldiers. Healers. Protectors." Celestia squeezed her arm gently. "Keep doing that. Keep reminding people that this war isn't just about fighting. It's about what we're fighting for."
After Celestia left, the five heroes walked back to their quarters in thoughtful silence.
"That went better than expected," Daichi said.
"Or worse," Yuki countered. "Now we have two potential allies—Malachar and Celestia—who might be using us for their own purposes."
"Or we're using them," Ren said. "Information and resources from both sides, commitment to neither. We stay independent and carve our own path."
"A dangerous game," Yuki observed.
"Everything about this is dangerous. But it's better than passively accepting harvest."
Himari had been quiet, processing everything. Now she spoke up.
"I think we need to decide what we're really fighting for. Not just survival. Not just breaking the cycle. What comes after? What kind of world do we want to create?"
"One where people aren't harvested for magic," Daichi said immediately.
"One where humans and demi-humans can coexist peacefully," Ren added.
"One built on knowledge and truth, not lies and exploitation," Yuki contributed.
"One where heroes are healers, not weapons," Himari said. "Where power is used to protect, not destroy."
Kaito, who'd been quiet, finally spoke. "One where people have choices. Where they're not summoned against their will, not forced into roles they didn't choose, not sacrificed for the greater good. A world where everyone gets to be their own kind of hero."
They stood there in the moonlight, five broken souls who'd been given a second chance, and for the first time since learning the truth, they felt united in more than just survival.
They had a purpose. A vision. Something worth fighting for.
"Four months," Ren said. "That's our deadline. Four months to break a thousand-year-old cycle, save a hundred trapped souls, and remake this world into something better."
"Impossible odds," Yuki said.
"Good thing we're heroes then," Daichi replied with a grin.
Himari found herself smiling too. They were going to try anyway. Because that's what you did when faced with impossible odds—you tried anyway.
That's what her mother had taught her. That's what brought her to this world.
And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.
Over the next two weeks, Himari established a routine: mornings training with the others, afternoons at the healing ward, evenings studying the barrier systems with Yuki. She became a familiar sight in the city—the hero who healed rather than fought, who sang to dying soldiers and sick children.
People started calling her "The Angel of Lumina."
She hated the title—she wasn't an angel, just a girl trying to help—but she understood its value. Every person she healed was someone who'd remember that heroes could be more than weapons. Every child who heard her sing was someone who'd grow up knowing kindness could be powerful too.
One afternoon, she was healing a soldier—a young man whose leg had been shattered in a demon attack—when he asked her something that would haunt her.
"Hero, do you think they feel it? The demons we fight? Do they hurt like we do?"
Himari thought about Kaito's revelations from Millbrook. About how he'd felt the dying orc's thoughts—thoughts of family, of fear, of just trying to survive.
"Yes," she said honestly. "I think they do."
"Then how do we keep fighting? How do we kill thinking, feeling beings and still call ourselves the good guys?"
She had no answer. Finished healing his leg and moved to the next bed, the question following her.
How do we stay good while doing terrible things?
That night, she asked the others the same question during their evening planning session.
"We don't," Yuki said bluntly. "Good and evil aren't binary states. We do what we must and live with the consequences."
"But we can choose to minimize harm," Ren added. "Fight only when necessary. Heal when possible. That's the best we can do."
"It doesn't feel like enough," Himari said.
"It never does," Kaito replied quietly. "But it's all we have."
Daichi put a hand on her shoulder. "You're doing more good than anyone else in this kingdom, Himari. Don't discount that because you can't save everyone."
She appreciated his words, but they didn't ease the weight. Every person she healed was someone who might fight again, might kill again. Her healing enabled the war to continue.
But if she didn't heal, they'd die. And their deaths wouldn't end the war either.
There are no good choices, she realized. Just different kinds of
harm.
It was a bitter lesson, but one she needed to learn.
Three weeks after meeting Celestia, Seraphina summoned all five heroes to the cathedral. She looked older somehow, more tired, and her hands trembled as she led them down to the catacombs.
"I need to show you something," she said. "Something that will help you understand what you're fighting."
The catacombs were vast—tunnels and chambers beneath the cathedral, holding centuries of history. Seraphina led them deep into the labyrinth until they reached a massive door covered in glowing wards.
"The World Altar," she said. "The heart of the harvest system."
She spoke a word of command, and the door swung open.
Beyond was a chamber that made Himari's stomach turn. The altar itself was beautiful—white marble carved with intricate patterns—but surrounding it were one hundred crystal pillars. And inside each crystal...
A soul.
Himari could see them—ghostly figures trapped in translucent prisons, their faces contorted in eternal agony. Some were screaming. Some were weeping. Some had gone beyond that into blank-eyed madness.
And she could hear them.
Her restoration magic let her sense injuries, damage, things that needed healing. These souls were injured beyond anything she'd ever felt—not physically, but metaphysically. Their very essence was being burned away, slowly, to power the city's defenses.
She fell to her knees, overwhelmed by the magnitude of suffering.
"One hundred heroes," Seraphina said, her voice breaking. "One thousand years of harvests. This is what awaits you if we fail."
Himari felt tears streaming down her face. "Can you hear them? Are they conscious?"
"Yes. They're fully aware. They've been aware for decades, some for centuries. They feel every moment of the burning. And they can't die, can't escape, can't even go mad enough to stop feeling pain."
"This is monstrous," Ren breathed.
"This is what your kingdom is built on," Seraphina said. "This is why you must succeed. Because if you don't, you'll join them. And in fifty years, five more souls will be added to this collection."
Yuki was already studying the altar with her analytical eyes, seeing the code beneath reality. "The binding is... complex. Multidimensional. It's going to take me weeks to map it fully, maybe months to find a way to break it."
"We have four months," Ren said. "Or less. Can you do it?"
"I don't know. But I'm going to try."
Himari couldn't look away from the trapped souls. One was close enough that she could see details—a young woman, maybe twenty, with features that suggested she'd been from East Asia in their world. Her mouth was open in a silent scream that had lasted who knows how long.
That could be me, Himari thought. That could be any of us.
She reached out with her restoration magic, trying to ease the woman's pain even slightly. Golden light extended from her hand toward the crystal—
"DON'T!" Seraphina grabbed her arm, pulling her back. "The wards will kill you if you try to interfere. No one can touch them except during the harvest ritual."
"But she's suffering—"
"And you can't help her. Not yet. First, we break the system. Then we free them all."
Himari pulled back, frustrated and heartbroken. "How do they bear it? How do they not just... break completely?"
"Some do," Seraphina said quietly. "The ones who've been here longest. Their souls fragment, losing coherence. They're no longer people—just screaming energy. It's a mercy, in a way."
"There's no mercy in any of this," Daichi said, his voice hard.
They stayed in the chamber for an hour, Yuki analyzing the magical structure while the others bore witness to the suffering. It was important, Ren said, to see this. To remember what they were fighting against. To never forget the cost of failure.
Before they left, Himari approached each crystal and whispered the same promise: "I'm sorry. I'm going to free you. I promise."
One hundred promises. One hundred souls depending on five broken teenagers to succeed where countless others had failed.
No pressure, Himari thought bitterly.
As they ascended from the catacombs back into the cathedral proper, Himari made a decision.
"I want to learn to fight," she said.
The others stopped, surprised.
"You're a healer," Ren said. "That's your role."
"I'm a hero," Himari corrected. "And heroes do whatever's necessary. I can heal, yes. But if we're going to break this system, we need every advantage. I need to be able to protect myself and others, not just heal them after they're hurt."
"Himari, your power is already costly," Kaito said gently. "Adding combat training might be too much."
"Then I'll manage both. I'm not helpless. I'm not just a support character. I'm part of this team, and I'm going to contribute in every way I can."
She expected arguments. Instead, Daichi grinned.
"About time. I'll teach you hand-to-hand. You're small, so we'll focus on speed and precision over power."
"I can help with tactical thinking," Ren offered. "When to fight, when to flee, when to heal."
"And I can teach you about biological vulnerabilities," Yuki added. "Where to strike for maximum effect with minimum force."
They spent the rest of the day planning Himari's combat training. It felt good to be taking action, to be becoming more than just a passive healer.
That night, alone in her room, Himari sang quietly to herself—not a healing song, but the one her mother had taught her. A song about resilience, about continuing even when everything seemed hopeless.
I'm going to save them, Mom, she thought. The trapped souls, my friends, this broken world. I'm going to save everyone I can.
Even if it kills me.