The summoning chamber remained sealed long after the others had departed.
Sora stood alone before the dormant altar, the crystal array now nothing more than inert glass and etched stone. The lingering mana in the air had thinned, yet an unfamiliar pressure still clung to her senses—subtle, disquieting, like a note that refused to resolve.
She exhaled slowly and turned away.
There was no point lingering.
What had occurred during the ritual would not be solved by staring at the aftermath.
Atlantis Empire — Imperial Hall
The imperial hall was already prepared to receive her.
Twin rows of pillars rose toward the vaulted ceiling, each engraved with sigils of sovereignty and protection. Light filtered through high stained-glass windows, casting prismatic hues across the polished floor. At the far end of the hall, upon an elevated dais, sat the Reigning Emperor of Atlantis—robed in deep cerulean and gold, a crown of mana-forged crystal resting lightly upon his brow.
Sora approached alone.
No escort.
No herald.
Her footsteps echoed softly as she stopped at the prescribed distance and bowed with impeccable form.
"Your Majesty," she said, voice calm, unshaken. "The summoning ritual has concluded."
The emperor regarded her in silence, sharp eyes reflecting decades of rule and far too many wars won through foresight rather than force.
"And?" he asked at last.
Sora straightened. "Two otherworlders were successfully summoned. One has received a sacred blessing of extraordinary caliber. The priests have already designated him as a Hero."
A faint nod.
"That is within expectation."
Sora hesitated—only for a fraction of a second.
"The other," she continued, "registered no measurable blessing during the ritual."
That earned her his full attention.
"…No blessing?"
The emperor's brows drew together, a subtle crease forming between them. The easy composure he had maintained until now faltered, replaced by a measured frown.
"Explain," he said.
Sora inclined her head slightly. "The summoning circle activated as intended. The crystal array acknowledged the second individual… and then fell silent. There was no rejection, no backlash—only absence."
Silence spread across the imperial hall.
The emperor's fingers tapped once against the armrest of his throne, a slow, deliberate sound that echoed faintly between the pillars.
"An acknowledged summon without a recorded blessing," he murmured. "That is… irregular."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
He leaned forward, elbows resting upon his knees, gaze distant as he weighed implications unseen. The sigils carved into the pillars seemed to dim ever so slightly, responding to his shifting focus.
"At times like these," the emperor said at last, "the priesthood is prone to haste. Labels are applied too quickly. Judgments made before understanding."
His eyes returned to Sora—sharp, assessing.
"I will not have the fate of the Empire decided by assumptions."
Sora remained still, attentive.
"When they are ready," the emperor continued, voice firm, "bring both otherworlders to me."
Sora lowered herself into a formal bow. "As you command, Your Majesty."
The emperor turned his gaze toward the stained-glass windows, watching the shifting light as if seeking answers beyond them.
"Until then," he added, "keep them under observation. Discreetly."
Sora straightened. "Understood."
With that, she turned and departed the imperial hall, her footsteps once more echoing across the polished floor—leaving behind a ruler who, for the first time since the ritual began, wore an expression of unmistakable concern.
Only when she passed beyond the doors did her grip tighten briefly at her side.
— Guest Wing
Sora's assigned chamber was modest by imperial standards, yet far from spartan. Soft mana-lamps illuminated the room, and silken curtains stirred gently in the air, responding to her presence.
She closed the door behind her and immediately activated the privacy ward embedded within the walls.
Click.
The room sealed itself.
Sora reached into her sleeve and withdrew a small, circular artifact no larger than her palm. Its surface was carved with concentric rings of holy script, each etched so finely it bordered on invisible.
A Divine Communion Relic.
She placed it on the table and pressed her thumb to its center.
Mana flowed.
The relic warmed—and then light bloomed outward, forming a translucent projection of a robed figure seated upon a high-backed throne of alabaster.
The air shifted.
Pressure descended.
Even through a mere communication conduit, the presence was unmistakable.
"Sora."
The voice was calm. Calm. Gentle.
She immediately knelt.
"Your Holiness," Sora said.
"I report the completion of the Atlantis summoning ritual."
The projected figure inclined her head slightly.
"Proceed."
"Two otherworlders were summoned," she said. "One received a sacred blessing of exceptional ability. The priests have already declared him a Hero."
"As expected."
Sora swallowed.
"The second… did not."
Silence followed.
Not the absence of sound—but the kind that weighed upon the soul.
"Explain."
"The summoning circle responded," Sora continued, choosing each word with care. "The crystal acknowledged him. Then the reaction collapsed. No blessing was recorded. No rejection was detected."
"…that is indeed concerning," the Pope murmured.
The word was soft, contemplative—but it did nothing to ease the tightness in Sora's chest.
For a moment, she remained silent.
Then her shoulders trembled.
"Master…" Sora's voice faltered despite her effort to keep it steady. She lowered her head until her forehead nearly touched the floor. "Grandmaster Aurelia… she is truly gone."
The light of the projection flickered faintly.
"I knew," Sora continued, fingers curling against the polished surface beneath her, "that the ritual demanded a price. I understood it in theory. But seeing the altar extinguish—feeling her presence vanish so completely…" Her breath hitched. "She smiled at me at the very end. As if this was merely another duty fulfilled."
The pressure in the room softened.
The Pope closed her eyes.
A quiet sigh escaped her lips—one heavy with years, with memories, with shared battles and losses that history would never fully record.
"Sora," she said gently, her voice no longer carrying the distant authority of a divine seat, but the warmth of a woman speaking to a grieving disciple. "Your grandmaster stood at the very edge of her lifespan."
Sora's head lifted slightly, eyes shimmering.
"She knew," the Pope continued. "Better than anyone. Her body could no longer sustain the strain of high-order miracles. Her mana circuits were deteriorating. Even had she lived on, she would have faded quietly—unable to act when humanity needed her most."
The Pope's gaze softened, distant yet resolute.
"She chose this."
The words settled slowly, deliberately.
"The Mortal Hero Summoning ritual—especially one capable of calling exceptional individuals—requires an astronomical cost," the Pope said. "Even the Atlantis imperial family, with all its accumulated mana conduits, could not have borne it without server losses."
Her eyes opened.
"Your grandmaster understood that," she said. "And so she offered what remained of herself—her strength, her life force, her existence—to bridge the dimensional boundary between mortal and magical."
Sora clenched her fists.
"She devoted her entire life to warding off threats to humanity," the Pope continued quietly. "Demons. Apostles. Calamities that never reached the annals because she stood in their way."
A faint smile touched the Pope's lips.
"Do you truly believe she would regret sacrificing herself to give humanity a fighting chance against what is to come?"
Sora shook her head, tears finally slipping free. "…No."
"Good," the Pope said softly. "Then do not grieve her as a loss"
She leaned forward slightly on her alabaster throne.
"Mourn her as one who chose her ending—and found it worthy."
The room fell into a reverent silence.
Sora bowed deeply, pressing her forehead to the floor.
"…I will remember," she whispered. "I won't let it be wasted."
The Pope watched her in silence—eyes reflecting pride, sorrow, and something perilously close to relief.
"Rise," she said at last. "Your grandmaster entrusted the future to those she summoned—and to you."
The projection's glow steadied.
"And Sora," the Pope added, her voice sharpening just slightly, "observe the second otherworlder carefully."
Sora lifted her gaze.
"An acknowledged summon without a blessing is not an absence," the Pope said. "It is a deviation."
Her eyes narrowed, thoughtful.
"And deviations," she concluded, "are often where the balance of the world begins to shift."
The words lingered in the sealed chamber, heavy with implication.
"Yes, Your Holiness," Sora replied quietly. "I will observe him closely."
The Pope did not answer at once.
Her gaze drifted, unfocused—not on Sora, but on something far beyond the limits of the communion relic. Invisible threads seemed to pull at her attention, calculations unfolding in silence.
"At present," she said at last, "the Empire will attempt to categorize him."
Sora's fingers curled faintly against the floor.
"They will call him an anomaly. A failure. Or worse—an inconvenience," the Pope continued evenly. "They will observe him only from the outside. Only as a variable to be managed."
Her eyes returned to Sora.
"That is insufficient."
Sora raised her head fully. "You wish for me to—"
"I want the second otherworlder brought to the Divine Sanctum," the Pope said, her tone firm, absolute. "As an object of direct observation for a certain period under my authority."
Sora's breath caught—just for a moment.
"The Sanctum?" she asked. "So soon?"
"Yes," the Pope replied without hesitation.
"Before the World adjusts. Before the Empire decides what role he should play."
Silence stretched between them.
"I understand," Sora said at last, bowing her head once more.
"You will not act unilaterally," the Pope added.
"This remains Atlantis' summoning. Their pride will not tolerate even the appearance of appropriation."
"I will proceed through formal channels," Sora answered immediately. "I will request imperial consent under the pretext of interfaith cooperation and post-summoning evaluation."
A faint nod.
"May Divine Light guide you."
The projection dimmed, the glow folding inward until it vanished completely.
The connection severed.
The chamber returned to stillness.
Sora remained kneeling for a brief moment longer.
Then she rose.
Her expression was calm once more—composed, serene, Saintess-perfect.
Yet beneath that flawless surface, her resolve had quietly hardened.