The sacred bells rang out across the Grand Temple of Arléa, echoing through marble halls and prayer-choked incense.
Thirty circles had been drawn with divine chalk. Thirty crystals hovered above them, pulsing with celestial energy.
And at the center of it all—his hands trembling from divine contact—stood the Archpriest Caldor Velmara, clad in white and gold, eyes glowing with borrowed grace.
Behind him, high clerics chanted hymns to the Goddess of Life, their voices merging into one soaring chorus.
This was a rare ritual—one not seen in two centuries.
The Summoning of Champions.
Thirty souls from the far-away world of Earth would be chosen. People on the brink of death. People worthy of rebirth. People meant to become the pillars of hope in this war-torn world.
With palms raised and staff glowing, Caldor spoke the final verse:
"O Goddess of Mercy, breathe your will into the sacred selection.
Let the chosen awaken, reborn as Champions of Light.
For the world trembles, and only they may steady its soul."
The crystals cracked.
The circles ignited.
And thirty bodies fell like stardust into place—some gasping, some unconscious, some weeping as memory and soul reattached.
Caldor lowered his staff.
"It is done," he whispered.
But then—
a thirty-first light flared.
Far off from the circle. Beyond the ritual's bounds.
A man appeared.
Mid-thirties. Worn coat. Blood across his shirt. Eyes full of something no other champion had: pain.
He coughed violently, trying to sit up, breath ragged.
The other clerics rushed forward. "That one—! He didn't come through the gate!"
Caldor narrowed his gaze, stepping cautiously toward the newcomer.
The man blinked, dazed. "Where the hell…?"
Caldor knelt beside him. "You… are not one of the thirty."
The stranger stared. "No. I—I'm Garcia. Detective Garcia."
"A detective?" Caldor frowned. "That's not a class…"
Garcia tried to stand, nearly collapsing. "I was shot. There was blood, I—" he paused. "No. Before that. A voice. It asked me if I was okay."
The Archpriest stiffened.
"A voice?"
"Yeah," Garcia said. "It didn't feel like God. More like…" He hesitated. "Like something watching."
From the shadows behind the altar, the High Seer whispered urgently into Caldor's ear.
"The Goddess only sanctioned thirty. This… he wasn't chosen."
Caldor looked again at Garcia.
He wasn't glowing like the others. No divine aura. No mark of summoning.
Just a man out of time.
"Who brought you here?" Caldor asked softly.
Garcia shook his head. "I don't know. But I would call it... Being X."
The entire chamber stilled.
The clerics murmured.
Caldor's eyes widened.
"What is Being X," he said. "That is not the Goddess. That is something else."
Garcia finally stood on shaking legs, brushing dried blood off his coat. "Then maybe I'm not supposed to be here."
The Archpriest straightened. "No. You're not. And that… makes you very dangerous."
Garcia sat on the stone steps just outside the Grand Temple, head in his hands.
His coat—still damp with old blood—felt too heavy on his shoulders.
His gun was gone. His badge? Gone. Even his damn shoes didn't make it through the trip.
He stared at his palms. Same hands. Same scar on his knuckle from a bar fight in Detroit. Same watch Janette had bought him for their anniversary.
But the world around him…
The sky above wasn't sky—it shimmered like painted silk, too blue, too wide. Floating islands drifted lazily overhead like forgotten thoughts. Birds the size of wolves flew between them, cawing in languages he didn't understand.
This wasn't Earth.
This wasn't Hell either.
But Heaven? No. This place was too… theatrical. Too clean. Like someone tried to build paradise out of a memory they never lived.
Garcia swallowed hard. His throat still burned from the death he couldn't forget.
He remembered Bella's eyes as she pulled the trigger.
He remembered the way her hands shook.
He remembered regret—all of it—crushing him like a fist made of years.
Now he was here.
And no one knew why.
The other summoned—thirty of them, all confused and panicked—were being guided into the temple.
Just a sudden gust of wind, carrying the scent of lavender and burning incense.
He heard footsteps behind him.
A robed priest stood at a distance, watching cautiously. "You should come inside. His Grace… he's unsure what to do with you, but he won't leave you to rot."
Garcia looked up. "Am I a prisoner?"
The priest hesitated. "No. Not yet."
Garcia stood slowly, brushing dust from his coat. "Then I'll walk."
"Walk where?" the priest asked, bewildered.
"Don't know," Garcia said. "But I've been in rooms full of people who didn't want me around before. I don't need divine blessing to figure out what's fake."
He stepped off the stairs and into the unfamiliar street—where the buildings glowed softly, and magic pulsed in the veins of the stone.
One thing was clear.
He didn't belong here.
But maybe—just maybe—this world didn't know what to do with him either.
And that gave him the one thing no god, no ex-wife, and no bullet could take:
Leverage.
The Archpriest's Dilemma
The sacred pools were silent.
Caldor Velmara stood in the Hall of Communion, his hands submerged in glowing water, waiting… praying.
All around him, candles burned blue with divine flame, their smoke curling into sigils in the air—blessings, wards, and whispers.
Yet none of them answered his plea.
"You are troubled, Caldor."
The voice came not from the room, but from the water itself—soft, maternal, echoing from beyond time.
He bowed his head. "My Lady. Goddess of Life. I seek your wisdom."
"You fear the thirty-first."
"Yes," he whispered. "He is not marked by your light. He came through… a different veil."
"You speak of the one touched by it, he called it Being X, the one of no name has being named how I ironic", she said as if amused.
Caldor winced at the name. It tasted bitter in the mouth.
"That being is chaos. You forbade us to even speak of it, let alone recognize its influence. Yet this man—this 'Garcia'—was delivered here by its will."
The water pulsed, turning faintly violet. A signal of unease.
"He was not part of the selection. My light never touched him. But he is here nonetheless."
"Then… is he a threat?"
Silence stretched.
"He is a crack in the tapestry. A question the world was not ready to ask. And yet… sometimes, cracks are needed. Even if they let the dark in."
Caldor's brow furrowed.
"My Lady, if I may speak boldly… we are on the edge of a holy war. Demons rise in the north, the dead do not stay buried in the south, and the nobles squabble like children. We summoned thirty champions to bring balance. If one is out of balance…"
"Then perhaps balance was never real to begin with," the Goddess replied, voice soft. "Do not mistake order for justice, Caldor. I chose thirty. He was chosen by something else. That alone makes him dangerous. But it also makes him... necessary."
Caldor stepped back from the pool, his hands shaking.
"Should I bind him? Watch him? Destroy him?"
"No," the Goddess said gently. "Let him walk. Let the world test him. He will carve his own path."
"And if that path leads to ruin?"
"Then let ruin speak."
The pool dimmed. The voice faded.
Caldor stood alone again—his mind buzzing with divine contradiction.
A forbidden entity had placed a piece on the board.
And now the game had changed.
He turned to the waiting attendants outside the sacred chamber.
"Double the surveillance on the thirty-first. Quietly. If he stumbles, I want to know before the world does."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"And if he doesn't stumble…"
The Archpriest stared through the temple's high stained glass, watching Garcia disappear into the city below.
"…then we pray to the Goddess that the game is still ours to win."
The Goddess Sees All
Somewhere beyond time, above stars that had no names, beneath a sky that was not a sky, she watched.
She was not flesh.
She was not thought.
She was the rhythm between life and light.
The Goddess of Life stood within her sanctuary—a glade of crystal trees and ever-blooming flowers, suspended in the currents of eternity.
A thousand golden threads stretched before her, each thread a life, a soul, a destiny unfolding.
Thirty of those threads gleamed brighter now—new Champions freshly summoned, still trembling from the call of purpose. Their fates had already begun to braid into the tapestry of her will.
But now—
A thread that did not belong.
Ragged. Unmarked.
Pulled violently into the weave.
Not golden, but grey, pulsing with pain, and the whisper of something wrong.
"Garcia."
She whispered his name, not in speech, but in knowing.
He was not chosen.
Yet he was here.
A soul heavy with regret, soaked in betrayal, weighed down by love that had died and a bullet meant for someone else.
She reached out to touch the thread, only to feel it recoil—not from her touch, but from something deeper. A stain beneath his existence.
Being X.
She had not sense it's presence since the War Beyond Time, when the gods quarreled over domains, and some sought to twist the mortal realm for sport.
It was no god, not truly. It was a question given form.
"Are you okay?"
That was how it always began.
Not with commands. Not with threats.
Just doubt. The most dangerous seed of all.
Garcia had answered that question.
And now… he was here.
The Goddess of Life gazed into the tapestry of fate. Already, the grey thread began to intersect the gold. Already, things began to change.
Small things, yes.
A cleric hesitated.
A beast in the woods turned north instead of east.
A city guard dreamed of a dead child he'd never known.
But soon, those small ripples would become waves.
And those waves might shatter everything she had fought to preserve.
"Why him?" she asked the stillness.
No answer came.
She looked deeper—beyond his pain, beyond the mark of death that still clung to his soul.
And in that moment, she saw something that made even a goddess pause.
Choice.
Untethered. Unseen. Unwritten.
A mortal with no path, no prophecy, no divine chain.
Freedom.
"He should not exist," she whispered.
"And yet… maybe that is why he must."
The Goddess of Life closed her eyes and stepped back from the loom of fates.
She would not interfere.
Not yet.
But she would watch.
And if Garcia became more than a ripple…
Then even the gods would have to answer for what they'd allowed.
The Thirty Champions — Set I: The First Twelve
1. Selene Martinez – ER Surgeon (USA)
Blessing: "Hands of Mercy"
Can transfer life force temporarily to heal others.
Touch-based healing accelerates natural recovery.
Drawback: takes a toll on her stamina and health if overused.
Potential Class: Support / Light Mage
2. Takeshi Oda – Kendo Instructor (Japan)
Blessing: "Blade Memory"
Instinctively masters any bladed weapon he touches.
Gains clarity in battle—time seems to slow slightly for him.
Spiritual connection to ancestral warriors.
Potential Class: Melee / Swordfighter
3. Aisha Rahman – Political Activist (Pakistan)
Blessing: "Voice of Conviction"
Can influence emotions and morale of crowds through speech.
Boosts allies' willpower and unity in large battles.
Natural resistance to mind control and manipulation.
Potential Class: Support / Enchanter
4. Connor Blake – Professional Boxer (UK)
Blessing: "Titan's Endurance"
Gains increased physical resistance and strength as he takes damage.
Excels in close-quarters combat.
The more pain he endures, the stronger he becomes.
Potential Class: Fighter / Brawler
5. Elena Voronova – Chemist (Russia)
Blessing: "Elemental Tactician"
Can transmute basic elements using raw materials around her.
Specializes in explosive mixtures and defensive compounds.
Has a mental "blueprint" for magical chemical reactions.
Potential Class: Mage / Alchemist
6. Kwame Mensah – Software Engineer (Ghana)
Blessing: "Digital Mind"
Processes magical equations like code, enabling fast spell-learning.
Can "debug" or disarm magic traps and enchantments.
Early signs of developing remote spellcasting constructs.
Potential Class: Mage / Technomancer
7. Diego Alvarez – Firefighter (Mexico)
Blessing: "Heart of Flame"
Can absorb and redirect heat or fire.
Fire does not harm him; he can control it with raw emotion.
Empathetic link with burning environments—he senses life within flames.
Potential Class: Fighter / Pyromancer
8. Mei Ling – Classical Dancer (China)
Blessing: "Grace of the Wind"
Gains enhanced agility and movement-based magic.
Can channel wind through her movements—dodging becomes instinctual.
Her dances cast buffs or illusions in wide areas.
Potential Class: Assassin / Support
9. Darnell Brooks – Military Sniper (USA)
Blessing: "Eagle's Silence"
Extreme long-range accuracy with any projectile weapon.
Gains active camouflage and can hold his breath for ten minutes.
Can "mark" a target to track them through terrain and concealment.
Potential Class: Assassin / Hunter
10. Sofia Rossi – Fashion Designer (Italy)
Blessing: "Threads of Influence"
Manipulates fabrics into magical garments and living constructs.
Can enchant clothing to enhance or disguise others.
Sees the "aesthetic weakness" in people—both emotional and magical.
Potential Class: Support / Enchanter
11. Youssef Al-Nasir – Historian & Archivist (Egypt)
Blessing: "Memory of Ages"
Can channel the knowledge of ancient civilizations in brief flashes.
Gains temporary skills or insights from long-dead heroes.
Has visions of the past that reveal hidden truths or magical secrets.
Potential Class: Mage / Sage
12. Amara Ntuli – Wildlife Conservationist (South Africa)
Blessing: "Beast's Pact"
Forms instinctual bonds with animals and magical beasts.
Can sense emotions of nearby creatures and calm or enrage them.
In time, may transform into beastlike forms herself.
Potential Class: Fighter / Beastcaller
Caldor Velmar's Orientation
The temple doors creaked closed behind them, a soft, resounding sound as if the world itself sealed them in.
The Archpriest, Caldor Velmar, stood before the twelve champions—his presence commanding, but his demeanor composed. He was not imposing in size, but his quiet confidence radiated through the room, as if he knew things no one else did. His golden robes shimmered in the soft light, making him appear almost ethereal.
"You are the Champions, chosen by the Goddess of Life herself. Do not mistake this as a blessing, for your fate will not be kind. You have been summoned to this world, to defend it. To become heroes, in the truest sense of the word," Caldor began, his voice steady yet carrying a weight.
He paused, observing their reactions. Some were still disoriented, others were angry, and a few were silently calculating.
"I know many of you have questions," he continued. "Why you were chosen. Why you were taken from your homes. I will explain."
Caldor raised his hands slowly, and the air seemed to pulse as if responding to his gesture. The runes on the walls glowed brighter, and the temperature in the room shifted, becoming more intimate, as if the very atmosphere hung on his every word.
"You were summoned not by accident," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You each have a unique blessing, a profession from your world, that will shape your purpose here. Some of you may struggle with this new reality, but you must understand that your purpose transcends what you once knew."
There was a murmur among the champions—some were trying to process the magnitude of what he was saying.
"This world is on the brink of devastation," Caldor continued, his tone turning grave. "Dark forces stir in the shadows. The Goddess of Life summoned you to aid us in maintaining balance. You were chosen for your skills—skills you will learn to sharpen with magic."
He paused again, allowing the weight of his words to settle.
"However, this world operates on a different system. You will need to master mana control and magic in order to survive, let alone thrive."
He stepped closer to them, his robes flowing like liquid gold with every movement. "This is the first stage of your journey—your training. You will be tested in five paths of combat: Melee, Mage, Assassin, Fighter, and Support. Your unique skills and blessings will determine which path you will walk."
Caldor's eyes swept over them—measuring, observing.
"Some of you may be more attuned to one path than another. Some of you may fail… and some may surprise us all."
He looked at Garcia—still confused, but holding steady with a quiet intensity—and then back to the group.
"But first, you must understand that this world is alive, just as your world was. The Mana flows through everything here—the air, the trees, the earth itself. Your magic will grow in proportion to how well you attune yourselves to the Mana. How well you adapt."
He motioned to the center of the room, where a circular platform stood, bathed in a soft glow.
"Here," Caldor said, "you will begin your mana attunement. This process will determine the nature of your magic and how you can channel it."
Mana Attunement Process:
As the champions were gathered around the platform, the air hummed with tension and the spark of anticipation.
"One by one, you will step onto the platform. This will allow us to see what path your magic will follow. It will test your connection to the Mana and how well you can control it. Your profession's blessing may help guide you, but your true potential will be unlocked in this moment."
Aisha, ever the thinker, spoke up.
"What if we can't control it? What if we fail?"
Caldor's gaze softened, but his voice remained firm.
"Failure is a part of your journey, but it does not define you. There is always a second chance to try again—if you are willing."
The Champions Step Forward:
One by one, the champions were called forward to the platform.
As they stepped onto the Mana Circle, the arcane light around them flickered. Each champion would experience something unique.
Selene would feel a calming pulse resonate through her, and the light would pour into her palms, healing energy flowing instinctively.
Diego, as a firefighter, would feel his connection to the elemental fires of the world. The firelight would burn brighter around him, but he would have to learn to control its intense heat.
Takeshi, as a kendo instructor, would feel his connection to focus and precision, the light around him shifting into sharper, faster forms.
Each champion's reaction would vary—but one thing was certain: they were all about to take their first step into an unknown future.
Caldor stood back, watching them with quiet satisfaction. "Your journey begins now."
Caldor Velmar turned toward Garcia, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
"Garcia…"
"You are next."
The detective's name echoed across the marble chamber like a challenge.
Garcia stepped forward, shoulders tense beneath the unfamiliar cloth of his magically conjured robes. His mind buzzed—not with questions, but memories. Gunshots. Regret. Janette's face. The last second of breath before death.
He stepped onto the glowing circular platform.
The floor beneath him hummed, alive with power. Ancient runes pulsed like heartbeats, syncing with the tempo of his own.
Caldor raised his hand. "Close your eyes, Garcia. Let the Mana recognize you."
Garcia did.
At first, there was nothing. Just darkness.
Then—something cracked.
Like glass breaking underwater.
A rush of light, not blinding, but consuming. It poured into him—not through his skin, but into something deeper. Something more intimate.
And then he heard them.
Whispers. Voices. Screams.
All tangled within the light. Echoes of his past… and future?
"Why didn't you see it?"
"She lied to you…"
"You're weak."
"No... you were loyal."
Garcia's hands trembled. He gritted his teeth. "Damn you…"
The Mana flared, reacting to his emotion. The platform glowed a dark amethyst hue, with tendrils of indigo