The guards kept three paces behind Cael as they walked. He could feel their eyes boring into his back, could hear the soft scrape of metal as hands adjusted on sword hilts. Every few steps, one would mutter something under his breath. A prayer, maybe. Or a ward against evil.
Cael's hands trembled. He clenched them into fists, but that only made it worse. The excitement that had filled him during the summoning had curdled into something cold and sick in his stomach. He kept replaying the moment in the summoning hall. The way High Priest Aldric had stumbled backward. The horror on every face.
What had he done wrong? He'd just picked a class. Or the goddess had picked it for him. However it worked.
The corridor opened into a grand vestibule. Marble columns stretched toward a vaulted ceiling painted with scenes of divine glory. Golden light streamed through stained glass windows depicting the goddess Lythara in various heroic poses. She looked beautiful and terrible, wreathed in holy fire.
Cael wondered if she was watching him now. If she regretted summoning him.
"Wait here," one of the guards said. He disappeared through a set of massive oak doors carved with intricate battle scenes. Cael could hear muffled voices beyond. Urgent. Worried.
The other guard stood rigid, eyes fixed straight ahead. His jaw was clenched so tight Cael could see the muscle jumping. The man looked young, maybe only a few years older than Cael's current eighteen. Probably his first posting at the palace.
"I'm not going to hurt anyone," Cael said quietly.
The guard flinched but didn't respond. Didn't even look at him.
The door swung open. A herald in royal blue stepped out, his face pale. "His Majesty will see the... the summoned one now."
The throne room beyond was enormous. Easily a hundred people filled the space, nobles in fine silks and jeweled accessories, knights in polished armor, priests in ceremonial robes. They all turned as Cael entered, and the collective weight of their stares nearly drove him to his knees.
Conversations died mid-sentence. A woman gasped and clutched her companion's arm. A knight's hand went to his sword. The crowd parted like he carried plague, leaving a wide aisle to the throne.
King Aldren sat at the far end on a throne of white marble veined with gold. He was younger than Cael expected, maybe forty, with sharp features and calculating eyes beneath a silver crown. A woman in gleaming armor stood at his right hand, her posture radiating controlled violence. To his left, High Priest Aldric climbed the steps, leaning in to whisper urgently.
Cael walked forward. Each step echoed in the sudden silence. He felt like he was marching to his execution.
When he reached the base of the throne, he stopped. Should he bow? Kneel? Nobody had explained the protocol for this. He settled for a clumsy half-bow that probably insulted everyone watching.
The king listened to Aldric's whispers, his expression darkening with each word. Finally, he raised a hand for silence. The high priest stepped back, looking older than he had in the summoning chamber.
"You bear the Necromancer class," King Aldren said. Not a question. An accusation.
"Yes, Your Majesty." Cael's voice came out steadier than he felt. "The goddess granted it to me during the summoning. I don't fully understand what it means, but I swear I'll use it to help your kingdom. Whatever threat you're facing, I'll fight it."
A ripple of shocked murmurs ran through the assembled nobles. The armored woman, the Royal Knight judging by her bearing, actually laughed. It was not a kind sound.
"Help us?" She shook her head. "Boy, do you know anything about necromancy? About what that class means?"
"I know it involves death magic," Cael said. "But that doesn't make me evil. Magic is just a tool, right? It depends on how you use it."
"Spoken like someone who knows nothing," the king said coldly. "Tell me, hero, have you heard of the Dead Wars?"
Cael shook his head.
"Three thousand years ago, a necromancer raised an army of undead that nearly consumed the continent. It took the combined might of five kingdoms and the goddess herself manifesting to stop him. Millions died." The king's knuckles were white on his throne's armrests. "The Plague of Souls, two thousand years past. A necromancer thought she could cure death. Instead, she created an epidemic that turned the living into mindless thralls. The goddess had to burn entire cities to ash to contain it."
Each word hit like a hammer. Cael felt the blood draining from his face.
"The Night of Bone," Aldric added, his voice hollow. "Six hundred years ago. A necromancer attempted to achieve lichdom and failed. The backlash killed everything within a hundred miles instantly. The land still hasn't recovered."
"Every. Single. Necromancer," the Royal Knight said, emphasizing each word, "has brought catastrophe. The class itself corrupts. Death magic is antithetical to life, to the natural order. It twists the soul of anyone who touches it."
"But I haven't done anything," Cael protested. Desperation crept into his voice. "I just got here. You can't judge me based on what other people did centuries ago."
"We don't have to." The king stood, and the room seemed to grow colder. "The texts are clear. The goddess's own scriptures forbid death magic in all its forms. The fact that you received this class means something went wrong with the summoning. A corruption. A flaw."
The word "flaw" echoed in Cael's mind. Is that what he was? A mistake?
"Your Majesty, please." Cael took a step forward. Guards materialized from the shadows, spears leveled at his chest. He froze. "Just give me a chance. One chance to prove I'm different. I don't want to be a monster. I just want to help."
For a moment, something flickered in the king's eyes. Sympathy, maybe. Or just weariness. But then his expression hardened again.
"The decision is not mine to make."
King Aldren's eyes went distant. Around the throne room, every priest stiffened in unison, their pupils dilating. Cael recognized what was happening. Divine communication. The goddess Lythara was speaking to her faithful.
The temperature in the throne room dropped. Cael's breath misted in front of his face. The stained glass windows depicting Lythara began to glow with inner light, and he swore he could feel something vast and terrible turn its attention toward him.
She was looking at him. The goddess who had summoned him, who had given him hope, was looking at him now. He waited for understanding, for mercy, for some sign that this was all a misunderstanding that could be fixed.
The light in the windows dimmed. The presence withdrew. King Aldren blinked, and when his eyes refocused on Cael, there was something worse than anger or fear in them.
Pity.
"The goddess has spoken," Aldric said, and his voice shook. "The summoning was flawed. The class selection corrupted by forces unknown. You are not the hero we called for."
The words hit Cael like a physical blow. Not the hero. After everything, after dying and being reborn and feeling hope for the first time in years, he wasn't even the right person.
"She is summoning the true hero now," the king said. "As for you..."
Golden light began to gather above the throne. The same divine presence from the summoning, but different somehow. Colder. More purposeful. Cael watched in numb horror as a second summoning circle blazed to life on the marble floor, its geometric patterns perfect and pure.
They were replacing him. Right here, right now, in front of everyone. The goddess had decided he was a mistake and was simply trying again with someone else.
"What happens to me?" Cael asked. His voice sounded distant to his own ears.
Nobody answered. The summoning circle grew brighter, and Cael felt something fundamental shift in the air. Reality was bending to divine will, preparing to bring forth a new champion. The right champion.
And suddenly Cael understood. There was only supposed to be one hero. One summoned champion. The goddess wouldn't leave two of them walking around, especially when one bore a forbidden class that promised only catastrophe.
She was going to erase her mistake.
The golden light in the summoning circle pulsed, and Cael felt an answering tug in his chest. His own summoning, pulling at him. Trying to undo what had been done.
"No," he whispered. "No, please, I don't want to die again."
But the goddess wasn't listening. She'd already moved on to fixing her error, and Cael was just collateral damage in the process.
The light grew brighter, and the tugging in his chest became an insistent pull