Sitting in a meditative stance in her home, Aeriliya reviewed everything she had learned after her last visit to the Library of Chronicles. Of course, ‘everything’ was a misleading term. Aeriliya had flipped almost disbelievingly back and forth on the last page of the file she unsealed using Priest Amata’s blood. There was nothing more. She even activated her Eyes of Discernment and like every other time before, nothing was being hidden. No invisible ink,no spells to obscure attention, nor any sign that something had been removed. The record she had in her hand, merely read: “The Unknown Hero was pronounced innocent by order of the Pontifex. The remaining assassin was excommunicated and sentenced to life in prison. In order to prevent further incidents, the Unknown Hero was kept under constant surveillance and was only permitted to be in contact with a confidential list of people by personal command of the Pontifex.”

  That simple paragraph marked the end of any known record of the man she was pursuing. Try as she might, nothing more was to be gleaned from the file in her hand. Reviewing the memory, she unconsciously rubbed her hand. When Aeriliya touched the binding, she immediately withdrew her hand when the record glowed bright red and burned her hand. Luckily, after applying some healing salve, the skin on her hand only turned pink, so no serious damage.

  The entire situation made her want to scream in frustration. She had been tasked to find out everything she could about a dangerous criminal. Yet despite being the ultimate example of what should have been a well observed life, the man had practically been nothing more than a passing rumor in the city that should have made him known worldwide.

  Taking some calming breaths, Aeriliya tried to think of something that could lead her down the right path. The last demon war had been particularly bloody, so rather than send out one hero per country, the Faith had decided to send two. But there was no direct mention of any Edwin Thatch or even the Unknown Hero in any of the surrounding nations bordering the Demonic Front.

  Furrowing her brow, Aeriliya whispered, “Where did you disappear to?”

  (Twelve years ago)

  After a tumultuous few months, it was time for the Summoned Heroes to take part in Selections. Evidently, this time around was among the more desperate. At the border of the Rathbourian Empire was a massive wall called the Fiell Brim. It had been successful in repelling attacks and forcing demonic hordes into a bottleneck in the past, but this time around, before the demon army had approached, the wall suffered a series of explosions that caused large portions of the structure to crumble. With its structural integrity compromised, the demons had easily sieged the Fiell Brim. And with the destruction catching everyone off guard, the Empire and surrounding countries were ill prepared to defend themselves against the horde that now had easy access to their heartland. Rumors of sabotage and possibly demonic spies had circulated, but the impending threat quashed any immediate investigation, and the timetable for the heroes to train had abruptly ended.

  The countries that primarily and secondarily bordered where the demons appeared would receive two Heroes. Naturally, certain countries weren’t happy about this, but in the face of overwhelming odds, spreading their most valuable resources was suicide. Inside Acolynia itself, everyone was nervous, though for a few different reasons. The Demon King Muma ‘Iru Rabasa Du’ ‘Umis had made particularly terrible headway in merely the span of a year by the time the Otherworlders were summoned. The heroes had only been trained in their respective powers for roughly six months. Compared to the ones who had devoted their lives to studying divine magic, the heroes soaked up more information and power than certain people could see in a dozen lifetimes. But for as strong as they were, the demons were a world-ending threat for a reason.

  For a single man however, things were tense for a different reason. Ever since the assassination, he was practically under lock and key. Edwin was still allowed within the city, but only in places that were known to have complete loyalty to the Pontifex and weren’t hostile towards his very existence. He hadn’t seen any of the other heroes in that time either. While people like James and Angela were still largely strangers to him, Edwin had grown used to spending time with Adam and Frank. Their constant bickering with one another was annoying, but Edwin had come to appreciate it for what it was. The two Otherworlders were genuine. Their laughs, their conversations, their perspectives. They had nothing to hide, and if he was being honest with himself, the thought worried Edwin.

  The supposed holy city, for as much as it espoused virtues of harmony, justice and truth, there seemed a hidden uneasiness. He noticed it in particular among the higher ranking members of the city. And that thought made him worry for the two men he had come to appreciate. Being so transparent among people with something to hide always painted a target on someone’s forehead.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Nevertheless, the matter was out of his hands. Tonight, the rest of the Otherworlders would be part of the Selections and go somewhere that befitted their talents. It was the ambassadors from the following countries that made their way towards Acolynia in the latter half of the slowly impending demonic invasion.

  It was at the edge of the city that the Pontifex stood with rapt attention towards the rising sun, alongside the High Priests who stood alongside their respective heroes. Any minute now, the ambassadors would be arriving, and their fates forever changed.

  Shouts of fear arose when one of the heroes pointed at the sky and saw a small flock of leathery wings slowly descending to show green dragons, with one larger, orange dragon leading the pack. The massive beasts landed with a crash about fifty yards away from the city limits and slunk along the ground towards the welcoming party. The heroes all wanted to run, but their representatives all remained stock still, making them unsure of what to do. When they got close, the dragons suddenly raised their long necks, and they could clearly see a bridle in their mouths. A shout that caused the dragons to lower themselves saw a small contingent of men wearing blue leather uniforms with windswept hair formed ranks behind a man wearing a similar outfit, but in all white.

  “I see the Rathborian dragon riders have not lost their flair for the dramatic”, the Pontifex said almost jokingly as he approached the men.

  The man in white, with a completely humorless face saluted the Pontifex, “ I am General Titus. Are the Otherworlders ready?”

  The High Priests silently bristled at the blatant disrespect for their leader, but the aged elf continued as if the man had said nothing out of the ordinary, “They will be ready to show their power once the others arrive, general.”

  No sooner did he utter those words when one of the heroes spotted someone approaching, but this time, it was by the horizon. Cresting over the hill, the Otherworlders all rubbed their eyes when they saw a sail. Approaching them was a small fleet of what appeared to be sailboats with wheels. Much like as if they were on the sea, the boats bobbed and cut through the hills. Remaining on the grass, long planks of wood were used as a makeshift brake as a gangplank was lowered and a small troop of men carrying spears and wearing braids and tartans marched forward. The leader of the group, a man with dark brown hair approached and the Pontifex clasped his left forearm since he carried a spear that looked as though the wood was still growing in his right hand. He cast a suspicious look at the Rathborians who returned his gaze with a look of utter contempt.

  “I trust we aren’t intrudin’”, the man said in a measured tone.

  The Pontifex merely shook his head, “You are an honored guest, Chief Duncan. The holy city of Acolynia always stands ready at your service.”

  The Chief bowed his head in acknowledgment and took two steps backwards to where his men stood alert. They stood noticeably far away from the Rathborians, and it was clear the feeling was mutual.

  Not a moment later, there approached something more recognizable, a small caravan of people riding giant lizards. Except unlike the Megalania, these mounts were a dark gray, brown and had wicked looking spines around the whole of their tails. Everyone on their mounts wore rounded helmets, mail shirts and white pants fitted with greaves. Their leader, a man named Yusuf, wearing a pointed helmet and carrying a broadsword with a hook design on the bottom, designated him as the ambassador from Mahad Alhadara. He shook the Pontifex’ hand with both of his own and said in a raspy voice, “Peace upon your household.”

  “You as well”, the Pontifex responded gently, “You will have respite from your journey soon.”

  Right behind them, the last three envoys of ambassadors arrived. The first was a group of men covered in white fur skins over their hardened leather armor, riding giant white wolves, signifying them as the group from Ode. The next was a singular large, metallic carriage that was driving itself, obviously the people of Schaffen. Finally, the simplest, arriving on the backs of Megalania and yet somehow the most odd group was the people from Cestny.

  The people from Ode were guarding a carriage drawn by a pair of bears. Out of the carriage stepped a veritable giant of a man who looked to be part lynx. He had a face that looked like he had forgotten how to smile. Introducing himself as Frode, he was greeted warmly by the Pontifex like all the others, but simply nodded his head, not even grunting in response.

  On the mechanized carriage from Schaffen one of the walls lowered itself to show an ambassador that could overall, charitably be referred to as ‘soft.’ His face had the deceptively friendly visage of a businessman, by the name of Friedrich with his neatly trimmed facial hair, polished wooden walking stick with a ruby embedded in the top, carried by a hand with a ring encrusted by different jewels on every finger. He was surrounded by men who both tall and short, looked like they had their bodies hardened by the desert they called home, both above and below it. The contrast between the ambassador and his men couldn’t have been more stark.

  The men from Cestny were all dressed in plate armor, carrying halberds in complete silence with their faces covered in masks that somehow didn’t even have eye holes. Out of the center of their guard walked forward a woman named Manya, who like the others had her face covered, but by a thick black veil. Unlike the others, she and the Pontifex bowed to one another at a respectable distance.