Chapter 4 – "The Weight of Grace"

  The Morning After

  The morning light filtered in through the high-arched stained gss windows of the corridor, casting shards of crimson and gold onto the polished marble floor. Miss Aiko's heels clicked softly against the stone, the gentle rustle of her skirt barely audible over the footsteps of the priest walking respectfully beside her. Behind them, the lingering echoes of the waking bell could still be heard in the distant quarters.

  She had left Mirei in the care of a pace attendant—gently, the girl had stirred, bleary-eyed and silent. It broke something small in Aiko’s heart to see her so shaken. There would be time to talk, she hoped. To listen. But now, duty called.

  The corridor opened wide ahead, revealing the entrance to the Great Hall.

  The doors stood open, towering structures of dark, engraved wood framed by golden iny. Aiko paused for the briefest moment, taking in the sight beyond.

  The Grand Hall was nothing short of magnificent.

  It stretched longer than a cathedral, with vaulted ceilings supported by immense columns carved from obsidian-veined stone. Tapestries of white and gold fluttered softly in the morning breeze from enchanted vents above, each one embroidered with the emblem of the Holy Kingdom—a radiant sun cradled by wings.

  Along the walls stood holy soldiers cd in ceremonial armor, their spears upright, helms polished to mirror sheen. They didn’t move, didn’t speak, like statues wrought from divine will. A show of discipline—and intimidation.

  Down the length of the room ran a table, long enough to seat fifty, perhaps more. Students, still dazed and disoriented, were seated in groups. Some murmured among themselves, others picked nervously at their ptes. A few stared, wide-eyed, at the grandeur around them.

  Servants in pale robes moved with practiced grace, setting dishes, refilling goblets with silver pitchers, and attending to silent gestures. Their movements were unobtrusive, as if they’d rehearsed for this very moment a hundred times.

  The meal was a spread fit for nobles.

  Polished trays of honey-gzed roast fowl, golden-crusted bread braided with herbs, bowls of steaming rice flecked with saffron and dried fruits, crystal ptters of fresh fruit glistening with dew. Silver tureens held thick soups and gravies, the rich aroma of spiced meat and root vegetables wafting through the air. Delicate pastries filled with cream and preserves waited near the end of the table, untouched.

  Yet for all the opulence, an unnatural quiet hung in the air.

  Miss Aiko stepped forward, her gaze sweeping across the hall.

  There was fear here. Confusion. Grief. Some students flinched when a soldier shifted slightly. Others clung to each other as though to ground themselves. Aiko could feel it in her chest—the ache of being torn from home, the silent cries hidden behind polite expressions.

  She moved with poise, but inside her thoughts stirred uneasily.

  Was it right to serve these children up on a silver pte to a world they never asked to enter?

  A Smile for the Lost

  As Miss Aiko stepped fully into the hall, a few of the students looked up from their meals.

  "Sensei!" a girl near the middle called out, relief rushing into her voice. The word fell like a small stone into a still pond—quiet, but rippling.

  Others turned to look. Some managed tired smiles, some simply stared. A few stood up slightly from their seats, instinctively reacting to the familiar presence of their homeroom teacher as if reaching out for a piece of their old world.

  She returned their gazes with a warm smile, even if her heart trembled behind it.

  Many of the students looked worn. Sleepless. One boy’s eyes were rimmed with red, and his knuckles were white around a goblet he hadn’t touched. Another girl sat hunched over, hair unbrushed, staring into her untouched bowl of fruit. Near the far end, a group sat together in a protective cluster, whispering, gncing around the hall like frightened deer.

  Aiko’s heart ached.

  These were her students. Children she had watched grow through tests, css trips, and awkward adolescence. Now, they were stranded in a holy kingdom of marble and gold, far from everything they knew, under the watch of armed soldiers and robed priests.

  She forced her smile to grow wider. Kinder. Stronger.

  “Good morning, everyone,” she said, her voice calm and gentle as it echoed through the hall. “I’m gd to see you all here. I know… st night wasn’t easy. You’ve all been so brave.”

  She walked slowly along the table, nodding gently to those who looked up, pcing a light hand on one student’s shoulder, offering a reassuring nod to another.

  “Everyone’s here now,” she continued, louder this time so that all could hear. “You’ve all come together. And in just a few minutes—” she paused, gncing toward the entrance “—Mirei will join us as well.”

  And as if summoned by her words, the doors at the end of the hall opened once more.

  A soft gust of morning air swept through as Mirei stepped in, back straight, hair neatly tied, eyes still faintly shadowed with fatigue but filled with quiet resolve. The morning light behind her framed her silhouette in silver.

  Some students turned to look. A few whispered her name. One girl let out a small gasp.

  Aiko smiled—this time, more genuine—and stepped aside to give her space.

  “Mirei,” she said softly, her tone filled with quiet relief.

  The atmosphere shifted ever so slightly. A sense of unity, fragile but real, was beginning to form.

  And it had only just begun.

  Breakfast in Another World

  Ptes clinked softly against polished wood as the students took their seats and began eating.

  The aroma of roasted meats, warm bread, honeyed fruit, and spiced tea filled the air. Despite their worries, the food was undeniably delicious—freshly baked loaves steamed in woven baskets, golden omelets lined with herbs and cheese rested beside bowls of berries, and gzed sausages gave off a comforting heat.

  For a moment, silence reigned, as hunger dulled the edge of their fear.

  Then, the whispers returned.

  "I still can't believe this," one boy muttered, half-ughing. "We're really in another world?"

  "Feels like a VRMMO or something," said another, poking a spoon into a translucent jelly that shimmered like crystal. "I was expecting my arm to wake me up any minute. This can’t be real."

  Across the hall, a louder voice rose.

  "Stop panicking already," Makabe Jin said, sitting with his two ever-present sidekicks. He chewed loudly, grinning. "The pope already expined everything. All we gotta do is get strong, kill the Demon Lord, and boom—we're heroes. What’s there to be scared of?"

  His voice drew attention, and like always, reactions were mixed.

  "You're acting like it’s a game, dumbass," Ririka Kanzaki snapped from a few seats away. The self-decred queen of their cssroom, she sat with crossed legs and a regal scowl, barely touching her food. Her long, carefully styled hair still shone even in the soft light of the chandeliers.

  Makabe scoffed. "Tch. What, you scared? Don't tell me you were cryin' all night too, Kanzaki."

  Ririka’s eye twitched. "Shut it, meathead. I’m being realistic. We don’t even know where we are. There’s no phone, no internet, no way home, and no guarantee we won’t die in the first battle. I’m not trusting the pope just because he smiles like a saint."

  "Then what? Sit around and sob while the world burns? No thanks." Makabe leaned back and grinned. "I’m gonna be the strongest and live like a king here. This is the best thing that has ever happened to me."

  At a smaller table near the wall, Shouta sat hunched over his pte, nervously gncing toward a girl beside him. Her short bob-cut hair was neatly brushed, and her hands were folded politely over her p as she stared at her food.

  "Um... K-Kasumi," Shouta tried, barely above a whisper. "Do you think... We’ll get powers like in anime?"

  She blinked, then looked at him slowly. Her expression was calm—too calm, like she was trying to hold something in.

  "I don’t know," she said softly. "I just… I was supposed to go to the museum with my family this weekend."

  Shouta nodded, then looked down, fidgeting. "I… I thought this would be cool, but it’s actually kind of scary."

  He didn’t notice how her fingers clenched under the table.

  All around the hall, conversations like these pyed out.

  “I’m gonna get a sword! Like in Excalibur Chronicles! They have swords, right?”

  “Did you see the maids? They look like they’re from Maiden's Crusade! This whole pce feels like a light novel!”

  “This can’t be real. This can’t be real…”

  Some ughed too loudly. Some whispered, afraid of being heard by the soldiers lining the walls. Others sat silently, their breakfasts going cold. The excitement, the fear, the denial—it all mixed in the air like fog refusing to lift.

  Miss Aiko watched from the side, quietly observing. Her hand trembled slightly around her teacup.

  Mirei sat near the end of the table, silently chewing a piece of buttered bread. Her gaze wandered across the hall, catching glimpses of her cssmates—some familiar, some not.

  A storm of emotions swirled beneath the surface.

  But for now, they all sat together, surrounded by gold chandeliers and guards with swords, eating a feast in a world not their own.

  And they still didn’t know what price would be demanded in return.

  The Holy One Approaches

  The ctter of utensils and quiet conversations slowly began to fade as the final minutes of breakfast trickled away. Students leaned back in their chairs, sipped from warm goblets, and tried to ignore the heavy gazes of the armored soldiers lining the great hall.

  And then— A rhythmic thud echoed against the marble floor.

  A single soldier stepped forward from the grand arched entrance of the hall. His voice rang out, firm and clear.

  “Announcing His Holiness, the Pontifex of the Holy Kingdom of Aerenthal, Guardian of the Divine Light, Shepherd of Lost Souls, and Voice of the God of Order—His Eminence Pope Seraphiel Valtorion El Runestra!”

  The room went still.

  A great pair of double doors at the far end of the hall creaked open as if moved by unseen hands. Light spilled into the hall in golden rays, unnatural and soft—like the breath of divinity itself.

  From within that blinding brilliance emerged a figure draped in flowing white robes embroidered with gold and silver thread. The man who stepped forth moved with serene, measured grace, a jeweled staff in hand and a tranquil smile upon his face.

  Pope Seraphiel’s eyes, pale as crystal, seemed to hold the calm of eternity.

  A group of priests and high-ranking clerics followed behind him, robes trailing across the floor, heads bowed in reverence. The air itself seemed to quiet, as if even the wind dared not speak.

  The soldiers standing along the walls dropped to one knee in a synchronized motion. The servants followed suit, bowing low until their foreheads nearly touched the ground.

  Miss Aiko stood swiftly and gave a deep bow, urging her students with a gnce to follow her example.

  Hesitantly, uncertainly, one by one, the students rose to their feet. Chairs scraped awkwardly across the floor. Some bowed quickly, clumsily. Others stood stiffly, caught between awe and discomfort.

  Even Makabe, normally arrogant and brash, couldn’t meet the Pope’s gaze directly.

  A silence bnketed the room—thick, heavy, reverent.

  And then, Pope Seraphiel spoke. His voice was gentle, almost melodic, yet every word rang clear as a bell in the vastness of the hall.

  “Brave children of another world… welcome to Aerenthal.”

  He smiled, and for a moment, the divine light behind him seemed to grow even warmer.

  The Gift of the Goddess

  The Pope stood at the center of the great hall, bathed in golden light, and slowly lifted his jeweled staff above his head. The top of the staff bloomed with radiant light, a soft chime ringing like wind through stained gss.

  “In the name of the Divine Father of Order, who governs the wheel of fate,” the Pope intoned, voice deep with sacred resonance, “and the Celestial Mother of Mercy, who weeps for every fallen soul—I, Seraphiel Valtorion El Runestra, offer my blessing to you brave souls summoned by destiny.”

  A breeze—gentle and fragrant like spring air—swept through the sealed chamber.

  Several students gasped quietly. One girl shuddered, tears slipping down her cheek, moved by a sensation she could not name. Another clutched her uniform as if something had stirred inside her chest. Even the more hardened or skeptical students lowered their heads, silenced by the sheer weight of the Pope’s presence.

  “With you, the world finds hope again. As prophesied by the Sacred Script of Aurelia, thirty stars shall descend, and among them shall rise those who bear the light to break the age of shadow.”

  He extended a hand, and behind him, six priests stepped forward with reverence, each carrying a silver tray draped in velvet. Resting on the trays were orbs—crystal spheres the size of a clenched fist, perfectly round and impossibly clear.

  The moment they caught the light, a radiant fre danced inside them.

  Not reflections—light itself, refracted and swirling like liquid starlight. Within the heart of each orb, faint runes shimmered: circur patterns, yered glyphs etched so finely they could barely be seen unless held close.

  They were beautiful. Sacred.

  “The Holy Crystals of Lumielle,” the Pope decred. “Gifts from the Goddess Herself, born from divine light. These are your mirrors of truth, fragments of divinity entrusted to your soul. In them slumbers the Blessing that shall awaken your potential.”

  Priests moved among the tables, their footsteps hushed, bearing the orbs in both hands like relics. One by one, they offered a crystal ball to each student, bowing deeply as they did.

  The students held them carefully—some with both hands, others with trembling fingers. No two crystals looked quite the same. Some glowed faintly blue, others silver, pale gold, or lic. The colors shifted ever so subtly, like the surface of a bubble catching the sun.

  Shouta held his orb up to the light, awe widening his eyes. “It’s... like it’s breathing,” he whispered.

  Makabe, sitting back in his chair, grunted. “So this is our ticket, huh?” But even he didn’t hide the way his fingers traced the runes etched on the orb’s surface.

  A few students smiled softly. Some hugged the crystals to their chest. Others simply stared, silent and overwhelmed. For once, no one ughed. No one joked.

  Miss Aiko stood among them, watching as each of her students received the holy gift. Her throat tightened with emotion.

  When the st of the orbs had been handed out, the Pope raised his staff again.

  “At high noon,” he said, “you shall receive the Blessing. Until then, return to your chambers. Hold the crystal close to your heart and let its light know your soul. Accept it not with greed or fear, but reverence.”

  He paused, then added with warmth in his voice, “You are not alone. The light watches you.”

  And with that, he turned, robes trailing like falling snow, and departed as silently as he had come.

  The hall remained still.

  Then, slowly, as if waking from a collective dream, the students began to stir. The priests gestured gently for them to stand.

  And like that, the assembly began to leave, each one clutching a fragment of the divine.