The first light of dawn did not simply break across the horizon—it shattered the last remnants of night.

  Gold spilled across the sky in slow, molten streaks. Mist drifted lazily through the valley below, parting as though the world itself were making way for something divine. As the sun climbed higher, its rays brushed against towering spires of polished metal and luminous stone, setting them ablaze with reflected brilliance.

  The Golden Palace revealed itself piece by piece—its architecture impossibly elegant, its edges sharp as blades of light. It did not merely stand above the city.

  It ruled it.

  Below, the Silver City shimmered in layered terraces and sweeping bridges, ancient in foundation yet disturbingly advanced in design. Arcane sigils pulsed faintly along its walls. Crystal conduits ran like veins through its streets.

  It was beautiful.

  It was alien.

  And for the students of Class 9, it was now home.

  Nearly twenty-four hours had passed since their world had tilted off its axis.

  While the rest of this realm awakened to routine and rhythm, one chamber within the palace remained heavy with stillness.

  Chirag lay motionless beneath white linen sheets.

  Bandages wrapped his torso, arms, and shoulders in thick layers. Beneath them were wounds that should have ended him. Deep lacerations. Torn muscle. Fractured bone. The kind of damage that would have reduced an ordinary human to a memory.

  Instead, he breathed.

  Barely.

  “He is in a deep slumber,” the court Magician had explained the night before, voice low and grave. “A magical coma. His body lives. His spirit is… repairing.”

  “How long?” Rehan had asked.

  “At least a month.”

  The words had landed like a sentence.

  Morning light slipped through the tall windows, stretching across the floor until it reached the edge of Chirag’s bed.

  Rehan stood at one side.

  Anush at the other.

  Neither spoke.

  The silence between them wasn’t empty. It was heavy—packed with everything they did not know how to say.

  Rehan’s expression was composed, but his eyes had hardened overnight. Something inside him had shifted. The version of himself that laughed during school recess felt distant now.

  The Summoned Heroes.

  That was what this world called them.

  If that title meant anything…

  They could not afford weakness.

  By the time the sun had fully risen, the group gathered on a high training terrace overlooking the Silver City.

  This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

  Wind moved steadily at this height, cool and sharp. The stone beneath their feet shimmered faintly with silver flecks embedded within it. Beyond the railing, the city stretched endlessly, alive with quiet motion.

  Among the familiar faces stood someone new.

  She leaned casually against a carved balustrade, arms folded, gaze fixed not on the students—but on the Golden Palace itself.

  Detached.

  Observing.

  Rehan stepped forward, boots clicking softly against the stone.

  “Before we start,” he said evenly, “can someone tell me who she is?”

  The girl turned her head slightly. Her eyes were sharp, reflective—like polished obsidian catching sunrise.

  “Who, me?” she asked, tilting her head.

  Rehan nodded once.

  “I am Vaishnavi.”

  He opened his mouth to introduce himself out of habit—an old reflex from classrooms and normal days.

  She cut him off gently.

  “I know who you are, Rehan.”

  A faint smile touched her lips.

  Not mocking.

  Knowing.

  The air tightened for a brief second.

  Rehan didn’t question it.

  Instead, he turned toward the rest of the group.

  His posture straightened.

  When he spoke again, his voice carried.

  “Listen up.”

  The wind seemed to pause.

  “Yeah!” the group responded instinctively, though their energy felt fragile.

  “Everyone needs to check their magic type,” Rehan continued. “We survive by knowing what we can do. No guessing. No hiding. Start talking.”

  Anush stepped forward first, squinting at the translucent blue interface hovering before him.

  “Neca… necro… many?”

  “It’s Necromancy,” Rehan corrected immediately.

  “Right. That. And Healing,” Anush said, regaining confidence. “There’s a third one listed, but it’s locked.”

  Rehan gave a small nod.

  “Good. Next.”

  Sandhya raised her hand dramatically.

  “Me! I’ve got Black Magic and—”

  She stopped.

  Rehan and Anush had exchanged a look.

  For a split second, something old flickered between them—something normal.

  They stepped toward each other instinctively, arms lifting to perform their ridiculous, overused, signature dab.

  Their hands hovered mid-air.

  Then—

  They froze.

  There was space between them.

  An absence.

  The third person who usually completed the rhythm wasn’t there.

  He was lying in a bed.

  Wrapped in bandages.

  The silence this time wasn’t awkward.

  It was devastating.

  Their arms slowly lowered.

  Sandhya opened her mouth to snap at them for being immature—but the words died when she saw their expressions.

  That wasn’t playfulness.

  That was grief.

  She swallowed.

  “Anyway,” she continued quietly, “I also have Beast Magic. What does that even mean?”

  Rehan inhaled once and forced himself back into focus.

  “Advanced category,” he explained. “You can transform into monsters, summon them, or use abilities from creatures you contract with.”

  A murmur spread through the group.

  Vaishnavi stepped forward next.

  “Fire. And Magma.”

  For the briefest fraction of a second, Rehan’s eyes widened.

  That combination wasn’t versatile.

  It was catastrophic.

  But his expression smoothed instantly.

  “Noted.”

  Sneha stood apart from the others, staring into the distance.

  Rehan snapped his fingers in front of her face.

  She blinked.

  “I thought I saw something,” she murmured. “Near the portal. A jacket. Like Chirag’s.”

  Rehan’s voice sharpened slightly.

  “That’s a long story. Magic type.”

  She hesitated.

  “Ice. Earth. Healing.”

  Balanced.

  Defensive support.

  Useful.

  Sohani nearly bounced forward.

  “Holy and Summoning!”

  Varsha followed, quieter but intense.

  “Blood Magic. And Telekinesis.”

  Rehan muttered under his breath.

  “Deadly combination.”

  Finally, Anjal yawned.

  “Air and Light.”

  When the last screen faded, Rehan surveyed them.

  On paper, they were exceptional.

  Offense.

  Defense.

  Support.

  Utility.

  A complete squad.

  But power on paper meant nothing.

  He had seen what this world did to the unprepared.

  Chirag was proof.

  A slow smile spread across Rehan’s face.

  Not friendly.

  Not comforting.

  Sharp.

  “Magic isn’t enough.”

  A few students exchanged uneasy glances.

  “You want to survive?” he continued. “You build your bodies before you build your spells.”

  The wind picked up.

  “Starting today—strength training.”

  Groans began immediately.

  “100 push-ups.”

  Silence.

  “100 sit-ups.”

  Someone whispered a prayer.

  “100 squats.”

  A few staggered backward.

  “And 100 laps around the field.”

  The terrace erupted.

  “WHAT THE HELL?!”

  Rehan didn’t flinch.

  “Move.”

  The sun now stood high above the Golden Palace, no longer gentle—its light glaring, unforgiving.

  As the students dropped reluctantly to begin their first push-ups, a faint tremor rippled beneath the stone.

  Subtle.

  Almost imperceptible.

  Rehan paused mid-count.

  “…Twenty-one.”

  Far beyond the Silver City…

  Past the outer districts.

  Pas

  t the border walls.

  In a land swallowed by shadow—

  Something stirred.

  Eyes opened in darkness.

  And the Daishin’s dominion pulsed once.

  — To be continued