Chapter 1: The Summer Solstice

Chapter 1 - The Summer Solstice

Victor was in the middle of trying to beat a child. Not physically, Victor wasn’t a monster. No, this contest was a far more noble thing. A genteel competition of high wit.

“Do you have any two’s?”

“Go fish!”

“Fuck,” Victor sighed.

The child, the eleven year old Princess Lataya, Heir Apparent to the World Core Throne, giggled so hard she snorted cranberry juice across the small table.

She winced, tucking a sleeve under her crinkling nose as she set the glass down.

“That’s very crass, Ser Victor.”

“Aye,” Victor said, shrugging, the movement rattling the interlocked metal plates of his armor. “But you laughed.”

“Father says the lowest of fruit is only for the lowest of men,” Princess Lataya said, primly.

She sat up straight and proper like she had certainly not just sprayed juice out of her nostrils and spattered it over the table. And her dress.

Victor bit back a smile. The little red-headed child in front of him, with the colony of orange freckles spread across her cheeks and nose, was many things. Well-educated for her age, clever, maybe more clever than Victor was, but refined was something she was still working on.

“Your father is a great man, and an even better King, but a rock would have a better sense of humor.”

Lataya giggled again, but this time she looked over her shoulder quickly to make sure nobody was listening in. The small study they’d requisitioned remained empty except for the books and the shelves they were resting on.

“You shouldn’t say such things about your King, Ser Victor,” she said, voice hushed.

“You’re probably right at that,” Victor conceded.

He waved his hand over the table, feeling that tug in his forearm where the Access Runes had been carved into his bones. It hurt. It always hurt, but not as much actually getting the runes carved had been.

Power filled him, Core Mana, it set his whole skeleton trembling, and Victor cast the only spell he knew. Chore.

It was simple magic, letting him fulfill any mundane task that could be accomplished without skill in the blink of an eye. It couldn’t be used to wield weapons, it couldn’t be cast directly on flesh, and it cost Mana equal to how long the task would normally take if he did it the old-fashioned way.

The table shined a gentle green, and the cranberry juice was gone. Lataya grinned, but the expression fell when she looked down at her dress and saw it was still stained.

“Don’t start,” Victor said.

Lataya narrowed her eyes at him.

“Do you know how long it takes to get stains out of a dress?” Victor asked. “Do you want the Core to eat my bones? Get a floppy arm like High Magus Thraina?”

Lataya wrinkled her nose further. “Ew.”

“Yeah, ew, so focus on the game and change into one of your hundreds of dresses later.”

“I don’t have hundreds,” Lataya muttered. “Just eighty-seven.”

“Oh, only eighty-seven,” Victor said dryly. “My mistake.”

They returned to the game. It was one of the recent fads, Go Fish, an Outworlder game brought in by the summoned heroes. Victor never seemed to have much luck with it, and Lataya gleefully set about trouncing Victor through several hands, before someone cleared their throat.

“This seems quite the opposite of getting ready for the feast tonight,” said a tired voice.

Victor and Lataya both slowly looked towards the source.

Dorin the Third, King and Protector of the World Core, stood in the doorway of the study, hands folded behind his back. He was a gaunt, surprisingly thin man. Kind eyes, and a trimmed beard decorated his face. Though, in all honesty, those kind eyes were looking a little on the stern side to Victor.

“Father,” Lataya said, standing and taking that proper court lady’s stance her tutors had been drilling into her. “I think you’ll find I’m quite ready. I asked the servants to help me prepare early after I finished my lessons.”

Her prideful little smile only dropped when King Dorin looked pointedly down to Lataya’s dress. The dress stained bright red with cranberry juice.

“It seems you have been made unready,” King Dorin said dryly.

Lataya wilted.

“I… will ask the servants to help me change into a new dress.”

“That would be wise,” King Dorin said, a ghost of a smile touching his lips.

Lataya took one last glance towards Victor, before trudging out of the room, leaving the knight alone with his King. Silence stretched, and Victor shifted uncomfortably.

“I apologize, Your Majesty. The fault is mine, I must have lost track of the time.”

King Dorin arched a brow and Victor found himself straightening on instinct, falling into a military posture. He was taller than the King. He was taller than most people, the tallest knight in the Kingsguard besides Big Bennet. Victor was also broad, built with fighting muscle from a lifetime of training and learning to move smoothly in the heavy plate armor that served as his standard uniform. Yet, King Dorin always had a way of making the room seem smaller around him. Just had that kind of presence Victor supposed.

King Dorin watched him for a few moments, then offered a soft smile.

“You're fine, Victor. Thank you, once again, for keeping her entertained. I know it isn’t exactly in your job description to play nanny to my daughter.”

Victor’s shoulders relaxed.

“It is the Kingsguard’s charge to protect the royal family, Your Majesty.” Victor risked a half-smile. “The way I see it, I was merely protecting the princess from boredom.”

King Dorin stared back at Victor for a moment.

“Was that a joke?”

Victor paused. “Would you be upset if it was, your majesty?”

“No.” King Dorin’s shoulders seemed to sag slightly. “No. I just… suppose I would really enjoy a bit of boredom right now.”

Victor paused, wondering if it would be appropriate to question the King further, but the moment passed and King Dorin soon returned to his usual regal bearing.

“You will be assigned to watch my table at the Solstice Feast this evening, Ser Victor. Many of the Outworlders will be in attendance, and I don’t want a repeat of last time.”

Victor contained a shiver at the thought. At the previous Solstice Feast last winter there had been some sort of argument amongst the Outworlder contingent about whether or not one of their members was something called an ‘incel’. The resulting argument had led to a fight, and one of them being bodily thrown into one of King Dorin’s favored advisors. The Outworlder had been fine enough, but the advisor? He had only just recovered enough to eat solid food.

Victor bowed his head to his King.

“It will be done, Your Majesty.”

King Dorin moved to leave, but paused halfway through his second step.

“And Victor?”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Keep a special watch over my daughter. Lataya likes you, and after she lost her mother…” The King trailed off.

“I understand, Your Majesty.”

The King stood there for a moment, face hidden and silent. Then he took a breath.

“Thank you, Victor. That will be all.”

And King Dorin continued on his way.

**************************************************************************************

The Summer Solstice Feast was filled with three things, food, music, and power.

The main hall was filled with banners of the various Houses in attendance, each positioned over the various tables set out for the arrayed factions allowed within the hall, but none so large as the King Dorin’s House Banner. It hung over the King’s table, taking up the entire wall as it displayed the stone, egg-like shape of the World Core.

The guests had come from as far as distant Vadelock across the Salt Desert Ocean, though Victor supposed those weren’t really the most far traveled guests in attendance. That would be the Outworlders, or the ‘Isekais’ as they called themselves. Or at least, some of them did, others snorted and rolled their eyes at the term.

Above their table was their chosen banner. A wide stretch of red silk adorned with what appeared to be, amongst all things, a big golden rooster with the word ‘Cock’ emblazoned underneath it

They were an odd lot.

They also had strange looks to them, despite all of them being human. Even amongst themselves their fashions seemed to clash violently. One man had twin metal stud piercings in his lower lip, and a single strip of red dyed hair. Meanwhile, a short woman with blonde hair wore fake elf ears, which had always seemed to make the elven diplomats from Skytree uncomfortable.

Regardless, they were the heroes that had helped in the final push to defeat the Grafted King and his undead horde. The power the Outworlders wielded was unlike anything seen before. Each and everyone of them was exceptional, and despite having only appeared in this world a year ago, they’d become masters of magic and any other skill they’d spent more than a month learning.

“By the Core, I hate them,” a cold voice said next to Victor.

He turned to see an elf, a real one, not the weird Outworlder. She was completely bald and wore the gilded robes of a High Magus. Her limp, boneless left arm was swaddled in a silken sling that glowed softly with magic runes. The sort of runes made to keep blood flowing through the limp, withered noodle limb. She was the younger end of middle-aged, which made her incredibly young to hold the title of High Magus, even for an elf. Three hundred years of training really wasn’t all that much in the face of just how complex higher tier magic could be.

“High Magus Thraina.” Victor blinked. “Uh… who do you mean?”

“Don’t be dense, Ser Victor,” Thraina said. “I mean the damn Outworlders you were just gawking at.”

‘Ah,’ Victor realized. ‘She’s drunk again.’

He quickly glanced about, making sure nobody nearby was paying attention. They had both been placed behind the Royal table at the head of the long hall, left to stand visible guard for the King and his family. Luckily, the King was busy talking amongst his advisors, working while he was supposed to be celebrating, and Princess Lataya was busy trying to hide the book she was reading in her lap. Victor bit back a small smirk at that. He found himself genuinely hoping she’d get away with it.

“Perhaps the Outworlders are… eccentric,” Victor offered.

Just then, as if on cue, two of the Outworlders walked past with flagons in hand. If Thraina was drunk, they looked like they could hardly stand. One of them, a young, scrawny man wearing a robe emblazoned with the words ‘Mega-Destroyer’, stopped and pointed toward Thraina.

“Dude, look,” he said, nudging his companion. “That’s the MILF elf I was talking to you about.”

The other Outworlder, a stout man wearing a flamboyant red cape and unnecessarily spiked pauldrons, snorted. “Dude, she’s like… bald.”

“Yeah, but it kinda works for her.”

Victor arched an eyebrow, looking between Thraina who was deadpan staring back at the Outworlders, and the one with ‘Mega-Destroyer’ emblazoned on his robe. He cleared his throat.

“Lads, this is a High Magus. Maybe show some respect, yeah?”

The scrawny guy raised his hands up. “Hey, man. MILF is a super respectful term in our world.”

He elbowed his companion, who stifled a chuckle and nodded. “Oh yeah, it’s a high honor.”

Victor frowned. He caught Thraina rolling her eyes skyward in the corner of his vision. The other nearby members of the Kingsguard were looking questioningly towards the exchange.

“Right,” Victor sighed. “Very funny, now how about-”

“Benjamin,” called a voice from the dining table. “Lance. Leave the fine people alone.”

Victor noticed it was an older man than the rest of the group. He wore clothing that was more sensible, and even styled in the current fashions. The only odd thing was the odd, striped piece of fabric tied around his collar that trailed down the front of his tunic, ending in a strange half-diamond shape at the bottom. The two younger Outworlders glanced back at the man and seemed to shrink under his attention.

“Yeah, sure thing, Clyde,” The skinny one said.

Both of them beat a quick retreat from the table, and ‘Clyde’ gave an apologetic nod across the way to us. Victor paused, then nodded back, though he noticed Thraina was frowning deeper than ever.

As Clyde’s attention went back to his table, and the rest of the Kingsguard went back to watching the room, Victor leaned in closer to Thraina.

“What,” Victor started, already regretting the question. “Is a MILF?”

Thraina scowled. “I don’t know, but I do know the scrawny one, Benjamin, convinced a few villages he was gifted to title him ‘The MILF-Hunter’”

“The fuck?”

“Yes, eloquently put Victor. ‘The fuck’ indeed.”

Victor frowned. “Well, I suppose unpleasant heroes are better than having no heroes at all.”

“Are they heroes?”

Victor sighed. “They did defeat the Grafted King.”

“I think I preferred him. At least he worked for what he had.”

Victor turned back to Thraina, raising a brow. “High Magus, I think you might’ve had a bit too much to drink—“

“Don’t ‘High Magus’ me, Victor. We can talk without the constant honorifics.” A glass appeared in Thraina’s good hand, the one that actually had bones, and she sipped from a deep purple liquid within. “It’s not like it even means much anymore.”

Victor opened his mouth to respond, but a member of the Vadelock contingent stood suddenly waving a webbed hand at the minstrels to quiet their music. Like most from that faraway land, he was a Toadman, a large, squat figure with a hunched back and incredibly large, toad-like mouth.

“I humbly gift,” The Toadman said in a deep, uncomfortably wet sounding voice. “To our host, the great King Dorin, a song we have made in his honor.”

The other Toadmen stood, and they all began to croak out odd warbling notes unison. The result was terrifying. Not unexpected though, as they did this at every social event they attended. Vadelock had benefited greatly from King Dorin’s trade policies, and they apparently loved him so much that there were constant contests to write songs in his honor. The only person who ever seemed to enjoy them though was Lataya, who had looked up from her book and was nearly bouncing in her seat.

‘By the Core,’ Victor thought. ‘I worry about that child.’

As the performance continued, Thraina grabbed Victor’s arm. The glass she’d been holding had disappeared, and she pulled up close to Victor, voice hissing in his ear.

“Doesn’t it worry you, Victor, that the Outworlders are so much better than us?” Thraina said. “That with so little effort, they have made our accomplishments so insignificant?”

Victor jolted. Everyone else was focused on the Toadmen’s song, whether they wanted to or not. He glanced to Thraina.

“I’m not talking about pride, Victor, though by the Core it should hurt yours as well as mine. But no, that’s just unpleasant. The real problem is, I think we have more reason to fear them then we ever did the Grafted King.”

Victor cleared his throat. “High Magus-“

“Again with the titles?”

“Thraina,” Victor said, trying to hold the bite back from his voice. “I think you’re conflating power with evil.”

Thraina’s grip on his arm tightened, almost painfully.

“Not just power,” Thraina whispered, her hot breath smelling of some mysterious sweet berry that had been in whatever she was drinking. “Easy power, Victor. Power without consequence or cost. Did you know all of the Outworlders naturally have Access Runes carved across their entire skeletons?”

I paused, a shiver running down my spine. “That’s… like the Grafted King?”

“No, even he could only manage to get them on the outside of his bones. The Outworlders come here already innately having them inscribed along the outside and inside of their entire skeletons. We checked the corpse of the only Outworlder who died during the war, the one who’d been poisoned by the Grafted King’s Consort.”

‘We?’ Victor thought. ‘Who was we?’

But he didn’t get the chance to ask before Thraina was moving on, whispering ever more frantically in Victor’s ear.

“They didn’t beat the Grafted King because they were smart, or because they were brave. They killed him because each and every one of them had a larger pool of mana they could draw on. They were simply stronger than him.”

“So?” Victor asked.

The Toadmen continued to warble, their song sending vibrations through the stone floor and a stranger pulsing in his chest. It was low, and almost ominous.

“Don’t you get it?” Thraina forged on. “The greatest villain of our age was the underdog. He only lasted as long as he did because he was a tactical genius, but even that wasn’t enough. What happens when the Outworlders decide to turn their attention on someone else?”

The croaking song of the Toadmen was rising now, one of the smaller ones beginning to hit high notes that sounded more like screaming than singing.

“Why would they do that?” Victor asked, though despite himself he could feel sweat gathering on his palms. “There’d be no reason. They have all the luxuries they could ever ask for, and none of them seem all that interested in the burden of rulership. Even basic paperwork seems to bore most of them.”

Thraina scanned the Outworlders table, her eyes lingering on someone, but Victor couldn’t pick out who.

“You might be surprised.” Thaina shook her head. “Honestly, though? I’m more worried about their greed. Have you ever talked to them about how they learn skills so quickly?”

Victor stayed silent, and Thraina continued.

“They call it Experience, some sort of spiritual resource they get.”

“And it just, what, lets them learn things?”

Thraina smirked bitterly.

“Yes, and they don’t even get it from training. The Outworlders are awarded Experience only when they kill other living beings.”

The Toadmen finished their performance, taking a bow to the entirely silent hall. Slowly, and mostly out of politeness, the other feastgoers began to softly clap, though Lataya was significantly louder in her applause, beaming from ear to ear.

Victor was only half-paying attention. “So the Outworlders will only get stronger…”

“If they keep killing things, yes.”

Victor swallowed. That was dark magic, very dark magic, and he wasn’t sure he liked the implications. Actually, he was very sure he didn’t like them. Victor gnawed at his lip. He started to feel the urge to join Thraina in her drinking.

“And the war is over. Some of the Outworlders have gone about exploring, recently. At least three different species of dragon have been reported as going extinct in the last month alone. I don't think that's a coincidence.”

“But surely they don’t need to be any stronger?” Victor tried to smile, tried to ignore the creeping dread in his chest. “If they’re already more powerful than anyone else as you say, surely that’s enough?”

Princess Lataya looked back at Victor, finally noticing the concern in his voice. He forced his smile wider, trying to give her a comforting nod. Lataya’s eyes narrowed, but Victor pointed subtly to the book in her lap. Grudgingly, the young princess turned back to her reading.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe there’s nothing to worry about,” Thraina whispered, more quietly after Lataya had noted their conversation. “But consider this Victor. Power has come easily to them. They didn’t work for it like we did.”

She pulled back from Victor, muttering to herself so softly that he barely caught her words.

“They didn’t suffer setbacks or…” Thraina adjusted her sling, shifting her withered boneless arm with a sickening jiggle. “Learn from their hasty mistakes.”

Thraina sniffed, locking her eyes straight ahead.

“So when have they ever been taught that actions have consequences?”

**************************************************************************************

The rest of the feast passed without much incident. There was the usual dancing, complaints about the music, a couple arguments between minor nobles of various Houses, but nothing out of the ordinary for such an event. Still, after talking with Thraina, Victor couldn’t help but watch the Outworlders with a growing sense of unease. It’s not that they were doing anything especially wrong. In fact, considering how they’d been at previous feasts the Outworlders were actually being relatively well-behaved.

Still, the more Victor watched them, the more he began to read into everyone else’s reactions to them. Or really, their lack of reaction. The discomfort of the elven contingent from Skytree was clear, but they never acted on it, even when that blonde Outworlder with fake elf ears began trying to chat with them in some made up language that sounded halfway like elven, but most certainly was not. When the man with snakebites walked over to one of the Toadmen and asked if he could ‘lick him to see if he’d get high’, the Toadman had only politely declined.

It was better behavior than Victor was used to seeing from them, but instead of regarding it as bizarre eccentricity that was tolerated from the Outworlders because they were heroes like Victor usually did, he started to see it in a different light. Was everyone frightened of the Outworlders? Were they getting away with all of this because nobody wanted to risk angering them?

Victor didn’t like how very possible that sounded to him.

As the feast ended, and the guests either began to depart for their transports back home, or for the guest rooms waiting for them in the castle, King Dorin rose from his seat.

“Ser Victor, High Magus,” He looked to both Victor and Thraina in turn. “Attend me in my study. There’s something I wish to discuss with you.”

Victor gnawed on the inside of his cheek. Had King Dorin overheard his conversation with Thraina? Victor glanced towards the High Magus to find her quickly downing a vial of some green liquid. Her eyes seemed to sober immediately, and she shook her head as if trying to get something out of her ears.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Thraina said.

Victor nodded as well.

King Dorin turned to his daughter. “You too Lataya, come with me.”

The King offered his hand out to the Princess who tried to subtly hide her book behind her back as she stood and took his hand. Victor reached out and quickly snatched the book, throwing Lataya a wink as she was led on by her father. He held it back towards Thraina as they both moved to follow.

Thraina hid a burp as whatever she’d just imbibed flowed through her system. “What’s this?”

“Protecting the Princess from her father’s disapproval.”

Thraina snorted, but after a moment she took the book and hid it in her robes.

Lataya glanced back at them as it happened and smiled, mouthing a small ‘thank you’.

“You’re spoiling that girl,” Thraina said.

Victor stole one last look at the lingering Outworlders in the room “There are worse things.”

“Yes,” Thraina said, expression returning to her usual cold gloom. “Yes, there most certainly is.”

They walked from the main hall, waiting at the door for four more Kingsguard to fall in as an extra guard around them, standard protocol for moving the King from one room to another when foreign guests were in the castle. Victor checked each of them, their names coming quickly to his mind: Thorsen, Fider, Lana, and Big Bennet. Solid knights, well-trained all of them, but above all else loyal. King Dorin had been very careful with his selection of personal bodyguards tonight.

The extra caution had Victor’s stomach roiling, nerves set on end. His senses were all on high alert as they moved into the hallway, and Victor’s hand kept falling to the sword at his belt. The cutting enchantment on the blade caused a tingle up his arm as it interacted with the Access Runes carved into the bones there.

They turned as a group, reaching the stairs and ascending upwards, Big Bennet and Lana taking the front as Victor stayed close to the King and Princess Lataya. Their footsteps echoed against the marble steps, and Victor noticed King Dorin was still holding his daughter’s hand. His grip wasn’t tight enough to hurt her, but it wasn’t a casual hold either. There was something desperate worried in it, more worried than Victor was used to seeing the King.

As they reached the top of the stairs, Big Bennet and Lana came to a sudden halt.

“Hail!” called a voice ahead.

Victor tightened his hand around his sword, the cutting enchantment singing through the bones in his forearm more insistently. The enchanted blade wanted to be used, wanted to cut. It didn’t understand the fear Victor was feeling as he peered past the two Kingsguard knights at the front to see who was blocking the hallway.

“You all say hail, right?” asked the fit-looking middle-aged man who was leaning up against the door to the King’s study. “I do hope I used it right. I like to make good impressions.”

It was Clyde, from the feast. The one who had given orders out to the other two Outworlders. He was smoothing out that strange piece of fabric tied around his neck, smiling easy and casual.

Victor wasn’t the only one with his hand on his sword then. The rest of the Kingsguard present looked ready to draw at any moment, and from the colored lights swirling around the fingers of the clenched fist Thraina was holding behind her back, Victor had the sense that she was holding a spell ready to launch at any moment.

“Yes,” King Dorin said, voice remarkably calm. “That would be the correct use of that word. Though one does usually bow before the King, and they do not enter areas made off limits to visiting guests.”

“Ah,” the man said, making a show of clapping his palm against his forehead. “I knew I forgot something.”

Whether he’d heard about the part where he was trespassing, Victor didn’t see any sign of it.

He paused. “Actually, do you mind if we just do a handshake? I’m always afraid I’m going to get the bow wrong.”

The man stepped forward and offered out his hand. “My name’s Clyde Barkley--”

The Kingsguard drew their swords as one. Victor stepped in front of the King and Princess Lataya.

“Testy…” Clyde rescinded his hand, his smile still unbroken. “But I get it. One always has to have rules. See, back in my world I was on the board of something called an HOA, a Homeowners Association. It was my job to keep--”

“That,” King Dorin interrupted, laying a gentle hand on Victor’s shoulder and nudging him aside. “Is the start of a very interesting story, I’m sure, but I’m more curious to know why you are here, standing in front of my study.”

“Well… I had kind of hoped that would be obvious.” Clyde frowned back at Dorin. “Is it not obvious?”

“Let’s pretend it isn’t,” Dorin said, holding a hand out to the rest of the Kingsguard to lower their weapons. “And you can explain your presence just to be sure there isn’t any misunderstandings.”

Clyde made a show of considering that.

“Y’know, it might just be easier to show you.”

Clyde pointed, and King Dorin exploded. The rest of the royal contingent all stood there, frozen, staring in shock back at the still smiling man as they were showered in a chunky red mist. Victor noted, dully, that the largest piece of Dorin left was his hand, still being held by Princess Lataya.

“That,” Clyde said. “Is why I’m here.”

Lataya started to scream.