Elijah sank into a wooden chair, the polished surface cool beneath his palms. The court, the whispers, the fire of accusation—it all felt distant now, like smoke from another life. The world around him hummed with unfamiliar rules, the weight of the name Auvriel pressing against his chest. He closed his eyes, inhaling slowly, trying to anchor himself. Then, silence broke—soft, mechanical, calm.
"Initialization complete."
Elijah's eyes snapped open. The voice was not loud, not demanding—it was simply there, inside his mind, neutral, matter‑of‑fact.
"Who… what are you?" he asked cautiously.
"I am your guide. Not a guardian. Not a system. Not a god. You may call me… N‑E‑O‑D‑E, or Node, if you prefer."
Elijah paused, letting the words settle. Node's tone was calm, measured, with an undercurrent of patience. It did not speak unless addressed, did not command, did not judge.
"So… you help me?" he asked.
"I provide guidance. I store information. I analyze threats within the scope of your experiences and surroundings. I cannot lie, cannot reveal certain truths, and cannot interact physically with the world. My function is to help you navigate life as a summoned being."
Elijah exhaled. "And you… talk to me like this, because I asked?"
"Correct. I will respond only when addressed. Tone and style are adjustable at your discretion. I do not interfere unless you require input."
He let silence settle again, then asked carefully, "Why… why is the name Auvriel dangerous?"
"Auvriel is a god of this land, and one of several claiming divinity. To speak the name incorrectly, or to challenge its authority, is considered blasphemy. It incites fear, anger, and sometimes violence."
Elijah nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of it. Danger, he thought. Caution. Understanding. Node's voice did not soften; it simply guided.
"I am not here to restrict you, nor to dictate your actions. You remain your own master. I am only a guide."
Morning light spilled through the library windows, brushing the edges of his robe. When he rose, the hall outside was already alive with quiet movement. At his door stood Scholar Mereth and a guard.
"Good morning," Mereth said, bowing slightly. "Today, you will speak correctly. Remember the name: A‑U‑V‑R‑I‑E‑L."
Elijah repeated it, voice clear, deliberate.
"A‑U‑V‑R‑I‑E‑L."
Mereth smiled faintly. "Yes. The pronunciation alone will clear suspicion for now. This land interprets accuracy as respect."
They walked through the city, the buzz of early morning filling the streets. Nobles and servants glanced at him as if measuring his presence. Elijah noted the subtle tensions—curious eyes, whispered prayers, cautious bows. They returned to the court, and the nobles murmured as Elijah entered. His calm did not falter. He scanned the hall, recognizing patterns in posture, tone, and expression. This world… is much like my own, he thought. Sparks of anger, determination, shock, and grief flickered in every corner. He breathed evenly, letting the realization settle.
"Wait," Node whispered softly inside his mind. "Maintain calm. Begin with acknowledgment, then position yourself as respectful but not subservient. Avoid showing surprise at their anger."
Elijah exhaled slowly. "Acknowledged," he whispered back in thought.
A noble rose, face tight with indignation. "He dares speak the name—again! Does he mock us?"
"Neutral tone. Clarify your understanding of the name. Spell it correctly. Do not hesitate," Node guided.
Elijah lifted his chin slightly. "I do not mock. I speak only to understand. A‑U‑V‑R‑I‑E‑L." (Auvriel)
A silence fell. The priests tensed, hands tightening on rosaries. Another voice hissed, "Blasphemy still lives in his tongue!"
"Now, subtle deflection. Highlight the king's authority and your obedience," Node suggested.
"I spoke as instructed by the scholar," Elijah continued, voice steady, "to honor the one you revere. My words are not meant for defiance but clarity."
The nobles stiffened, but murmurs faltered. A flicker of doubt passed over some faces. Node's calm guidance continued, suggesting phrasing, advising pauses, monitoring the rising tension like a silent tide.
"The king expects patience. Mention his command and remain composed. Do not explain yourself further unless asked," Node advised.
King Aldric leaned forward, eyes piercing. "And who is your master here? Whose authority do you acknowledge?"
Elijah paused, then allowed himself a faint exhale, recalling Node's counsel. "Acknowledgment without arrogance. Focus on fact, not defense."
"I acknowledge your command, my king, and the guidance of Scholar Mereth," he said. Neutral, firm.
A murmur ran through the court, tension sparking in the air like distant lightning. One noble muttered, "A hero… or a heretic, we cannot tell yet."
Node's voice remained calm, almost invisible now. "They will test you. Maintain composure. Answer only what is necessary. Any irritation may be used against you."
Elijah thought back, voice calm, steady: "Node, shut up."
"…Acknowledged," came the neutral reply, as if surprised at the order, yet without offense.
Silence returned to his mind, leaving only his own thoughts. The king finally leaned back, a slow nod.
"You have spoken truth without arrogance. For that, you remain under royal protection. Sir Kael, instruct him in arms. Scholar Mereth, continue his education in judgment and conduct."
The court exhaled collectively, murmurs fading into the stone walls. Elijah stepped back, feeling the weight of relief, yet aware that every eye remained upon him. Sparks of anger, shock, determination, and curiosity still flickered, but he met them evenly, calm now, eyes scanning, calculating.
By mid‑morning, Elijah, Mereth, and a lone guard rode toward the borderlands. They arrived at a village scarred by war: soldiers being mended, some lying pale and broken, others stitched and groaning. Elijah's face was unreadable, assessing, professional, and yet tinged with sorrow. Sparks of recognition flickered—anger, determination, shock, sadness—reminding him of home.
A tall man approached, broad‑shouldered, eyes sharp and measuring. This was Duke Hemsworth, early fifties, battle‑hardened, his armor worn but meticulously kept. His gaze swept Elijah from head to toe, a silent calculation running across his mind.
"You will train here," Hemsworth said, voice blunt, yet not unkind. "Common skills first, then combat. Have you killed before?"
Elijah nodded once, quiet.
Hemsworth's lips pressed into a thin line, acknowledging without comment. He handed Elijah a sword, and motioned toward the training grounds. Around them, the village's wounded bore silent witness, and Elijah understood—the lessons would be hard, but necessary.
Node remained silent now, a faint hum in the corners of his mind, waiting for the summons of thought.
Elijah lifted the sword, feeling its weight, the subtle balance in his hands. He inhaled deeply, the world sharp and alive around him. And for the first time since arriving, he felt a flicker of certainty: in this world, he could learn. In this world, he could survive.