The days following Elias's summoning settled into an unsettling routine. He ate in quiet chambers, wandered the palace gardens under watchful eyes, and grappled with the alien language of Aethelgard. His Language Comprehension (Eldorian) skill steadily improved, allowing him to grasp more than just simple phrases, but the true undercurrents of courtly whispers remained elusive. He felt like a stray dog tolerated in a grand estate, watched, but not truly welcomed.
The true heroes—Borin Stonefist, Elara Whisperwind, and Sir Gareth Ironclad—were showered with accolades. Elias saw them at training drills, their powerful magical and martial displays drawing crowds of admiring guards and mages. He heard their names spoken with reverence in the corridors. They embodied the hope of Veridian, while he remained the silent, awkward anomaly. Yet, despite their hero status, none of them sought to interact with Elias, their gazes ranging from indifference to a subtle, yet consistent, suspicion.
Then, on the third day, the pattern shifted. Elias was seated in the palace library, granted limited access to ancient texts he couldn't yet fully decipher, when a presence entered the room. It was Princess Seraphina. She moved with an effortless grace that turned heads, her emerald eyes scanning the shelves. She wore a simple, elegant gown, free of the elaborate regalia of state, making her appear approachable, almost vulnerable. Elias braced himself for her usual cold assessment, but what followed surprised him.
She approached his table, a soft, almost empathetic smile gracing her lips. "Elias, isn't it?" Her voice was like liquid gold, a stark contrast to the sharp accusations she'd leveled at him during the summoning.
Elias instinctively tensed, his Perception passive sending a faint, buzzing warning, yet her expression seemed genuinely warm. "Yes, Princess," he replied, dipping his head respectfully, mimicking what he'd seen other commoners do.
"You seem... lost," she observed, her voice tinged with what sounded like genuine concern. "It must be disorienting, plucked from your own world and thrust into ours. Your 'Japan' sounds like nothing we know." She took a seat opposite him, her gaze surprisingly direct. "Arch-Mage Lysander has been curious about your unique magical signature, though it remains dormant. He believes it is a unique affinity, merely asleep."
This piqued Elias's interest. "My... magic?" he asked, struggling with the unfamiliar term. "I have no magic."
Seraphina chuckled softly, a light, melodious sound. "Oh, but you do. All beings of this world possess mana, in varying degrees. And the Arch-Mage senses a vast wellspring within you, though it is currently locked away. It is... unusual." She paused, then leaned forward conspiratorially. "Perhaps, being from another world, your magic manifests differently. It could be a powerful new force for Aethelgard, if unlocked."
For the next two days, Seraphina sought Elias out daily. She spoke to him in the gardens, explaining the different magical flora, patiently answering his hesitant questions about the kingdoms, their resources (Veridian's strength in trade and arcane knowledge, Khazad-Dum's unmatched mining and metalwork, Sylvani's mastery of agriculture and herbalism, and the Wildfangs' connection to untamed beasts and rare hides). She spoke of the Demon Lord, Valerius, not with fear, but with a fierce determination, casting herself as Aethelgard's resolute hope. She even spoke briefly of his "Mana Conduit" passive, though she called it an "unusual talent" for absorbing energy. She hinted at private lessons with her, to help him understand his dormant abilities.
Elias, despite his innate caution, found himself slowly disarmed. Her beauty was captivating, her intelligence sharp, and her simulated interest felt genuine. She listened to his clumsy attempts to describe Sapporo, the modern world, without scoffing. He began to think that perhaps his initial impression had been wrong, that she was simply a wary ruler protecting her people, and his awkward entry had caused a misunderstanding. The idea of unlocking his own powerful magic, something she seemed to believe he possessed, was intoxicating. The constant, gnawing fear eased, replaced by a tentative thread of hope.
On the fifth day after his arrival, as dusk painted the palace windows with hues of orange and violet, Seraphina found Elias in a quiet courtyard. "Elias," she whispered, her voice low and intimate, "I believe your unique mana signature requires a more... personal approach. The Arch-Mage's methods are too rigid for such an unconventional case. I have a theory, a delicate ritual, that might awaken your dormant magic. But it requires absolute privacy, and absolute trust."
She met his gaze, her emerald eyes shimmering with a mixture of invitation and challenge. "Come to my private chambers tonight. After the household sleeps. Only then can we attempt to unlock the power you truly hold." She held his gaze for a long moment, then smiled, a soft, alluring smile that promised revelations and connection. "Don't be late."
As she walked away, her form fading into the twilight, Elias felt a dizzying mix of anticipation and trepidation. The buzzing of his Perception passive had grown fainter, almost silenced by the siren call of her charm. He dismissed the lingering unease as simply his own awkwardness in this new world. He believed her. He believed in the promise of power, and perhaps, in a naive way, the promise of genuine acceptance.
He didn't know that Arch-Mage Lysander had watched their entire interaction from a hidden alcove, a faint, satisfied smile playing on his lips. Nor did he know that King Valerius, in his study, had already signed the decree of condemnation, awaiting only a signal. Elias was walking willingly into a perfectly laid trap, lured by a serpent in an angel's guise. The night would fall, and with it, his hopes.