Shadow Heros

That Word Again

I woke up choking on incense. My eyes snapped open to a vaulted ceiling painted with constellations I didn't recognize. Stone pillars rose around me, carved with symbols that seemed to writhe when I looked directly at them. I was lying on cold marble, wearing clothes that definitely weren't mine—some kind of rough tunic and pants that felt like they'd been woven from tree bark.

"The fourth one's awake," someone said. I set up too fast, head spinning. Three other people stood nearby, all looking as confused as I felt. A tall guy with red hair and the build of someone who never missed a gym day. A petite girl with short black hair and wary eyes. A brown-haired guy who was studying everything with unsettling intensity.

Beyond them stood a group of robed figures, and what looked like actual Knights in actual armor. A lead robed figure—an old man with a beard that probably had its own zip code—stepped forward, arms spread wide.

"Heroes," he proclaimed, his voice echoing off the stone. "Welcome to Meditar. You have been summoned in our kingdom's hour of greatest need."

"Summoned?" The red-haired guy found his voice first. "What the hell is this?"

"You have been chosen." The old man continued, ignoring the interruption. "Four heroes from another world, brought here to save the Kingdom of wisteria from the darkness that threatens to consume us. Dungeons spawn monsters that ravage our lands. Our people suffer. Our soldiers fall. Only you, blessed with otherworldly power, can turn the tide."

I looked down at my hands. They looked the same. Felt the same.

"I was hit by a truck."

"Your mortal forms died, yes. But your souls were chosen. Purified. Reborn here with abilities beyond normal men." The old man smile was supposed to be comforting, it wasn't. "Come. We must assess your capabilities."

They lead us through a castle that seemed pulled from every fantasy story I'd ever read. Tapestries depicting Dragons and battles. Servants who bowed as we passed. Knights with actual swords. My mind kept insisting this was a dream, some dying hallucination as I bled out on that street corner. But it felt too real. The cold stone under my bare feet. The smell of wood smoke and something cooking in a distant kitchen. The way my heart hammered against my ribs.

The testing chamber was smaller, more intimate. A crystal orb sat on a pedestal in the center, glowing with inner light. Beside it stood a woman in midnight blue robes, her eyes sharp and calculating.

"Place your hand upon the assessment stone," she instructed. "It will reveal your power level and natural abilities."

The redhead guy went first. The moment his palm touched the crystal, it erupted with light, blazing so bright I had to shield my eyes. Numbers appeared in the air above it, glowing gold. 8,750. The robed figures gasped. Murmured amongst themselves.

"Exceptional," the old man breathed. "And your skills?" more symbols materialized. Advanced swordsmanship. Fire magic affinity. Enhanced strength. The redhead guy—Marcus. He said his name was—looked smug. The girl, Yuki, went next. 7,920.

"Incredible." Advanced archery. Lightning magic. Enhanced reflexes.

Rhen, the calculating one, touched the stone with steady fingers. 8,100. Ice magic. Tactical analysis. Barrier creation.

Then it was my turn.

I placed my hand on the crystal, half-expecting nothing to happen. Maybe I'd been summoned by mistake. Maybe I'd wake up in a hospital any second. The stone flickered. Barely. A weak, guttering light that looked embarrassed to exist.

127. The number hung in the air like an accusation. Basic Herbalism. Basic survival. Instinct. Basic magic potential.

Basic. A Nobody. Again

The silence stretched out, painful and thick. I felt three pairs of eyes on me, the other heroes' expressions ranging from pity to disgust. The robed figures weren't even trying to hide that disappointment.

"This is..." The old man began.

"Pathetic." Marcus finished. "You summoned four heroes and got three and a half?"

"Perhaps the ritual was flawed," the woman in blue said, her tone clinical. "Or this one's soul was too weak to properly receive the blessing."

My face burned. I wanted to argue, to defend myself, but what could I say? The numbers didnn't lie. Next to the others, I was nothing. A child playing at being powerful.

"We cannot afford to waste resources on one so lacking," the old man decided. His earlier warmth had evaporated. "the Kingdom faces annihilation. We need true heroes not..." he didn't finish. Didn't need to.

Two knights escorted me out a side door while the others continued their assessment. No ceremony. No apology. They let me through increasingly shabby corridors until we reached a service exit that opened onto a crowded street.

"The northern districts are that way," one might said, pointing vaguely. "Find and inn. Work. Stay out of trouble." He pressed a small pouch into my hands. The coins inside clicked. "Compensation for your...inconvenience." then they closed the door.

I stood in the street as people flowed around me, merchants hawking wares in a language I somehow understood, the smell of roasting meat, unwashed bodies overwhelming my senses. The sky above was too blue, with two moons visible even in daylight.

I died saving a child. Woken up in another world. Been told I was a hero. And then thrown away like garbage. I had no home or life to return to, nor did they offer, just sent me on my way to survive. I looked down at the pouch of coins, then if my trembling hands.

Basic magic potential, the stone had said. Maybe basic was all that ever be. Or maybe, just maybe, basic was only the beginning …