An Exchange of Worlds

Her face tells a story I have read countless times before. It is a narrative etched not in ink, but in the fine, intricate web of lines around her eyes—a silent testament to a sorrow far too profound for someone so young. A deep and abiding sadness hangs over her features, creating a stark contrast with the sharp intelligence that animates her gaze. She must understand, with a precocious wisdom that should be alien to a child, that her own appointment at the state’s sacrificial altar is merely a few years hence. The grim machinery of political marriage is no stranger to her. The thought alone triggers an unwelcome echo within me, a phantom vibration from the man I once was, back when my work was more direct, more brutally physical. That unrestrained man might have offered her a way out, a path to slip the bars of this gilded cage. I, however, am now confined in a newer, far stranger prison, caught in a cosmos I cannot begin to fathom. She is blind to the invisible manacles that bind my own hands.

Her brow creases, her eyes narrowing as she performs a critical, sweeping appraisal of my person. You dare not pity me, child, the look seems to convey. If pity is to be offered here, it is I who should be offering it to you.

“So, there is some decency in you after all,” she resumes, her voice reclaiming the sharp, judicial quality it had possessed earlier. “I was beginning to suspect you were nothing more than an uncultured brute.”

It appeared my standing had improved, if only marginally. “What can I tell you? I’m one of the good guys.”

The faintest suggestion of a smile touches her lips, a fleeting curvature devoid of warmth, holding only a dry, perceptive amusement. “I am certain you are.” She was already learning the shape of my humor. “What is it you require now? I presume you have inquiries regarding my world.”

She makes a dismissive gesture with her hand, a motion as regal as any monarch’s. “That is of no consequence,” she replies, her attention clearly elsewhere. “I am far more invested in ascertaining the true character of the legendary hero.”

“Is that the extent of it?” I ask, settling back against the cold stone wall. “You just want to… get to know me?”

“Yes. And while that may strike you as a triviality, it is, I assure you, a matter of supreme importance to me.”

A small, genuine smile finds my lips. This presented an opening. It was a chance to construct a new image of myself, a portrait that, with sufficient time and effort, might become the very key to unlock my cell. The only question was how much of the unvarnished truth I ought to reveal.

“Alright, where should I start? The name is Axl. I’m nearing my thirty-first year. In my world, that makes me a young adult, though I have no frame of reference for how you measure time here.”

She offers me a look of pure incredulity, her eyes raking my face as if seeking out wrinkles and age lines that were simply not present. I supposed I didn’t look my age, especially not under the harsh, sterile glow of this peculiar, luminous stone.

“By the classifications of my home, I’d be considered mixed-race. Half-Western, half-Asian. I am fluent in Spanish, Mandarin, English, and a smattering of other dialects.” I pause, a sudden, jarring insight striking me with the force of a physical blow. How was I understanding her? The words she spoke were flawless, unaccented English, yet a peculiar dissonance was tugging at the edges of my perception. Now that I was paying closer attention, I could see it: the movement of her lips was not in perfect synchrony with the sounds reaching my ears. It was a subtle, profoundly unnerving disconnect. I decided it was best not to press the issue. For the moment, I would simply be grateful that the wall of language had been inexplicably, miraculously dismantled.

Her eyes sharpened, becoming as focused as a hawk’s. “I am unfamiliar with these classifications you use. Are you suggesting your lineage is a composite of different peoples? And how have you mastered our language so perfectly?”

“You could phrase it that way,” I reply with caution. “As for the language… I have absolutely no idea.”

“I see.” She crosses her arms, her expression turning inward, lost in contemplation. “It must be a boon from the Deity.”

A boon from the Deity. The phrase stirred a faint memory, a half-forgotten echo from the chaos of the summoning. “What in the hell are you talking about? Was I supposed to have been blessed or something?”

She gazes at me as though I had just voiced the most egregious blasphemy. Had I misspoken?

“The Deity watches over all our people!” she proclaims, her voice vibrating with the fervent conviction of a zealot. “Valeria, the celestial protector and benefactor of our glorious Aeridor Kingdom! The legends state that heroes who are successfully summoned are granted magnificent boons! That is what distinguishes a summoned hero from the champions of our own world. They wield a vast and unknowable power, sufficient to vanquish evil and protect the faithful.” A devout fire kindles in her eyes, transforming her from a world-weary princess into an enraptured disciple. For an instant, her regal composure vanishes, revealing the young girl underneath, completely captivated by heroic epics. This, at least, was familiar ground.

“I get it,” I say, raising my hands in a placating gesture. “But I don’t feel any different. No faster, no smarter, no stronger. Are you absolutely positive about these boons?”

“It cannot be otherwise! The legend is explicit: the summoned hero is always blessed! The histories speak of one who could shatter castle ramparts with a single strike, another who commanded the winds and rode the currents of the sky, and a third whose charisma was so overwhelming that none could refuse his requests. The archives even imply they could petition for the very authority they wished to possess.”

“So there have been others? I’m not the first.” The weight of that implication settled deep in my stomach. “Which means plucking heroes from other worlds is a regular occurrence here.”

“The summoning rite is ancient. There are dozens of cases on record, and surely countless more that were performed in secret.”

“If you’re summoning heroes that frequently, this demon lord you spoke of must be one hell of a persistent foe not to have been defeated by now.”

“The demon lord was annihilated long ago,” she states softly. “But from the ashes of the defeated, a new demon tribe will invariably emerge. And for that reason, a hero is perpetually needed to suppress the demon kin.”

A hateful, endless cycle. This was not a new concept to me. Different variables, same damned equation. On Terra, such forever-wars were fought between nations over ideology, religion, or race. This ‘demon lord’ was likely just the leader of another people.

“Wait just a minute, missy,” I say, my voice hardening with resolve. “This is starting to sound like a perpetual war. Let’s cover the fundamentals: why are you fighting the demon kin to begin with?”

She recites the answer with the rote, unthinking rhythm of a catechism committed to memory in childhood. “It has ever been so. The histories teach that the demons will stop at nothing to bring harm to our people, and so we must defend ourselves. The only path to ending the conflict is their complete eradication.”

“Harmed your people? Are they actual monsters? What do they look like?”

“The texts describe them as mindless abominations with horns and claws, grotesque fiends that consume everything in their path.”

“Hold on. ‘The histories teach,’ ‘the texts describe.’ Have you ever laid eyes on one yourself?”

She hesitates. For the first time, her regal bearing cracks completely, exposing a flicker of genuine uncertainty. “Well, ah, I… I have not,” she admits, her gaze falling to the stone floor. “My entire life has been spent within the imperial capital. The demon kin reside on their own continent, far to the east.”

Her hands are trembling, a minute, telling movement. It was time to push my advantage.

“Then how can you be so certain they are mindless beasts?”

The little princess is struck dumb. She looks down, unable to formulate a reply. When she finally lifts her head again, the bewilderment in her eyes has been supplanted by a spark of thrilling discovery. “So it is true,” she whispers, speaking more to herself than to me. “She was right. You really are different.”

What was that all about?

“Alright then, princess,” I interject, wresting control of the dialogue. “Tell me about this world. If you want me to do anything for your cause, I need to understand exactly what I am up against.”

From what I could piece together, this place was mired in a pseudo-medieval stasis. Plate mail in place of composite armor, swords and lances instead of firearms. The only piece of technology that seemed incongruous was the glowing stone inside the lantern, which bathed the cell in a cold, sterile luminescence. If they hadn’t even harnessed basic electricity, they had to be centuries behind. A vortex of questions began to spin in my mind, a frantic hum of doubt and escalating panic. Am I trapped here indefinitely? Is there any way back to Terra? What became of my life, my world? Was it all just wiped away?

“I suppose it falls to me to educate you,” she says, adopting the self-important air of a senior officer briefing a raw recruit. “You ought to be thankful that the kind and generous me is willing to tell you about our world.”

“My dear princess, you are a truly magnanimous soul. Not only are you possessed of great beauty, but you are also wise and considerate beyond your years.” I laid the flattery on thick, a calculated maneuver to gauge her reaction. A little charm might just be the key to this particular lock.

“…”

Silence.

She takes a half-step back, her features contorting into an expression of utter revulsion. “What do you imagine you are saying to a child?” she hisses, her voice dripping with venom. “So you harbor those sorts of inclinations, do you?”

What on Earth? “No, you have it completely wrong!” I protest, shooting upright. This had taken a calamitously wrong turn. Was this the boundary of her worldly experience? “I am not a pederast! I am attracted to mature women!”

And then she laughs. The sound, as clear and bright as a silver bell, erupts from her, shattering the tense atmosphere. “Hahaha, look at your face!” Could she read minds? “You presumed that because I am young, I would be vulnerable to such clumsy adulation. I can assure you, lecher, you will find no weakness here to exploit.”

Ouch. That last word stung.

“What are you even talking about?” I retort, arching an eyebrow and gesturing vaguely at the ceiling. “I am a man of impeccable moral character, from every conceivable angle. I would never entertain such a notion.”

“So virtuous,” she scoffs, though her eyes still danced with mirth. “I am impressed. However, if you desire my assistance, you will still be required to beg for it using the ‘magic word.’”

A muscle in my jaw clenched. If not for the iron bars separating us, I would be sorely tempted to pinch her ear and lead her on a tour of the room.

“Very well then, Your Highness,” I reply, my voice saturated with exaggerated reverence. “Oh, paragon of grace, blessed with unparalleled beauty and kindness beneath these alien heavens, would you PLEASE deign to share a fragment of your infinite wisdom with this lowly, humble servant, as a pure act of aristocratic benevolence?”

“Tch.” She snorts, a proud, smug little sound, entirely impervious to my sarcasm. “I was going to inform you regardless. Just ensure you reciprocate by telling me about your world.”

Didn’t she just claim she wasn’t interested in where I came from?

And so the evening passed. Separated by cold iron, we spent hours trading tales of our respective homes. I discovered that while this world’s technology was indeed rudimentary, life was far from the primitive struggle I had envisioned. They wielded an alternative form of energy, something she called ‘mana,’ which fueled their society in ways I was only starting to comprehend. And the little princess, for all her earlier declarations of disinterest, was utterly mesmerized by the technological wonders of my world. I described structures that pierced the clouds and metal chariots that soared without wings or incantations. She strove to maintain her veneer of detached composure, but she could not conceal the sheer astonishment that widened her eyes as I spoke. She would lean forward, her breath catching, bombarding me with surprisingly astute questions about physics and engineering. She had put up an impressive front, but beneath it all lay a fiercely inquisitive mind, starved for a universe beyond her own.