The Goddess in the Room

Among the four figures strewn across the altar, the last was a complete anomaly. A single detail about her shattered every known law of my reality: she floated, suspended just an inch above the icy stone slab, a silent and ethereal presence. The very air around her seemed to shimmer, distorting the light like a heat haze, even as a palpable chill radiated from the altar itself. She was not from Terra; the conclusion was as immediate as it was profoundly unsettling. Her luminous, intelligent eyes remained fixed on me in a quiet, unblinking appraisal. Was I the only one witnessing this impossible sight? Now that she knew I could perceive her, was this levitation a conscious act—a message intended for me alone? That was a complex puzzle I could only begin to solve after I first managed the simpler, more ludicrous task of convincing everyone else that she was, in fact, completely invisible to them.

My gaze swept across the grand hall, searching for a pawn in the unexpected game I was now forced to play. I found my mark almost instantly: the messenger, the very same functionary who had escorted me into this gilded, ridiculous theater. He stood at rigid attention near a clutch of robed officials, a perfect model of servile obedience, his face a bland, impassive mask. “You!” The word tore from my throat, a raw, demanding shout that seemed to hang in the cavernous space.

His head, along with every other in the chamber, snapped toward me, accompanied by a collective, rustling gasp. A palpable wave of confusion rippled through the assembly, displacing the initial shock of the summons. The official protocols for this grand ceremony, whatever they had been, were now in tatters. The King, who should have been the calm center of power in this realm, appeared just as flummoxed as his subjects, his jaw slack and his eyes wide. And who could truly blame them? When you perform a sacred ritual to call forth legendary champions and instead receive three blood-spattered, bewildered misfits—one of whom had the distinct air of a career criminal—astonishment is the mildest possible reaction.

I needed a plausible pretext for my outburst, a ruse to verify my theory without revealing the true nature of my perception. “That pillar of light,” I announced, my voice resonating in the tense silence that followed my shout, “it has left spots dancing before my eyes.” I raised a hand to my brow, feigning a bout of disorientation. “My vision is blurred. Tell me, how many souls were summoned to this altar? I can discern several silhouettes, but the precise number escapes me.”

“What?” The messenger, startled to be addressed so directly, needed a moment to process the command. “Ah, yes. Of course.” He turned his gaze back toward the altar, his eyes traveling meticulously across the platform. His lips moved in a silent count of the figures he perceived. “Three!” he finally declared, his voice ringing with a renewed and entirely misplaced conviction. “Three heroes have been successfully summoned!”

The word was a spark dropped into a tinderbox. The assembly erupted. A low murmur of whispers rapidly swelled into a chaotic din as nobles and courtiers began to argue amongst themselves, their voices overlapping in a frantic cacophony. Not a single person contested the envoy’s count. The truth struck me with the force of a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs: they could not see the luminous, beautiful woman who hovered just above the stone, a phantom limb of reality that only I could perceive.

This immediately raised a horrifying question: By what power, or what curse, had I been granted the sight to see her?

The other three were still reeling from the violent repercussions of their interdimensional abduction. The man of apparent Nihonese descent, dressed in a bespoke suit now tragically stained, was panting for breath, his chest heaving with ragged, desperate gulps of air. Beside him, the young woman coughed, a feeble, wet sound that spoke of internal injury. But the old man in the straitjacket—he was forged from something else entirely, some formidable, sterner material. He was already on his feet, his head swiveling with a savage and predatory serenity. His cold, sharp eyes scanned his new surroundings, cataloging the architecture, the exits, and evaluating every person present as a potential threat. The intensity of that gaze was terrifying. Easy there, grandpa, I thought with a grim sense of irony. You’re going to give these pampered nobles a collective heart attack.

The commotion from the crowd persisted, a frantic debate over the fate of these three so-called “heroes,” who, with their bloodstains and bruised faces, looked anything but. The King, his face a mask of regal astonishment, conferred with a council of robed elders in hushed, urgent tones. He was clearly staggered by the shock of summoning one failure, let alone a trio of them.

“NO!” The King’s voice, a raw scream of unadulterated fury, suddenly ripped through the hall, silencing all other sound. His features twisted into a grotesque mask of rage. “This cannot be! Not again! It is not possible!”

He broke away from his advisors, snarling like a cornered beast, and strode with furious purpose toward the altar.

“Your Highness, no!” a few of his attendants cried out, rushing forward as if to intercept him. “It is too dangerous! Stay back!”

Their pleas were utterly useless. The King’s enraged stride transitioned into a powerful, almost weightless leap. He landed heavily on the altar, his elaborate robes whirling around him like a storm cloud. He made a direct line for the Nihonese businessman, who was still on his knees, dazed and struggling to comprehend his situation.

“Young hero!” the King bellowed, his voice trembling with unrestrained anger. “I am King Ramstaros! Welcome to my kingdom of Aeridor Valeria!”

It was a catastrophically poor decision. One does not scream at a man who is clearly in shock, appears to have just survived a violent altercation, and is still clutching a weapon.

The Nihonese man’s head jerked upward as if jolted by an electric shock. His eyes, wide and wild, fixed on the enraged monarch looming over him. In that instant, instinct—or perhaps muscle memory honed by training—obliterated his confusion. In a single, fluid motion, he scrambled to his feet, bringing the semi-automatic handgun he clutched in his right hand to bear, aiming it squarely at the King’s chest.

The reaction was immediate. The royal guards flanking the throne charged forward, their discipline overriding their fear. They formed a seamless wall of steel and flesh before King Ramstaros, their tower shields locking together with a resounding clang, the tips of their spears forming a dense forest of sharpened metal pointed directly at the gunman.

I watched the Nihonese man’s eyes, noting the rapid dilation and contraction of his pupils. His vision was still swimming, not yet adjusted to the alien light and strange environment. The entire situation was a powder keg, and the King had just lit the fuse.

Deciding I had observed quite enough of this diplomatic incident in the making, I vaulted onto the altar myself.

“Alright, that’s enough!” My voice cut through the tension like a blade. “King Ramstaros, for your own safety, you will step back. Now.” I gestured sharply, pushing him with the force of my will away from the trembling firearm. “Leave this to me.”

I turned my attention to the newcomer, whose pistol was now wavering erratically between me and the King’s guard. “And you,” I said, my tone level but forceful. “You will not discharge that weapon. Not yet.”

My gaze swept the entire room, commanding their attention. “Everyone, give these people a moment to reacquaint themselves with consciousness! Give them time to find their bearings! Especially you, King. You continue to act like this, and you will get yourself killed.”

The King said nothing. He glared at me, his teeth clenched in silent outrage, but he did, to his credit, retreat from the altar. His guards shuffled backward with him, their defensive phalanx remaining unbroken.

I remained on the altar, a self-appointed mediator in an inter-world crisis. For a long, pregnant minute, the only sound was the ragged breathing of the summoned. Even King Ramstaros, watching from a distance with a simmering fury, did not dare break the fragile peace.

Slowly, the newcomers began to recover. The young woman’s pained groans subsided, and the businessman’s breathing evened out, his posture straightening from a defeated slump to a tense, coiled readiness. With the eerily composed old man and the beautiful, floating woman already staring at me, I felt it was time to talk.

“Alright, you all seem lucid enough. Let’s have a conversation—”

“Where the hell am I?” The Nihonese man cut me off, his voice a tight coil of contained panic. The pistol snapped back up, pointing directly at my heart. “What is happening?” For all his apparent frenzy, his grip on the weapon was unnervingly steady. His English was excellent, colored by a distinct Nihonese accent that confirmed my initial guess as to his origin.

I held up a placating hand. “Slow down,” I said calmly. “There’s no need for hysterics.”

“Who are you people? What is this place?”

“I told you to calm down,” I repeated, then shot a sardonic thumbs-up toward the glowering monarch. “If you feel the absolute need to point that thing at someone, point it at the old man in the fancy clothes over there.” The King’s scowl deepened. “You, like me, are a victim of kidnapping,” I explained, gesturing with my chin toward the shocked assembly. “These are the people responsible.”

A collective gasp of “Insolence!” echoed from the gallery. So, I was not wrong.

Ignoring them, I continued in a deliberately flat, instructional tone. “I know this is going to sound strange, but you are no longer on Terra. This place has magic. It’s another world—whether that means a distant planet or another dimension, I’m not yet sure.”

The Nihonese man stumbled back a step, his eyes wide with a dawning horror. “Another world?” I had expected vehement denial, but instead, he seemed to accept the possibility with a terrifying composure born of profound shock.

The other two, the old man and the young woman, simply listened, their expressions unreadable.

“Another world, indeed,” I confirmed. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a critically important question for all of you. On your way here, did you encounter anyone… unusual? Perhaps a being of some kind? Something that might present itself as a god or a goddess.” A direct approach seemed the best way to learn about the fabled “gift” the summoning was meant to bestow. “Think very carefully. Your answer could very well determine your future here.”

“W-what?” He looked utterly lost, his face a blank canvas of confusion. Just as I suspected. This one was a bust.

“You met no one?”

“What are you talking about? I don’t understand. I was… I was at the office, and then—”

“Alright,” I interrupted, my patience wearing thin. I turned away from him, already writing him off as a lost cause. “You’re a failure. Next.”