Summoning

The floor was hard beneath his boots. Gradually, Jere became aware of himself - standing upright, eyes closed, wings retracted, weapons silent. His clothing felt strangely light, almost weightless against his skin, as though the air itself was holding him aloft. Yet something was off. The atmosphere pressed differently here - thinner, lighter, but infused with an unfamiliar density that made each breath sharp.

He opened his eyes.

The sight that met him was nothing he could have predicted.

He stood inside a vast hall, reminiscent of an ancient cathedral. Its ceiling stretched high above, painted with sprawling murals of gods and kings, figures locked in holy battles. Towering stone pillars rose like trees to hold up the painted heavens, and stained-glass windows spilled fractured sunlight across the floor, casting long, colored shadows.

Around him, forming a wide circle, stood men in simple, monk-like robes. Their hoods were drawn back, revealing faces pale with shock. Their expressions suggested they had expected something else entirely - someone else.

Beyond their ring stood another figure, immediately distinct. Draped in heavy red and white robes, with a golden crown gleaming on his brow, a man with the bearing of authority gazed directly at Jere. At his side stood two others: a slender woman in flowing white silks, delicate as a statue carved from ivory, and a dark-clad man whose sharp features mirrored his mind. Guards lined the outer edges of the hall - soldiers in polished armor, spears and swords gripped tightly, as though even they were unsure if they faced a guest or a threat.

Jere’s enhanced mind catalogued every detail in a blink - locations, stances, weapons, exits. He built and discarded a dozen strategies for offense and defense in the space of a heartbeat. Yet outwardly he remained motionless, unreadable. His folded wings itched, straining against the restraint of the metal panels hidden beneath his back.

Then the crowned man stepped forward.

“Hero! Thank you for answering our call!”

Jere’s head tilted slightly. He had answered no call. His GPS unit was dead. The encrypted link to his command network had gone silent. There was only static where orders should be.

The king spread his arms, his voice warm and practiced.

“Welcome to the Kingdom of Yaffe! I am Cyneric, King of this land.”

A king. Jere’s mind turned the word over, searching for relevance. Where was he?

“Please, lend us your aid in the battle against the demon forces!”

That brought him up short. Demon forces? No such adversary existed in his records. He was adrift - no orders, no familiar chain of command, and no trust for the people in this room. His wings twitched beneath his skin, restless for release.

The King waited expectantly, but Jere gave no answer. His expression was still, his eyes fixed and unblinking. A bead of unease crept into the King’s voice.

“Hero? Are you… are you well?”

The man took another cautious step forward.

Jere considered his options. A display of strength would establish boundaries quickly. So, when the king moved closer, Jere released the restraint.

In less than half a second, the black wings unfurled to their full span, slicing the air with a soft hiss. They rose behind him like the shadow of a raven, vast and dark, and the atmosphere in the hall shifted instantly. Monks staggered back, robes rustling, faces blanched with terror.

A strangled cry rose from one of them.

“D-d-demon… we’ve summoned a d-demon!”

The room fell into silence, broken only by ragged breathing. Jere’s eyes swept over them, measuring, analyzing, weighing threat against panic. Then, slowly, deliberately, he drew his wings back in, folding them beneath the slits in his clothing until they locked once more within the panels of his back.

Now was the time to ask questions.

“Why am I here?”

No one moved. His voice was calm, almost flat, yet it carried a weight that pressed into every ear.

“Why am I here?” he repeated.

The King swallowed hard, summoning courage.

“H-hero, you are here to aid us in our struggle against the demon forces.”

Jere’s gaze narrowed. The King’s words trembled as he continued.

“Y-you are here because… because the summoning spell always calls forth the most powerful being that has recently… passed away.”

Passed away. The phrase rang strangely in Jere’s mind. If the King spoke the truth, then he had died in the nuclear fire, and what stood here now was something pulled from the ashes. Yet there was no memory of death, no glimpse of an afterlife. Only the void between, as though his artificial nature had left him stranded in some liminal state until drawn forth.

His thoughts aligned with the efficiency of a machine. The key question crystallized: what is my purpose, now that I have no orders to follow?

He looked at the King.

“Then… are you my superior now?”

The King faltered, eyes wide. “I-I… I suppose… so?”

Jere inclined his head once. A purpose was better than none.

“Then I will follow your commands to the best of my ability.”

He lowered his head, voice steady.

“Please give me my first order.”

The King hesitated, then straightened his posture and cleared his throat.
“May I have your name?”

Jere considered this. Protocol dictated that when addressing a superior, he should use his designation, not his human alias.
“J-1.”

The King faltered, as though struggling to make sense of the strange name, but nodded.
“Then, J-1. Your first order is…”

He turned to the dark-grey robed man beside him. The figure leaned close, whispering something too quiet for Jere to catch. The King listened, then turned back.
“...to eliminate a small forward encampment of demons in the northern plains, and rescue the village they currently besiege. Can you do that?”

Jere nodded. He didn’t know what a demon was in this world. On Earth, the word meant a spiritual creature of evil. Here, it could mean something else entirely. It was best not to assume. Still, he was confident. If it lived, if it breathed, he could kill it.

The King gestured a monk forward. The man shuffled with visible reluctance, every step heavy, as though death itself waited for him should he disobey. Jere, uncertain of the monk’s intent, extended his wings with a sharp metallic hiss. The sight froze the monk in place.

“Don’t hurt him!” the King barked quickly. “He’s going to give you a map of this world.”

Jere’s wings slid back with a whisper of folding plates. The monk exhaled in relief, then raised his hands. A faint green glow formed between his palms.

Instantly, Jere’s internal GPS flickered online. His HUD populated with topographical detail, an entirely new map integrating seamlessly into his processors. He had never been in this world before, but now he understood its layout as though it were burned into his mind.

And yet his focus wasn’t only on the data. His processors struggled to interpret what had just happened. The glow, the sudden influx of information - it didn’t align with Earth’s logic. The only frame of reference he had came from music: songs that spoke of a power called magic, often metaphorical, often tied to love. The descriptions matched closely enough. He filed it away under that term. Magic. And the monk? A mage.

Jere nodded to the King. “I am ready.”

The King inclined his head. “Then go.”

At his gesture, two armored figures pushed open the massive wooden double doors at the front of the church. Light spilled into the chamber. Jere turned and strode forward, past trembling mages and cowering guards, out into the sun.

He didn’t feel its warmth. His body could process heat, but the sensation served no purpose. He filtered it out. What registered instead were the conditions: warm air, steady currents, a cloudless sky. Perfect weather for flight - not that storms would have stopped him.

The church stood on a hill, overlooking a sprawling medieval city encircled by stout walls. To the left rose a grand palace, its towers stabbing at the heavens with undeniable majesty. Jere regarded it all with cool detachment. Observation. Assessment. Nothing more.

Behind him, he sensed the eyes of the congregation - fear, awe, curiosity, all pressing against his back like physical weight. He ignored them. His purpose was forward.

He deployed his wings. Plates slid apart, black metal unfurling with mechanical grace. They stretched wide in the sunlight, gleaming as he flexed and tested each joint. With a thought, the leading edges sharpened, edges catching the light like drawn blades.

His processors finished their preflight checks in under two seconds. Systems green. Flight optimal.

The wings rose high, then crashed downward with a thunderous beat that rattled the earth. Dust scattered, streaming into the church and ruffling the King’s hair. Jere surged skyward, ion engines igniting with a banshee’s wail.

The sound froze the city below. Every face turned upward, searching for the source, but by then Jere was already gone - nothing more than a black streak cutting toward the northern horizon.