The Second Summoned

Hundreds of people had gathered.

Nobles in garments heavy with gold and sacred symbols. Generals in gleaming armor. Priests, high-ranking mages, scholars of the ritual. All of them staring toward the center of the hall.

Toward the circle.

The goddess descended slowly from above, wrapped in a soft, almost maternal radiance. Her white dress looked as though it were woven from light itself, and her expression… was serene. Too serene for a world trembling before a new calamity.

On the throne, the king watched in silence.

Older than the last time. More tired. His beard showed streaks of gray that hadn’t been there before. At his side stood a tall man, dressed in an immaculate black suit, white gloves, posture straight as a sheathed sword.

The butler.

Lyam.

His gray eyes were not fixed on the goddess or the summoning circle, but on the mages who were beginning to channel their power. As if he were evaluating… as if he were measuring something invisible.

—Begin —ordered the archmage.

The circle engraved into the floor responded at once. Ancient runes lit up one after another, forming a complex web of arcane symbols. The air grew heavy, dense, vibrating.

The mages began to chant in unison.

A familiar summoning.Tested.Used once before.

Once… that ended in failure.

Light surged from the circle like a blinding pillar, and for an instant, no one breathed.

Then, someone appeared.

A young man.

Dark hair, confident posture, clothes strange to that world. He looked around with a crooked smile, like someone who had just won the lottery without fully understanding the rules.

—Huh? —he said—. Is this… for real?

The goddess descended before him, repeating words rehearsed for centuries.

Welcome.You have been summoned.You are the hero destined to face the demonic calamity.

The king spoke next, in a grave voice, promising glory, resources, power… and sacrifice.

But this time, when he finished, he added something more.

Something not written in the ritual.Something absent from the texts.

—Do not fail us.

The silence that followed was uncomfortable.

The new hero blinked… then laughed.

—That? —he said, placing his hands on his hips—. Relax. If you summoned me, it’s because I’m the right guy, right? I’ve got this. Save the world, beat demons, fame, girls… sounds easy.

Some nobles smiled, relieved.Others frowned.

Lyam did not react.

He only watched.

Kaito stirred the pot slowly, letting the steam escape through the open window. The fields stretched out before him, peaceful, bathed in a warm light that had nothing to do with rituals or prophecies.

—I still remember… —he murmured—. I wish I didn’t.

Five years.

Five years since that hall.Five years since those same words turned him into something the world needed… and then discarded.

He served the food calmly, as if time itself had no urgency there. As if the world were not about to repeat the same mistake.

And, without meaning to, his mind drifted back.

The room was absurd.

Far too large for a single person. Silk curtains, hand-carved furniture, a bed that seemed to swallow the body whole. Kaito had spent his first night there unable to sleep, staring at the ceiling, wondering if any of it was real.

She was the one who knocked at the door at dawn.

—G-good morning —she said, bowing far too deeply—. My name is Aira. I will be your personal maid starting today.

She had light-colored hair, tied simply, rough hands despite her clean uniform. Her eyes… were full of curiosity. Not reverence. Genuine interest.

—Personal… maid? —he asked.

—Y-yes. For whatever you need. Food, clothes, company…

She said that last word so softly it was barely audible.

She was his first friend.

The only one who didn’t treat him like a symbol.

They spent hours talking. He told her about his world, about video games, about stories where the hero always won. She listened, fascinated—but when they walked through the gardens or the training yard, Kaito noticed something.

Aira would stop to watch the swords.

How the soldiers held them.How they moved.How they breathed before striking.

—Do you like it? —he asked her once.

She startled.

—I-I shouldn’t… I’m just a maid.

—That doesn’t answer the question.

She hesitated. Then nodded.

Kaito spoke with the instructors.With the king.He insisted more than he should have.

Aira stopped cleaning rooms and began training.

She cried on the first day.She bled on the second.She smiled on the third.

—Now —Kaito thought, stirring the stew— she’s the strongest swordswoman in the kingdom.

And that wasn’t an exaggeration.

Kaito’s training was brutal.

Water magic flowed through him naturally, but controlling it… was another matter. He spent hours exhausted, soaked, his head pounding, trying to form ever more complex spells.

There was always someone watching.

Lyam.

Sometimes from afar.Sometimes far too close.

He never intervened.Never corrected him.He only watched.

—Who is he? —Kaito asked once.

—The royal butler —they replied—. Nothing more.

But it didn’t feel like “nothing more.”

There were moments when Kaito felt his presence even without seeing him. As if an ancient shadow were judging every step he took.

One day, during a break, Lyam spoke.

—Power without experience is fragile —he said, pouring tea—. But experience without power… is cruel.

—Is that advice? —Kaito asked.

Lyam looked at him.

—It is an observation.

Nothing more.

Kaito turned off the fire and sat down to eat by the window.

The sun was beginning to sink.

—They’ve already summoned him… —he said softly—. And this time, they don’t intend to forgive.

He looked toward the horizon, where shadows stretched across the fields.

—If it happens again… —he whispered—. This time, there won’t be anyone left to blame.

He clenched his teeth.

He wasn’t a hero.He didn’t want to be one again.

But he knew something no one else seemed to remember:

The calamity does not forgive mistakes twice.

And he… had already lost once.