It was just another day for Princess Asmirala Cronell. Like any other, she woke up at first light and was then slowly but meticulously attended to—bathed and dressed in clothes not of her own choosing. Being the 13th princess of the Cronell Kingdom wasn’t easy, but it had its perks. Despite what anyone else might think, anonymity inside the castle was one of them. Being one of the 28 legal children and 24th in line for the throne meant an odd sense of inflated importance outside the castle, but inside, almost no one cared what she did.
Yes, today was like any other—except for one thing. She had overheard talks of a strange familiar summoning ritual that was to be conducted today. It was no secret that the Prime Mage of Cronell had been visiting the castle a little too often these past few weeks, but few knew about the ritual set to take place. What Asmirala had heard was that the ritual was supposed to be a major breakthrough, capable of summoning beings from truly out of this world instead of just exotic native creatures or newly birthed magic-born entities. She was excited, and as soon as she finished breakfast, she sprinted to the basement, where the highest-grade magic testing room was located.
The room was being used for the experiment due to its highly secure nature and enough magical shielding to render even a Rank 4 magic user helpless to enter or leave—perhaps even a Rank 5, if they were an unintelligent monster. Asmirala could only sneak in at all because she was one of the select few people recorded in the control crystal as having unrestricted access. That, and she knew of a small vent she was bittersweet about still being able to fit into.
She walked up to the guards outside the ritual room, who immediately gave slight bows before resuming their stance.
“What’s going on? Can’t I go in? I just read about a spell that creates a giant flower of fire, and I want to test it out,” Asmirala said, playing it cool. Later, if anyone asked, she could feign ignorance. She laughed internally.
“Apologies, Your Highness. There is someone already present, and they will be using the chamber for another five to six hours. According to our orders, we cannot let anyone in.”
“Do you not know who I am? Who is in the chamber that you would deny me?”
“Unfortunately, Princess Asmirala, we have been instructed not to disclose who is inside or what is happening. This order comes directly from His Majesty, your father.”
“Oh… so Dad is in there too? I have to see this,” Asmirala mumbled to herself.
“Hm? What was that, Your Highness? Again, my apologies for the inconvenience.”
“It’s fine. As you were.”
Asmirala turned back and started climbing the stairs, but halfway up, she saw the vent—magically keeping the air flowing even this deep underground. She ducked and started crawling inside making sure no one had seen her. Being caught here wouldn’t be the end of the world, but it wouldn’t be pleasant either, her mother was 5th queen but she was one the queens nonetheless and It wouldn’t be a good look on her If Asmirala was caught sneaking around spying on a secret ritual.
As she made her way through the vents toward an opening overlooking the chamber, she began hearing voices. When she reached her vantage point, she spotted Sir Grenshaw, the Prime Mage of Cronell, speaking with the king. Alongside them stood an odd group of individuals, their presence commanding attention. Most of them were unfamiliar to Asmirala. They stood a few feet away from the ritual circle drawn on the ground, gemstones placed according to some logic beyond her understanding.
“As I’m sure you’re aware, we have long theorized the existence of other worlds similar to our own. Of course, this is not mere conjecture. Many historical records describe individuals who have glimpsed these other worlds, giving varied descriptions. By matching these descriptions with their corresponding frequencies, we have surmised that at least three worlds exist in close proximity to ours—inter-dimensionally speaking, of course.”
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“How confident are you about this, Grenshaw?” asked the King, Ruthar Cronell, Third of His Name.
“As confident as one can be without having seen these worlds firsthand. Even as one of the leading experts on dimensional and teleportation magic, I wouldn’t dare attempt to transport myself there without a stable anchor. It would be like throwing oneself off the back of a speeding dragon above an ocean and hoping to land on an island. But the reverse, I believe, is entirely possible. It’s like fishing. Do you go fishing these days, Ruthar?”
“I remind you, Grenshaw, that we are meeting in an official capacity, not having a tea party—though we should certainly arrange that as well. Address me appropriately. And no, I haven’t gone fishing in ages.”
Asmirala giggled quietly at seeing her father caught up in Grenshaw’s flow. That man had no sense of propriety.
“Ugh,” Grenshaw groaned but continued. “As I was saying, Your Majesty, Ruthar Cronell, Third of His Name, Hero of the One-Day War—you don’t need to know exactly where all the fish are to catch them, just a general area. Then, you set up the bait and let time do the work. We have developed a ritual that will give a slight feeling of a second chance to many recently deceased souls across the three worlds. Most will subconsciously ignore it or not notice at all, but if someone is willing, we can target them, reel their soul back to the mortal realm, and help it construct a new body.”
“So you’re fishing for souls? Isn’t this necromancy? That’s forbidden and considered the highest form of heresy,” snapped one of the attendees. Asmirala recognized the woman as someone from the church, judging by her white and blue robes, but she didn’t know her name.
“Who even let you in here? Undead don’t have souls. If anything, this is closer to the Fifth Rank Resurrection—” Grenshaw stopped as a gemstone placed just outside the large ritual circle flashed.
“It’s time. We have maybe a day before the worlds drift too far apart to risk the ritual,” Grenshaw said, stepping closer and beginning to chant.
A dark light surrounded him, followed by the gemstones lighting up in various colors. The ritual circle began emanating an odd sense of second chances. Asmirala didn’t think even the people here would sense the bait, but being this close to the source, she felt oddly hopeful and enthusiastic. Even that strong emotion paled in comparison to the extremely high-density magical radiance it was giving off, making everything else disappear to her magical senses like stars in daylight. When the final gem burst into a brilliant, impossibly black glow, three other attendants joined in, supporting the spell to replenish mana.
“The bait is set. Now we wait.”
“How long will it take?”
“Well, given that I lack precise numbers on the other worlds, it could be anywhere from a few minutes to no one taking the bait within our operational window.”
“Then was it truly worth the fortune spent setting up this ritual? You do realize some of those crystals came directly from my personal treasury, don’t you?”
“I know exactly how small a fraction they are of your personal treasury, Your Majesty,” Grenshaw said wryly. “One thing I do know—knowledge is power, and though expensive, is it not worth the price?”
“We will see.”
The tension in the chamber thickened, and Asmirala felt it. She couldn’t stay all day, but she would wait as long as possible. Her gaze wandered to the various people assembled—clergy members, Magic Society representatives, loyal nobles with their attendants, and even a naturalist, presumably for emergencies. She also spotted the crown prince Burnheim cronell standing with 2 other siblings, they were 1st, 3rd and 6th in line for the throne respectively.
Her eyes stopped on one noble’s attendant. His clothing was subtly different—exotic yet not outlandish, with a more fitted, seamless cut than the flowing robes common in the kingdom. He had black hair, black eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard. Asmirala wondered where he was from, but before she could ponder further, he looked straight at her.
Her breath hitched. He knew she was there. Panic set in.
But the man only smiled coyly, as if indulging in a prank, then gave a small nod before turning back to the ritual circle.
Before Asmirala could process what had just happened, the gemstones in the circle exploded in a thick mist.
“We have our fish,” Grenshaw announced.
A figure formed within the mist—a man. There was something about him that she couldn’t quite place but recognized from something recently, though Asmirala couldn’t place from where. He was barely clothed, draped in a simple light green tunic with a slit at the back from top to bottom which looked too thin for any practical purpose other than sleeping. He spoke, but she couldn’t understand him.
“Once he uses the language skill book, communication won’t be an issue,” Grenshaw said.
“So what now?”
“Oh, well, we wouldn’t want our guest to hurt himself.”
With a quick chant, Grenshaw cast another spell. The man collapsed instantly with a painful thud.
Asmirala took that as her cue to leave before anyone started noticing her presence. Reeling with a sense of amazement, she crawled back out.