The Ordinary Commander

The air in the grand hall of the Aethelgard Palace smelled of ozone and ancient dust, a scent that clung to the back of Raka’s throat like wet wool. He stood within the center of a pulsating runic circle, surrounded by twenty of his classmates, their faces pale under the flickering violet light of the summoning seal.

Outside the circle, King Alaric stood upon a dais of polished obsidian, his eyes scanning the group with the detached precision of a merchant weighing gold.

"Is it done?" the King asked, his voice echoing off the vaulted stone ceiling.

"The resonance is complete, Your Majesty," a robed High Mage replied, bowing low. "The Class of the Otherworlders has arrived in full."

Raka shifted his weight, his sneakers squeaking against the cold floor. He looked at Sofia, who stood to his left, her eyes wide as she gripped the fabric of her school blazer. She looked like she wanted to cry, but she was holding it together better than him.

"So, what's going on?" Raka whispered, his voice trembling. "Did we just get kidnapped?"

"Shut up, Raka," Sofia hissed, her knuckles turning white. "Look at the King. Just look at him. This isn't a prank."

"I know it's not a prank, but what are we supposed to do?" Raka muttered.

"We follow orders. We survive. That’s what we do," she replied, her gaze fixed ahead.

The High Mage stepped forward, his staff clattering against the dais. He gestured toward the runes, which began to glow with a blinding, white-hot intensity. One by one, symbols began to hover above each student's head—glowing inscriptions of their status.

"Oh, thank god," a boy named Leo shouted as a golden crest materialized above him. "‘Holy Knight’? That’s—that’s awesome!"

"I got ‘Arcane Weaver’," another girl cheered, her voice thick with relief.

Raka watched as the others received their titles. Power crackled in the air. He felt a desperate, clawing hope in his chest. If I have magic, I can survive this, he thought. If I’m a hero, I can get back home.

The light finally settled over him. A single, dull grey symbol flickered above his head for a heartbeat before dissolving into nothingness.

"Wait, what?" Raka blinked. "Mine... mine didn't show up. Why is it blank?"

"Hey, look at him," Leo pointed, a smirk curling his lips. "Raka doesn't have anything. He’s completely invisible to the system."

"That’s impossible," the High Mage murmured, leaning forward. He squinted at Raka as if trying to decipher a smudge on a map. "The summoning is infallible. Let me see... yes, the energy output is absolute zero. He is... an Ordinary Human."

A ripple of laughter moved through the room, sharp and cruel. Raka felt his face flush a deep, burning red.

"An Ordinary Human? In this place?" a girl scoffed. "He’s basically a target for the first monster we see."

"Are you kidding me?" Raka asked, his voice rising in panic. "What do you mean, 'Ordinary Human'? Can’t you just... re-roll it or something?"

The King stepped down from the dais. His heavy cloak trailed behind him like a river of shadow. He stopped inches away from Raka, his presence heavy, oppressive, and smelling of iron.

"Silence," the King commanded. The room went deathly still.

"Your Majesty, I—I think there’s been a mistake," Raka said, stumbling over his words. "I don’t belong here. I don’t have any power. I’m just a student. I should go home."

"There are no mistakes in the Rite of Calling," the King said, his voice cold. "The throne determines the purpose of those it summons. If you have been stripped of power, it is because you have been granted a different burden."

"Burden?" Raka echoed. "I don’t want a burden. I want to go to my living room and sleep."

"You are to be the Commander," the King announced, his voice booming across the hall.

Raka’s jaw dropped. "What? Commander? Of what? A group of kids with superpowers who think I’m a joke? Are you serious?"

"The Commander is the shepherd," the King continued, ignoring Raka’s outburst. "You shall direct the others, decide their movements, and ensure the survival of the unit. You are the strategist. The brain."

"Strategy?" Raka laughed, a high-pitched, hysterical sound. "I failed history twice! I can’t command anyone! These guys hate me already. Look at them!"

"It’s not a request, boy," the King said, his eyes narrowing.

"I refuse," Raka stated firmly. "I’m not doing it. I’m walking out that door."

Raka turned, intent on heading toward the heavy oak doors at the end of the hall. The moment his foot left the designated circle, a searing, white-hot pain tore through his chest. He gasped, falling to his knees as a golden chain of light erupted from the floor, anchoring itself to his wrist.

"Gah! What is that?" Raka shouted, clawing at the light. It felt like his skin was burning, but there was no fire.

"The Throne's Vow," the High Mage explained, his tone devoid of sympathy. "If the Commander rejects his post, the link will initiate a 'Correction Procedure.' It will strip your life force to compensate for the lost potential."

"Correction procedure?" Raka choked out, his vision blurring. "That just sounds like a fancy way of saying ‘I’ll die’!"

"Precisely," the King said. "Do you accept, Commander?"

Raka looked up at the King, then at the mocking faces of his classmates. He looked at the golden chain, which pulsed in rhythm with his terrified heartbeat. If he stood up, he died. If he commanded a team of superhumans who wanted him dead, he was just delaying the inevitable.

"I... I accept," Raka whispered, the words tasting like ash.

The chain dissolved instantly, leaving his skin tingling. The King turned his back, satisfied.

"See to it that they are fed," the King ordered the attendants. "And prepare them for the borderlands. The war does not wait for the unprepared."

The guards began to corral the students toward the back exit. Raka stood there, swaying, his hands shaking so violently he had to shove them into his pockets. He felt like a mouse being thrown into a pit of lions, with nothing but a stick to defend himself.

A shadow fell over him. He looked up to find Sofia standing there. She wasn't laughing like the others. She looked at him with a mix of pity and cold, calculated assessment.

She leaned in, her smirk sharp enough to cut. "So, Commander. We’re all dying out there, and you’re the one holding the map. What now?"