The office was large but not flashy—wooden walls, worn rugs, and a few old weapons on display. It felt like a place built for work, not show. Every decoration—framed medals, old photographs, and a polished wooden stick mounted high—felt earned, not bought. Guards stood nearby, not to intimidate but to escort.

  The man behind the desk looked old, but his eyes told a different story: a seasoned warrior ready to protect his home and those under it.

  The door behind us closed with a soft thud. He studied me without speaking. I matched his focus, unsure what to expect, but the tension in Cami’s stance suggested a lecture was coming.

  Finally, he spoke.

  "What should I call you?"

  "Ola Pale," I answered. "And you?"

  "John Keali‘i Reyes. But call me Keali‘i."

  "Alright. Thank you, Keali‘i."

  He leaned forward slightly.

  "So. Where are you really from?"

  I glanced at Cami. She nodded—silent approval—so I turned back to him.

  "From another world. Or another time. I don't know which this is... but I know my home is gone," I admitted, lowering my gaze—not to hide, but because the pain was still fresh.

  "Gone how?"

  "Something destroyed it. I don't know how. It erased everything while I was sent away to safety..."

  Keali‘i rubbed his chin, deep in thought.

  "What was your world called?"

  "Nuvarein," I said, meeting his eyes. "A world built around song and spirit. We didn't cast magic like people do here. We invited it—through chants, through movement. We lived in rhythm with the world, not against it."

  Keali‘i tilted his head thoughtfully.

  "Our people believed every part of nature had a name and purpose—mountains, waves, even the wind. We summoned through respect, not control."

  Another slow nod.

  "What kind of people lived there?"

  "Communal. No formal military. No kings or presidents. Only Elder Circles—keepers of stories—and the Wandering Orders of summoners who traveled to help others. That was my place... one of the Orders."

  He raised an eyebrow.

  "No defense at all?"

  "Our summons were our defenders. But they chose to protect us. They were never forced."

  "And what happened? You said it’s gone?"

  "The songs stopped. We called it the Great Silence. Spirits no longer answered. The land cracked. The sky dimmed. Whatever attacked us didn’t leave ruins... just nothing."

  Keali‘i was silent for a moment before asking:

  "And you were sent away before it happened?"

  "Yes. My people sang one final chant—a prayer woven through time. They put everything they had into sending me here… wherever here is."

  He folded his hands, gaze steady.

  "You carry that weight with you?"

  "I do," I said quietly. "Because I'm the only one left to remember them."

  Keali‘i lowered his gaze for a heartbeat, then looked back up.

  "Then you're not just a summoner," he said. "You're a witness."

  He leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers lightly on the desk.

  "You mentioned earlier about no ranks. Around here, ranks decide everything."

  He motioned to a small wall screen showing an organizational chart.

  "Our world uses a system from E-Rank to S-Rank. Entry-level to elite. E is the bottom. Most Hunters never make it past B. A-Ranks clear dangerous dungeons. S-Ranks... there are only a handful per nation. Beyond that? EX-Rank—classified, barely acknowledged. Only three exist: one in the U.S., one in Japan, and one in Dubai. They’re treated like living disasters."

  He gave me a pointed look, expecting some reaction. I stayed quiet.

  "And you?" he asked.

  I nodded slowly. "We had no ranks."

  Keali‘i raised an eyebrow.

  I explained, "Nuvarein didn’t need hierarchy. We lived in peace for generations. But we had a tier system. Given by Mana itself."

  "Go on," he urged.

  I kept my voice steady.

  "Our tier system wasn't about privilege. It measured harmony—how deeply you were connected to Mana and the spirits."

  I held up a finger.

  "Tier 1 was the beginning. Only faint echoes answered. Barely whispers."

  Two fingers.

  "Tier 4 meant the spirits recognized you. You could invite them into sacred spaces and converse."

  Three fingers.

  "Tier 6—your song and dance shaped them. They moved with you as partners."

  I lowered my hand slightly, my voice softening.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  "Tier 9... the spirits came to you freely. You became part of their world."

  I lowered my hand completely.

  "Tier 12... only three existed at any time. They didn’t summon deities. They stood beside them. As equals."

  Keali‘i was silent. His steel-gray eyes studied me.

  "...That's not a system," he finally muttered. "That's a belief."

  I nodded. "That's why it worked."

  "You said no hierarchy. What about classes?" he asked.

  "Three main roles. Vanguard, Middleguard, Rearguard. Vanguards: Guardians, Brawlers, Bladers. Middleguards: Rogues, Lancers, Archers. Rearguards: Mages, Clerics, and Bards."

  Keali‘i blinked.

  "What about summoners?"

  "We are all summoners. Everyone born in Nuvarein is one. Only the type of summoner differed. Vanguards were usually Cold summoners who summoned objects or constructs to the frontline. Middleguards could be either Cold or Warm. Rearguards... mostly Warm summoners—those who bonded with living spirits."

  "Play in?" he repeated, confused.

  "We chose our roles," I said. "Did you not?"

  Keali‘i shook his head slowly.

  "No. We play the hand we’re dealt. You... chose your path."

  He sighed heavily.

  "But more to the point…"

  "Point?" I echoed.

  "Your people... lived in harmony. Knew of battles but never of war."

  I nodded, unsure where he was going.

  "...And that's why they never stood a chance," Keali‘i said quietly, his eyes shadowed.

  "Grampa!" Cami protested, shooting to her feet.

  She froze when Keali‘i’s gaze flicked to her—steely and calm. She sat back down slowly.

  I remained frozen, his words cutting deep.

  "Earth is different," Keali‘i continued. "We aren't united. We have nations, guilds, factions... If it weren't for dungeon gates giving us a common enemy, we would have torn each other apart long ago."

  He shook his head.

  "Knowing what I know of your people... others would have devoured you."

  He folded his arms.

  "Which explains why my son doesn't like you."

  The bombshell made me stiffen. I lowered my gaze.

  "But there's a turning point," Keali‘i said, standing up with a smile.

  He offered his hand.

  "Join the Hunter Association. Not as a regular agent—but as a hired hand. What do you say?"

  I looked at Cami. She rubbed the back of her head, unsure. I turned back to Keali‘i.

  "There’ll be no one more honest than us," he said. "Not even my son."

  I smiled faintly and shook his hand. His grip was firm but respectful.

  Keali‘i sat back down.

  "So... what tier are you anyway?"

  I closed my eyes, reaching inward—searching through memories of song and stone. My spirit was smaller than I remembered—a child instead of a fully grown adult. Two run circles slumbered beneath a small foundation, like a garden with too much space.

  Opening my eyes, I sighed heavily.

  "I was once Tier Ten. Now... I’m only Tier Two."

  Keali‘i gave a slow nod. Not pity—understanding.

  He reached for a small lacquered box and set it on the desk.

  "Tonight, we’re hosting a family dinner," he said casually. "You're invited."

  I blinked. "You... want me there?"

  "Of course. You’re not a stranger anymore. Besides, my family should know your name if you work under me."

  He turned to Cami.

  "You’ll escort him and keep an eye on him."

  "You mean... from my father?" Cami asked dryly.

  Keali‘i’s smirk said everything.

  "Hope you're okay with awkward reunions," Cami muttered as we left.

  Later that evening, a black limo picked us up. I sat beside Cami, freshly cleaned robe, and Pahu cradled carefully under my arm.

  The house that rose before us was massive but wasn't built for show. It had the quiet strength of a place lived in for generations—polished wooden floors, open windows catching the sea breeze, and walls lined with photos of surfers, soldiers, and singers.

  Cami walked ahead, casual in leggings, a loose blouse, and bare feet padding across the cool floor. I followed, adjusting my robe instinctively, feeling the weight of Pahu like a steady drumbeat in my arms.

  She paused before a large hardwood door, then turned to adjust my robe slightly—fussing over me in silence.

  "You’re nervous," she said, voice soft.

  "It’s not every day you meet someone’s family so soon," I admitted, chuckling lightly.

  That earned a small smile from her.

  "Stick close. I’ll intercept any flak."

  The door swung open to reveal a long table already set for dinner.

  At the head of the table sat Keali‘i, his cane resting at his side.

  To his left, a man with a sharp military cut and a dark button-up barely glanced up from his glass—Cami’s father, the vice-leader of the Hunter Association. His presence was stiff and cold.

  Around the table sat at least twenty others: seven different family groups, some same-gender couples, and one group with multiple partners. It should have felt warm—familial—but the silence was thick. Tense.

  Keali‘i’s voice broke through it like a hammer tapping stone.

  "Ola Pale," he said warmly, standing. "Welcome. My grandson has... been informed."

  Cami’s father glanced at me like someone sizing up a blade—not fearing it but mistrusting its existence. I bowed respectfully.

  "Thank you for your hospitality," I said, my voice steady.

  Cami led me to an open seat beside her, strategically placing herself between me and her father—a subtle shield.

  Dinner began quietly: grilled fish, taro, steamed greens, and other dishes whose ingredients I could only guess by flavor. Everything tasted like home-cooked love, seasoned with memory.

  At first, no one spoke. The clink of utensils filled the space.

  Then, one of the cousins leaned forward.

  "Cami said you made a golem dance?"

  Laughter rippled around the table, lightening the mood.

  "I did," I said simply.

  Cami smirked, adding,

  "He sang. Danced. That thing followed him like it found belief."

  A few eyebrows lifted in surprise.

  "So... you sing to summon your... helprs?" an aunt asked, curious.

  "Yes. To invite them on my journey," I said.

  Keali‘i nodded knowingly.

  "That’s the part most people don’t understand."

  Not everyone shared his warmth.

  "Having creatures join your adventures without contracts is dangerous," Cami’s father cut in, voice sharp.

  I met his gaze calmly.

  "Then so are we," I said. "Spirits... people... we all choose to fight. No song can force loyalty—it can only ask for it."

  Silence blanketed the table.

  Even Cami looked stunned.

  Keali‘i chuckled low.

  "Well spoken, young man."

  Dinner continued with fewer words, but the tension loosened.

  I shared stories of dances and songs from my culture. The elders listened with surprising respect. The younger children asked to see Pahu, and I carefully let them hold him—Pahu thumping shyly in their hands.

  By the end of the night, when we rose to leave, Cami looked at me with something softer than admiration.

  Something like familiarity.

  At the door, she hesitated, then turned to me.

  "That could’ve gone worse," she muttered. "You didn’t even flinch when my dad stared daggers."

  "I’ve met worse," I said lightly. "Once, a sea spirit scolded me for hours because my footwork offended her waves."

  She laughed, bright and genuine.

  We stood quietly for a moment. The house seemed quieter, too, as if the walls were listening.

  Then she asked,

  "Hey… what Tier did you say you were now?"

  "Two," I replied. "I used to be Ten."

  Cami's gaze grew serious.

  "Then let’s get you back there," she said as if it were a promise.

  I smiled, nodding.

  As I reached for the doorknob to leave, she stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

  "Wait."

  I turned back.

  "Do you have a place to stay?"

  I hesitated.

  "...Yes..." I said slowly, glancing away awkwardly.

  Cami didn't buy it for a second. She smirked—and without even turning around, she called over her shoulder.

  "Grampa!"

  "What?!" Keali‘i's voice echoed back.

  "Can Ola stay with us until he gets his place?!"

  "No!" Cami’s father barked immediately.

  "He can sleep in the guest house behind the main home!" Keali‘i shouted back, ignoring his son.

  Cami shrugged at me like it was settled.

  "Are you sure? I don’t want to be a burden," I said, rubbing my head.

  Cami chuckled—and promptly slapped the back of my head.

  "You saved my life! It's the least I can do. Besides..."

  She grinned mischievously.

  "You better rest up. We’re grinding you through dungeons starting tomorrow to get your tier back up."

  Despite the intimidation in her words, I found myself smiling. I nodded in agreement.

  "Now," she said, tugging me toward the back of the house, "to the guest house!"

  The night air smelled of salt and earth as we crossed the yard, the stars above winking like distant ancestral eyes.

  I didn't feel lost for the first time since awakening.

  I felt... invited.

  Not to a new home yet.

  But it is a new beginning.