Isekai Adventure

Steven lay in bed, the early morning stillness wrapping around him like a familiar blanket. The world outside was quiet, save for the faint chirping of dawn’s first birds. Then, without warning, his room began to glow—an ominous, devious red that seeped into the corners and pulsed along the walls. A sigil flared to life on the floor beside his bed, intricate and jagged, its lines throbbing like a heartbeat. He stared, wide-eyed, as the rhythm quickened. A single blink—barely a flutter of his lids—and the red vanished, replaced by an endless expanse of white.

He gasped, looking down, but his body was gone. No arms, no legs, just a vague sense of self floating in the void. Panic clawed at his chest, his mind racing to make sense of it. “What’s happening? Am I dead? Dreaming?” Then, like a lightning bolt, it struck him. “Isekai event!” he shouted, the words tumbling out in a mix of disbelief and glee. His fear melted into excitement—he’d devoured enough tales of otherworldly summons to know what this meant.

The void shimmered, and a figure emerged before him. She was breathtaking, her presence filling the space with an aura both divine and untamed. Her hair flowed like molten silver, spilling over a gown that gleamed with faint starlight. Her violet eyes held depths of knowledge, tempered by a flicker of playfulness. She stepped closer, her bare feet leaving glowing prints that faded into the whiteness.

“Greetings, Steven,” she said, her voice a melody laced with power. “I am Lysandra, Goddess of this world—Vyrthralis, as you’ll come to know it. I’ve plucked you from your mundane existence for a purpose far greater than you might imagine.”

Steven, still bodiless and adrift, felt his excitement surge. Lysandra’s lips curved into a subtle smile as she waved a hand. In an instant, he could see himself again—not in his old pajamas, but in a rough-spun tunic and trousers, a sturdy leather belt at his waist. His feet touched solid ground, though the white void stretched on endlessly around him.

“W-wait,” he stammered, hands patting his new attire to confirm it was real. “You’re saying I’ve been chosen? Like, to be a hero or something?”

Lysandra tilted her head, her silver hair swaying like a cascade of moonlight. “Perhaps. Or perhaps a harbinger of chaos. That depends on you, mortal. Vyrthralis teeters on the edge of ruin—ancient forces stir beneath its surface, and the threads of fate have grown tangled. I’ve brought you here to set things in motion, but the path you carve is yours to decide.”

She paused, her violet gaze piercing through him like a blade of light. “Tell me, Steven—what do you seek in this world?”