Kristina watched him in silence, eyes wide.
"...That's not normal," she finally said.
Blake glanced at her, the faint glow still hovering above his palm. "What do you mean?"
"Normally," she said slowly, "it takes weeks, sometimes months, before someone can gather mana like that. Most people can't even feel it properly at first."
Blake let the mana disperse and lowered his hand.
"Guess I'm not like most people," he said.
Kristina blinked, then laughed, a light, genuine sound. She stepped forward and ruffled his hair gently.
"I'm happy for you," she said, smiling. "Really."
Blake smiled back.
But he knew his sister too well.
The way her smile lingered just a second too long. The way her shoulders stayed tense even as she laughed.
It was a mask.
Kristina had always been like this.
Kind, capable, and skilled in ways most people never were. She had talents that, in another world, would have made her exceptional. Someone others would look up to, someone who stood at the top through effort alone.
But this wasn't that world.
After the awakenings, none of it mattered. The things people once envied her for were quietly overshadowed by flashy skills and system-granted power. In the end, she was labeled with a single, dismissive truth.
Unawakened.
Blake felt a familiar ache in his chest.
If anything, he felt even worse now. The only relative who had stayed by her side, the only one left who had been left behind by the system, had finally crossed the line she never could.
He looked at her, really looked at her, and spoke quietly.
"I won't forget this," Blake said. "Not ever."
Kristina blinked, then smiled softly. "You don't have to."
She reached out and squeezed his hand. "Because if it were the other way around… you'd do the same for me."
Blake nodded.
In a world that judged people by ranks and numbers, she had chosen him when he had nothing.
They talked for hours. Words flowed between them. Half updates, half comfort, but eventually, Kristina stood.
"I have to go," she said, finally letting herself leave. "Rest, Blake. No late-night walks for a while, okay?"
He nodded silently.
The moment the door clicked shut, Blake exhaled.
Alone. Finally.
He groaned, letting the tension in his muscles spill out, every ache from the dungeon and the fall catching up to him at once. He hadn't allowed himself to fully feel the pain while Kristina was around.
He couldn't.
She had already carried enough worry for both of them during the three days he was unconscious.
Now, he let himself collapse into the hospital bed, trying to distract himself from the pain. Slowly, he called up his status window and focused on the new entries for his skills.
Pantheon Descent (Core Authority Skill)
Type: Active / Hero Summoning
Summon a hero from a fallen world whose legend still echoes beyond the collapse of their reality. The summoned hero manifests in a neutral state, free of binding or command. Upon summoning, the summoner may negotiate with them in order to form a Vow with the hero.
Cooldown: 3 days
Heroic Summon
Type: Active / Combat Summoning
Summon a vowed hero to fight alongside the user. The hero retains their original combat abilities, equipment, and instincts. Duration depends on mana supply and may fight under the terms of their contract.
Cooldown: 1 day per hero
Vow
Type: Passive
A verbal contract that is always active. When a Vow is broken, the party that broke the restriction will suffer a fatal punishment. The skill may only be used on heroes.
Blake stared at the entries, his fingers tracing the edges of the glowing text.
Pantheon Descent…
The idea that he could call a hero from another world, negotiate with them, and bind them to a contract settled heavily on him.
This is the power to summon legends.
He had spent his life powerless, ignored, a spectator to a world that moved without him.
Now… he held something entirely different. Something that could change everything.
Blake leaned back against the hospital bed, still catching his breath, but the glow of the status window kept his attention firmly fixed.
As tempting as it was to test Pantheon Descent, he felt the need to check one more thing first.
His eyes shifted to the title section.
Voice of the Fallen
He clicked on it, bringing up the details.
"The vessel for vengeance of the fallen heroes who demand the end of dungeons."
Blake frowned. "Vengeance… for the fallen heroes?"
He scrolled further, trying to find clarification, but there wasn't much. Only the note about the effect.
Effect: Ability to speak the language of the Gods.
Blake's pulse quickened.
Language of the Gods. He didn't know what that meant yet, didn't know if it would let him command, communicate, or understand forces beyond comprehension. But the mere existence of it, linked to the souls of fallen heroes, and the mysterious demand for the end of dungeons gave him a chill.
He stared at the words for a long moment, feeling the weight of them settle.
The power to summon legends, the responsibility of a title steeped in vengeance, and the ability to speak the language of beings beyond mortal comprehension was a lot to take in.
Blake shook his head, forcing his mind away from the title. He didn't yet understand what it truly meant, and for now, he had other things to test.
Focusing, he activated the skill he had been itching to try.
Pantheon Descent.
A faint ripple ran through the air before him, like heat over a summer road, twisting reality just slightly.
And then a shape began to form.
It was a figure, massive and imposing, solidifying from nothingness.
This time, it was not the barbarian from the dungeon. No, this one carried a hammer so large that it was twice the length of Blake's entire arm, yet held effortlessly in a single hand.
The figure's muscles were taut beneath thick, battle-worn armor, and the skin of a great beast hung from its shoulders like a cloak. The hero laughed. A deep, booming sound that echoed faintly off the hospital walls.
"By the gods…" the figure said, swinging the hammer in a lazy arc. "It's been so long since I've felt flesh beneath me!"
Blake stepped back instinctively, staring at the summoning. His chest pounded, a mixture of awe and fear filling him.
"Uh… hello," he said awkwardly, "I-I'm Blake. You… uh… don't have to–"
The hero ignored him, swinging the massive hammer experimentally, testing its weight, letting out another hearty laugh.
Blake's eyes narrowed.
So this is what Pantheon Descent does…
He could feel the raw presence, the energy emanating from the hero, independent and untamed. This wasn't a servant, it was a hero standing right in front of him.
The figure finally turned his gaze toward Blake.
A single look was enough to make the air feel heavier.
"Well now," the man said, his voice deep and resonant, like stone grinding against stone. "For what reason have I been called back to the mortal realm?"
Blake snapped out of his shock, straightening despite the ache in his body. "I… I needed help," he said honestly.
The man grinned, clearly amused by the simplicity of the answer. "Hah! Straight to the point. I like that."
He shifted the massive hammer to rest against his shoulder, then extended an arm toward Blake.
"I am Prom," he declared. "The Hero of Strength."
Blake hesitated only a moment before reaching out. "Blake Wilson."
He tried to shake Prom's hand.
Tried.
Prom's hand completely engulfed his, fingers like iron bars closing around a twig. Blake barely managed to wrap his own fingers around one of Prom's knuckles before the hero let out a booming laugh.
"Hah! You mortals have grown smaller," Prom said, giving Blake's hand a gentle shake that rattled his bones. Blank winced, then chuckled weakly. "S-Sorry. I'm not exactly… strong."
Prom studied him, eyes sharp despite his smile. "No," he said. "But you called me all the same."
Prom lowered himself to the ground, the floor groaning faintly under his weight as he sat cross-legged, resting the massive hammer beside him.
"Speak," he said. "What troubles you, summoner?"
Blake swallowed and began.
He told him everything. About the dungeons, the monsters spilling into the world, the deaths in the millions, and how humanity had adapted, even grown depending on the very calamity that threatened them.
As he spoke, he could see the change in Prom's expression.
The mirth faded first.
Then the ease.
By the time Blake finished, Prom's face had darkened, his jaw set tight.
When Blake finally asked, quietly, "Can you help me?" the answer came immediately.
"No."
The word landed like a hammer strike.
Prom stood, towering over him once more. "What you've described is not a simple invasion. Not a curse that can be broken by strength alone."
He looked away, eyes distant. "In my world, we called it the Great Disaster. And it was what led to our end."
Blake's heart sank. "But if you're here, if heroes can still fight, then doesn't that mean there's still a chance?"
Prom shook his head. "That thinking is what doomed us."
Blake took a step forward despite the pain. "Please. If it's as dangerous as you say it is, then wouldn't we need you to fight back?"
Prom didn't look back.
"You are already walking a path I failed to change," he said quietly. "I will not suffer the humiliation again, I will not repeat my mistakes."
He turned, his form already beginning to fade. "Still… I wish you luck, Blake Wilson. You will need more than just strength."
With that, Prom vanished, leaving only the echo of his presence behind.
The hospital room fell silent.
Blake stood there, staring at the empty space, fists clenched.
Something about Prom's words lingered.
The Great Disaster.
Blake used his time in the hospital wisely after that.
With nothing but time and silence, he thought long and hard about his class. About what it meant to be a Hero Summoner, not a fighter, not a savior, not a mage with world-shaking spells.
Quietly, he allocated the rest of his free points into INT.
Each point settled in without resistance. The flow of mana grew clearer, steadier, until it felt less like something foreign and more like an extension of himself.
Whenever Pantheon Descent came off cooldown, Blake used it.
And each time, a different hero answered.
A spear-wielding queen from a drowned empire.
A scholar-king whose magic once rewrote the laws of his world.
A blade saint who had stood atop mountains of corpses.
Each camp from a different fallen world.
Each carried a different story, a different burden.
At first, many listened.
They asked questions. They studied Blake. Some even nodded, intrigued by the idea of a new battlefield.
But the moment he spoke of dungeons–
Their expressions changed.
Interest turned to dread.
Hope hardened to refusal.
One by one, they gave him the same answer.
"No."
Some left in silence.
Some warned him.
Some looked at him in pity.
Blake noticed the pattern soon enough.
The heroes weren't afraid of monsters.
They were afraid because they had seen this before.
And every world that had faced it… had fallen.
His days continued like that until, at last, he was discharged.
When Blake stepped outside the hospital, the sunlight felt unfamiliar, almost too bright after weeks under sterile lights. He squinted, and then froze.
Kristina was waiting near the entrance, leaning against her car.
"...What are you doing here?" Blake asked as he walked up to her. "Aren't you supposed to be at work right now?"
She glanced at him, then smirked. "I told them I left the stove on."
Blake blinked. "That's it?"
She shrugged. "Do you think it worked?"
He laughed, a real one, the kind he hadn't let out in a while. "Yeah," he said, opening the passenger door. "I think it did."
Kristina watched him settle into the seat before closing the door and walking around to the driver's side.
"Next time," she said as she started the engine, "try not to get yourself alone in a dungeon."
"No promises," Blake replied lightly.
She snorted, pulling the car into traffic.
As the hospital faded behind them, Blake leaned back in his seat, the city rolling by outside the window.
Kristina glanced at him as they drove, her hands steady on the wheel.
"Are you sure you still want to live there?" she asked. "That area's not exactly… safe. If you want, I could help you get a place somewhere better."
Blake didn't even hesitate. "Nah."
She raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"
"Yeah," he said with a straight face. "I don't think I could sleep without seeing the mold on my ceiling before going to bed."
Kristina burst out laughing. "You're unbelievable."
But when her laughter faded, the concern lingered in her eyes.
After a moment, she asked, "So… what's your plan now?"
Blake shrugged. "Plan?"
She shot him a look. "Don't tell me you forgot about the scolding you're about to get from your boss when you get back to work."
There was a brief pause.
"...About that," Blake said.
Kristina's grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly. "Blake."
"I quit," he admitted. "A few days after I woke up."
The car went quiet.