I stood watching my city burn, and vowed to carry on. My family was dead. My subjects were being brutalized. My kingdom wasn’t conquered yet, however. There was a single ray of hope to restore Alalarn. We had been sentinels, guarding the races from any and every threat, and now some of those very people had risen up. And yet, I would not yield. I was young, especially by the standards of my people.

I who was considered a freak, who was laughed at, and yet I who was the only one who could save the nation of sentinels, and help protect the order and balance of this world. I had been born a boy, and yet I had desired nothing but to be a girl, and when I discovered I had magic, I did my best. It was a complex, dangerous, spell, and my success was only partial. I had the figure, voice, stature, and very mindset of a bright, vivacious young woman, and yet I had male organs between my legs. And yet, my magic had only grown as I had gotten older, to the point I could do it. I could do it once, Goddess willing. I could summon a hero from another world. A world higher in the hierarchy of worlds. The ritual would imbue him with power. The question was of his character and temperament. And yet it was my only chance.



I was walking home from class, my apartment was in sight as I swore at the ungodly heat inside my head. I had lived in the South for more than three quarters of my life, and the heat of the summer still kicked my ass. It wasn’t like I was out of shape, either. I wasn’t buff, but I was only ten pounds overweight, if that. My cardio and stamina were good, too. It was the fucking ninety-nine degree heat and hundred percent humidity that did it.

I was just in front of my door, about to step into the blessed relief when it all went wrong. There was a girl about three years younger than me, maybe, dressed in what looked like a cross between a toga, a nun’s habit, and Native American tribal dress. She appeared to be just finishing some kind of ritual dance. I was in a cave, lit spheres of soft light. I knew what had happened. The heat finally got me. I was hallucinating after a nasty heat stroke. Otherwise, I had just started living the plot of a stupid anime.

“What is your name?” the girl asked me in a somewhat mezzo-soprano but melodious, gentle, almost calming voice.

“Ben. Benedict.”

“Is that your full name?”

“Benedict Jude Francis Gregory Farnes. I was named by overzealous nuns. Can’t seem to hate them, even now, though.”

“I am Aliliana Nestuen Nar’T’Sharn. I am the last princess of Alalarn.”

“Is this real?”

“Yes.”

“Wonderful. My worst nightmare has come to pass. I’m now a protagonist in an overused trope shit storm of an anime.”

“I don’t understand what that means.”

“Any chance you can send me back?”

“No.”

“Fucking great. Thanks so much.”

“Will you save my nation?”

“Do I really have any other choice, as of right now, at least?”

“I…had hoped you would be…”

“Less pissed? More eager to acquiesce to your every whim? Please give me a moment to collect myself,” I had to ask. My anger was reaching points it never really had before. I was generally an easygoing guy. I was raised by nuns and they helped instill goodness and forbearance in me, or so I had always believed, but right now I was so angry I could just about ring this self proclaimed princess’s neck. That would be bad, though. Very bad, and very wrong. The very least I could do was hear her out. She gave off an air of honesty, and literally just looking at her pretty, very gentle face was chilling me out. There was something about her, like she was there for me, and yet also stupid strong in some way, like in character, but also I just totally sensed she was a total badass. I sat down on the floor of the cave.

“Sorry I was an asshole just now. I’ll definitely hear you out, for sure. It sounds like you’re in some deep shit, and that just maybe I can help you out of it.”

I was shocked at the utter turnabout in the man, Benedict’s demeanour. He was even ever so slightly smiling at me. He was handsome, by the standards of my people, at least. He had a neatly trimmed beard and carefully brushed or combed hair. His clothes were odd, yet I could tell at a glance they were clean and that he took good care of them. His hygiene was fantastic, too. He could honestly pass for a marquess, or even a duke. He could almost be royalty.

“Are you perhaps a noble or royal in your world?”

“Nope. As plain old commoner as they come.”

“I see.