Captain Itsuki Hiroto pushed open the polished double doors of the Grand Council Hall and stepped into a chamber that felt more like a celestial courtroom than a meeting room. The vaulted ceiling was painted with constellations that glimmered softly; crystal sconces along the walls cast shifting patterns of light across the polished marble floor. At the far end, a long, horseshoe‑shaped table was crowded with the Empire's most powerful figures—Chancellor Beltram, General Astor, Lord High Admiral Corvon, and, at the very center, Cardinal Elgar of the Holy Church, his ornate mitre etched with divine runes that pulsed like the beat of a drum.
Hiroto swallowed. Seven days ago, I couldn't even file a simple report without a migraine. Now I'm… this.
He offered a tentative bow. "You summoned me, Your Eminence?"
Cardinal Elgar's gaze flicked over Hiroto's tired face and settled with preternatural calm. "Captain," he intoned, voice echoing in the cavernous hall, "we have gathered because the relic from the Ruins of Varn has glimmered once more, and the Orb of True Sight has confirmed it. These are portents beyond mere accident. They mark the arrival of the Divine Variable, the one foretold in our sacred texts."
A ripple of murmurs passed around the table. Chancellor Beltram cleared his throat. "Your Eminence, with respect, the Orb's reading was… dramatic. I believe we should consider more—er—mundane explanations before declaring apocalyptic prophecy."
Cardinal Elgar folded his hands. "Mundane explanations do not account for the artifact's resonance with Captain Hiroto's very presence. The Scriptures of Flame speak thus: 'When the silent hand awakens that which sleeps, the world will tremble at its passing.' That silent hand is our hero, our Divine Variable, whose touch stirs destiny itself."
Hiroto shifted on his feet. "Divine… Variable?" He glanced toward the stained‑glass window depicting a radiant figure in Hiroto's supposed likeness, crystal tears streaming down its cheeks. Well, at least they got my hairstyle right.
"I—I think there's been a misunderstanding," he said. "I'm certainly not divine. I kind of… accidentally activate things. And I'd prefer to remain as non‑variable as possible."
General Astor, his uniform lined with campaign medals, snorted. "You're modest in word only, Captain. Every time you claim ignorance, you shatter an orb or decimate a target. That is power beyond mortal ken."
Lord Admiral Corvon leaned forward. "Power is one thing. But prophecies—prophecies can be manipulated. We must be cautious not to let superstitious fervor derail our strategy against the Demon King's forces."
Cardinal Elgar's eyes glowed. "No caution will suffice when the Divine Variable walks among us. We must embrace his role. A public blessing is required—tomorrow, at dawn, in the Cathedral of Radiant Dawn. There, we will proclaim him the living bridge between heaven and earth."
Lady Virelya Arkwright, standing at Hiroto's shoulder, squeezed his arm. "We'll keep the ceremony dignified—and minimal," she murmured. "You just need to stand there and let them do the talking."
Hiroto closed his eyes. Stand there. Let them do the talking. I'm basically a statue.
Before he could protest further, a servant entered, carrying a silver censer of burning incense. The perfumed smoke swirled around Cardinal Elgar as he extended a hand.
"Captain Hiroto," the cardinal intoned, "please kneel."
With his usual resignation, Hiroto knelt at the marble floor, heart pounding. The room grew silent—save for the hiss of incense and the distant echo of clinking armor. Cardinal Elgar raised the censer high, letting fragrant clouds cascade over Hiroto's bowed shoulders.
"As the Divine Variable," the cardinal proclaimed, voice rich with ceremonial gravity, "you are filled with sanctified purpose. May your steps be guided by heaven's light, and may your humble heart temper the raging storm."
A hush fell, broken only by a single, trembling note from a harp hidden in the gallery. When the echoes died, Chancellor Beltram coughed. "Er, splendid. Captain, you are officially recognized by the Crown and the Church as our chosen savior. You bear the weight of prophecy—do you accept this burden?"
Hiroto's jaw tightened. "I… accept," he said, voice barely audible. Immediately, he regretted every syllable. Famous last words.
The council erupted into applause. Sera, leaning to whisper in his ear, said, "Congrats. You're a god now."
Hiroto managed a weak half‑smile. "Feel free to hit me with a lightning bolt if there's a revocation clause."
---
After the ceremony, Hiroto retreated to a side chamber. The doors closed with an echoing thud, and he sank onto a velvet seat, head in his hands. Lady Virelya and Sera followed, flanking him like concerned twins.
"How do you feel?" Virelya asked.
"Divinely screwed," Hiroto replied. "They want me to march at dawn with choirs, offerings, and probably singing goats."
Sera laughed. "If it makes you feel better, I'll choreograph your goat detour."
Virelya slid a parchment across the table. "These are the talking points. Memorize them—or at least pretend to."
Hiroto glanced down:
> "I stand humbly before the light…
I seek no glory, only peace…
May my actions reflect mercy and wisdom…"
He groaned. "I sound like a self‑help pamphlet."
Virelya folded her arms. "Trust me: in a world of power‑hungry fools, humility is the deadliest weapon."
---
That evening, as flickering torchlight painted dancing shadows on the cathedral's stained glass, word of the Divine Variable's blessing spread like wildfire. Outside, street preachers assembled, extolling Hiroto's impending salvation of the realm. Tavern bards composed ballads on the spot; even the city guards were seen polishing their armor in preparation.
Back in his quarters, Hiroto tried to unwind—but his enchanted scroll buzzed relentlessly with requests: interviews, audience petitions, charity dedications. He stared at the screen:
> URGENT: Request for Divine Variable's signature on war bonds.
ALERT: Widow's petition for aid.
NOTICE: Petition to rename the city's main bridge as "Hiroto's Path of Mercy."
He threw the scroll onto the bed. I can't even sleep, he thought.
A final summons appeared:
> WARNING: Demonic emissaries are gathering rumors that the Voidwalker walks among mortals. Proceed with caution.
Hiroto closed his eyes. Great. Demons think I'm some hell‑spawn. Fantastic.
In the flickering candlelight, he made a quiet vow: If I'm to be the Divine Variable, I'll at least use it to keep the peace I crave. One way or another, I'll prove that a humble clerk can save the world without losing his sanity.
And though the prophecy weighed heavy on his shoulders, for the first time, he felt something unfamiliar—resolve.
Because if destiny insisted on making him the world's reluctant hero, he would meet that destiny head‑on… and perhaps even direct it toward a quieter, calmer future.