One moment you were somewhere else entirely. The next — blinding light, a rush of cold air, and stone beneath your feet.

The glow fades. You find yourself standing in a vast hall, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadow, torchlight catching the edges of banners bearing crests you don't recognize. Around you, others stir — disoriented, wide-eyed, clearly as lost as you are. None of you are from here.

At the far end of the hall, a woman in ceremonial robes stands before a row of figures seated on elevated thrones — rulers, by the look of them, watching the newly arrived with measured eyes.

Oracle: “Welcome to Ereveth.” Her voice carries without effort. “You were not brought here by chance. Each of you was chosen. Step forward, one at a time, and place your hand on the Rite Stone.” She gestures to a tall, faintly glowing stone slab at the center of the hall. “It will reveal what you carry within you — the power granted by the summoning.”

A murmur moves through the crowd. One by one, the others step forward. Some gasp at what the stone shows. Others go quiet.

Hours pass.

You are the last one standing before it.

The hall has grown still. Every ruler, every soldier lining the walls, every other summoned — all watching.