Heroine Creation: All My Summons Are Custom Made

Once the vehicle got closer and closer to the estate and surrounding area of Brightspire’s central district, the road started to look like a pilgrimage.

The streets widened into grand boulevards lined with ancient oaks whose trunks had been wrapped in spiraling copper filigree going hum and hum with light. The buildings on either side rose taller and taller, their gothic spires reaching toward the heavens like stone fingers grasping at divinity.

Gargoyles perched on every cornice, but these were not merely decorative, their eyes were surveillance systems, and their mouths were used to communicate through tubes connected to other gargoyles.

Soon, the Hall itself came into view.

Like a cathedral made for gods, the building rose from the exact center of Brightspire. Its central spire pierced the clouds, a needle of obsidian and gold that seemed to hold the sky in place.

Flying buttresses arced outward in sweeping curves that defied physics, their surfaces carved with the histories of every kingdom; battles won, treaties signed, heroes born and fallen. Between each buttress, enormous colorful windows depicted kings of the past, scattered across the glass like human rainbows.

The lower levels spread outward in concentric rings, each one a masterpiece of gothic-sci-fi fusion. Stone arches were reinforced with beams of luminous alloy.

Spires were crowned not with crosses but with crystalline antennae that transmitted the will of the Council to every corner of the world. Waterfalls cascaded from suspended aqueducts, their waters glowing faintly with purified Grace, cooling the massive reactors that powered the entire complex.

The main gates were forty feet high, forged from a metal that looked like aged bronze but shimmered with an inner rainbow iridescence. They were flanked by two statues, the first Avatars (vessels of the Elders) standing stoically with glorious wings.

As the vehicle approached, the gates swung by two Brigadiers. More Brigadiers snapped to attention on either side, their armor polished to mirror brightness, their Graceblasters held in perfect ceremonial form.

Kingdom Servants in robes of deep burgundy and gold paused in their duties to watch the vehicle pass. Officials clutching datapads and scrolls stopped mid-conversation, their eyes tracking the gothic transport as it glided through the gates and into the Hall’s outer courtyard.

The vehicle came to a stop on a circular landing pad of polished obsidian, then the doors opened.

Malakai descended first, his ice-chip eyes sweeping the courtyard with practiced vigilance. Servants and workers greeted him, respecting his presence.

Azura followed, smiling at some servants who smiled back. Steele stepped out, causing the vehicle to bounce as it was free of his great weight. Letika emerged last, her twisted oak staff tapping once against the obsidian as she straightened.

Everyone greeted them with waves and smiles of respect and reverence.

Then came Lancet and his Heroines.

The moment they stepped out, the courtyard fell silent.

Awakeners in sleek combat robes stopped and stared. Kingdom Servants forgot their errands. Brigadiers who had seen a thousand dignitaries come and go found themselves unable to look away. Even the officials—usually too busy or too important—paused and turned.

Whispers rippled through the crowd like wind through wheat.

”That’s her. That’s Astensia Valengard. The Ironwill Knight herself.”

”And Thor Stormchild. Look at her. She’s even more terrifying than the paintings.”

”Is that Kestrel Highcastle? The Emerald Blade? I thought she was a myth.”

”Elders have mercy! That’s Spectra Hexerra. The Mother of Demons. She’s... she’s actually here.”

Lancet scanned their expressions then looked up.

The Hall rose before them, and from this angle, at its base, it seemed to stretch into infinity. The central spire vanished into the clouds. The stained-glass windows blazed with captured sunlight.

Astensia tilted her head back, her bright blue eyes wide with wonder. ”This is the Kingdom Council Hall?” she breathed.

Thor stood beside her, gazing up at the glorious building. ”The world truly has changed, Astensia. We never saw something this beautiful in our time.”

Spectra looked up. Studied the spires. The buttresses. The waterfalls. The glowing crystal circuits.

”Pfft,” she muttered, unimpressed. ”They just repainted.”

Azura turned to look at her, one eyebrow arching sharply. ”How would you know? Have you ever been here before?”

Spectra smiled. ”Of course. It was in this place that they banned me from using my own powers.” Her crimson eyes grew distant, seeing not the Hall before her but the Hall of a century and a half ago. ”I think... it was here that I made a decision.”

Azura watched her for a long moment, seemingly empathetic. ”Those were... different times,” she said, her voice quieter now. ”The world has forgone all of its discriminatory rules towards Classes of all kinds.”

Spectra was silent for a moment. She lowered her head, and what remained on her face was a half smile.

”Has it?” she murmured.

”Get a move on!” Head Commander Maxxon demanded, then started marching towards the entrance.

Lancet ignored Malakai who gestured for them to move. He turned to his Heroines, breaking the moment with easy confidence ”Come on, guys. Let’s stay together and get this over with.”

Kestrel’s sharp eyes swept across the staring crowd. ”People do stare much more in this century,” she observed dryly.

Lancet looked at her and smiled. ”I’m sure you’re all used to stares.”

Kestrel considered this for a moment, then made a small, conceding expression that said he’s right. She had been stared at in her own time too. The Emerald Blade was not a title one earned by being forgettable.

Lancet turned toward the Hall entrance. ”Let’s go before Malakai here gets all grumpy.”

Malakai’s ice-chip eyes snapped to Lancet, and the glare he leveled at the young Summoner was cold enough to freeze water. But he said nothing. He simply turned and began walking toward the massive bronze-and-rainbow gates, his boots clicking against the obsidian.

The Brigadiers formed a loose escort around them. It was not quite a prisoner’s guard, but not quite an honor guard either. Something in between.

They moved through the gates and into the Hall proper, and the interior was even more breathtaking than the exterior.

The entrance corridor was a cathedral of light and stone. The ceiling arched a hundred feet above them, supported by pillars carved into the likenesses of legendary Awakeners, each one holding a different weapon, each one frozen in a moment of eternal vigilance.

Between the pillars, holographic tapestries rippled in midair, displaying scenes from the world’s history in vivid, moving color. Lancet even saw a scene of Astensia holding back against the Greatest Gate.