Chapter 4: A Language of Power

My brain stalls. Golden letters morph into runes, pressing down on the grand elder. Natalie catches my look and leans in, voice low:

“This is Law Follows the Word. After the Sunrise Islands made a foreign order their master, they can use foreign languages—even summon their own historical figures to fight.”

She’s tense, pride and worry warring in her eyes—the kind of look you get before a bar fight, when you know the odds aren’t good.

Hiroshi Inoue clocks my confusion and smirks:

“What are you staring at? You think a janitor like you could understand?”

Natalie clenches her fist, knuckles white, fighting back frustration and tears.

“Too strong. Without centuries to train, there’s no way to resist. Who’d have thought the Sunrise Islands had this kind of genius?”

But Silver Hollow’s best barely live to see old age anymore. Talent dies young, buried by bad luck and a lack of resources. The grand elder’s face is grave. He forces out the words, voice shaking like an old coach calling the last play:

“g~o~l~d~e~n, b~e~l~l, s~h~i~e~l~d.”

“Golden Bell Shield.”

A golden light condenses, forming a bell, letters swirling, faint chanting echoing—a sunbeam through storm clouds, a choir singing on Sunday morning. The bell drops, guarding the grand elder.

BANG—

A thunderous crash.

The bell shatters. The grand elder spits blood and crumples. I stand frozen, aftershocks rippling past me. My hands shook so bad I nearly dropped the broom. Sweat prickled down my back, cold as ice.

Wait. Was that… just English? My brain short-circuited. Had I stumbled into the one world where being a native English speaker was an actual superpower?

Natalie shields me from the shockwave. I blurt out:

“Is that the sacred language?”

She glances over, calm but tired.

“That’s right.”

She gives a little smile, remembering how long it took her to master just those three words.

All around, other battles rage. I spot a white-haired woman, Midwest accent sharp, lips moving with deadly ease.

“What would you like to eat?”

A young girl shouts:

“My name is Emily!”

A boy chimes in:

“My name is Caleb!”

BOOM—

Wrong answer. They’re ash before the echo fades. The sacred language isn’t forgiving. It’s brutal.

Everywhere, spells fly—crackling like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Beautiful, but you know someone could lose a finger. I realize: if I step up, maybe I could do it too.

An arrow whistles toward us—sharp, sudden, like a ref’s whistle after a dirty hit. Natalie reacts fast:

“Protective Shield!”

A transparent barrier snaps into place. The arrow bounces off, vanishing. Natalie stands firm, sweat on her brow, but her voice rock solid. She’s our anchor, the only thing holding this team together.

And then it hits me—Natalie’s English is cleaner than the grand elder’s. So she’s stronger. If that’s how this works… I might actually be really strong here. The thought is ridiculous, but I can’t shake it.

“Look out!”

Another elder shouts. Overhead, a meteorite tears through the sky—heat and panic flooding the arena. All eyes turn up. Natalie’s shield is our only hope, but the foreign teams are gunning for her.

CRACK—

The shield shatters. The meteorite bears down, unstoppable.

“Order leader!”

People scream. Rivals jeer. It feels like the last quarter and we’re down by thirty, but somewhere in my chest, something stubborn flickers. The meteorite hurtled closer, and for the first time, I felt the words burning on my tongue. Maybe I was about to die—or maybe, I was about to rewrite the rules.