Location: Citadel High Tower – Grand Council Chamber (Dawn)
The Grand Council Chamber atop Solencia's High Tower glittered with dawn's first rays, filtering through monumental stained‑glass windows that depicted legendary saviors across the ages. Itsuki Hiroto stepped onto the raised dais, his baker's cloak now bearing the unlikely title "World Alliance Co‑Chairman" in gilded thread. Below him, delegates from every realm—humans, demons, elves, dwarves, beastfolk, merfolk, sky riders, nomad tribes—filled the semicircular benches, quills poised and eyes bright with expectation.
Chancellor Beltram stood at center, robes flowing. To his right, Cardinal Elgar gripped his crozier; to his left, Arch‑Treasurer Lavros tapped a golden ledger; at strategic points, General Tyrus, Lady Arindel, Master Kaldin, and others formed an imposing circle. All awaited the opening address from the "Silent Savior."
Hiroto's eyelids fluttered. He rubbed his eyes. Yesterday's Calamity‑slap still left his arm numb, and last night's seal ritual had kept him awake until the moon sank. Now, facing the world's most powerful assembly, he felt the weight of every prophecy upon his shoulders—and the bone‑deep pull of sleep.
Beltram cleared his throat. "Guildmaster Hiroto, our alliance forged by yawn, slap, and sip now looks to your wisdom. Please, address the Council."
Silence stretched. Hiroto blinked twice. He raised a trembling hand, and the chamber leaned in as if drawn by his presence. He inhaled, voice soft but resonant:
"Esteemed delegates… I… am not the Chosen One."
A collective gasp swept the hall. Quills paused mid‑scribe; trumpeter apprentices stilled. Even the floating lanterns flickered in surprise.
"I'm the Sleepy One," Hiroto continued, the words catching in his throat as his eyes narrowed with exhaustion. He rubbed his temples. "I've slept through dragon attacks, world‑shaking yawns, God‑slap battles, and sealing cataclysms. All I ever wanted was a simple life—a warm teacup at dawn and a nap at dusk."
A low murmur rose. Delegates exchanged glances, their expressions flickering from awe to confusion to reverent terror.
Hiroto paused, yawned—a long, drawn‑out gasp that echoed like a rolling thunderbolt through the cavernous chamber.
CLUCK— the echo bounced off obsidian walls.
Heads snapped toward the dais. The stained‑glass windows rattled. A hush fell so profound every heartbeat thundered.
Cardinal Elgar's eyes widened. He clutched his crozier as though it might shatter. "His… his Yawn of Fury! Behold the divine exhalation of displeasure!"
Beside him, Arch‑Treasurer Lavros cowered. "The Rumbling of Ruin! The Sleep‑Tremor of Judgment!"
Elven Lady Arindel bowed her head. "The Silent Hand's wrath in slumber! We must atone!"
A Beastfolk chieftain stamped his hoof‑shod foot. "We have angered him with endless petitions! We deserve his fury!"
Hiroto's mouth hung open. I'm not angry—I'm just tired. He raised both arms in a placating gesture. "Wait—no! I'm not angry! I just—"
Another yawn burst from him mid‑sentence, smaller but no less ominous.
From the back of the chamber, a thunderous clap—magical wards triggered by prophetic signatures—shook the floor. Papers fluttered like startled birds.
Virelya, perched at the dais's edge, drew in a sharp breath behind her gauntlet. Sera's potions rattled in her satchel. Even the Exalted Standard—a giant, enchanted tapestry of Hiroto's smiling visage—billowed as though caught in an unseen wind.
Hiroto's cheeks burned. He stomped his foot. "Enough! I'm not mad—I'm exhausted!"
His shout cracked the silence like a whip. For a heartbeat, the chamber held its breath—then erupted in frenzied worship:
"Behold the Wrathful Dream God!" "Grant us Mercy in Our Slumber!" "Build the Sanctuary of the Night!" "Bless the Silent Savior's Yawn!"
Hiroto threw up his hands. "No! I leave tomorrow! I declare this alliance null!"
Chancellor Beltram stepped forward, eyes bright. "But, Guardian of Slumber, it is your divine will we forge eternal rest‑pacts and dream‑sanctuaries!"
Hiroto's head spun. "I'm a clerk! I… I want to go home!"
Floating lanterns dimmed in virtual unison. Cardinal Elgar fell to one knee, tears in his eyes. "Our Chosen One, grant us the guidance of the Sleep!"
Murmurs cascaded—delegates wept in ecstasy, citizens outside chanted his name, druids lit incense, clerics began composing hymns to his 'Furious Yawn.'
Hiroto staggered, gulping for air. "Someone—anyone—please stop me before I yawn again!"
His plea only intensified the fervor: shouts of "Divine Yawn! Divine Yawn!" echoed across the marble benches. The warded dais hummed, as though waiting for another tremor to seal a new prophecy.
---
Location: Citadel Corridor – Moments Later
Virelya gently guided Hiroto off the dais, stepping between him and the worshipers. She whispered fiercely, "We need to get you out—now."
Sera poured a vial of "Wakeful Resolve Elixir" into Hiroto's cup. He drank it in one desperate gulp.
Hiroto blinked, focus sharpening. He cleared his throat, voice louder than he'd ever managed before: "Council! Hear me!"
The Assembly froze, heads turning with reverent expectation.
He held up both hands, palm‑first. "I… hereby renounce any claim of divine wrath or prophecy. I disclaim any titles bestowed by quivering lips and startled throat muscles. I am a clerk. I enjoy tea. I dislike long speeches and—especially—forced worship."
A third, more powerful yawn rolled from him—short, sharp, unapologetically human. This time, its echo cracked a pendant light, showering motes of dust across the chamber.
Silence, thick as velvet, fell. The hypnotic hum of prophecy wards faded. Delegates looked around, confusion and curiosity mingling.
Hiroto took a steadying breath. "If you'll allow it, I will—" he glanced at Virelya—"—sleep in peace." He turned on his heel and marched down the corridor, robe fluttering.
Virelya and Sera flanked him, parting the astonished assembly. From behind them, a single voice called out:
"Stand down, O devotees… he has spoken."
Followed by a hesitant chorus: "May the Sleepy One rest…"
---
Location: Citadel Gardens – Late Morning
Outside, the ornate Citadel Gardens lay silent and sunlit, paths lined with night‑blooming flowers and benches carved with lullaby runes. Hiroto collapsed onto one such bench, breathing in the gentle fragrance.
Virelya perched beside him. "Well… that worked."
Hiroto exhaled, closing his eyes. "I think at last they understand."
Sera offered him a teacup of "Dreamless Tea"—a midnight‑blue blend. He sipped, shoulders relaxing.
A distant horn echoed through the palace gates. Hiroto cracked one eye. "What now?"
Virelya smirked. "Probably a delegation requesting your blessing for restful sleep."
Hiroto rolled his eyes. "Tell them to meditate instead."
They sat in companionable silence, the city's next wave of petitions held at bay by a single, unapologetic yawn and a firm declaration of humanity.
And as the morning sun climbed higher, the Sleepy One finally found his rest—not as a god, not as a chosen prophet, but as a man who simply needed a nap.