I was falling into a vast, endless sky.

  Then, there were mirrors, all reflecting strangers wearing my face.

  “The Apocrypha,” I whispered, remembering the state from ancient texts.

  I went to one of the mirrors, reaching out to the king inside it. I destroyed it.

  I went to the next one, and destroyed it. I shattered every reflection I could reach.

  When fifty panes had been broken, I fell freely.

  I woke up, gasping on the cold floor of the Ivory Tower. Alive. But my mana circuits felt as if they had been torn in half.

  ***

  Miles away, in a peaceful forest, Eila woke before the crack of dawn.

  The remnants of a strange dream clung to him; he forgot about the contents of the dream. It left behind only a hollow, gnawing sensation that he had abandoned something vital.

  He shook off the weariness and stood, stretching his hands above his head. He looked back at Imara, ever the peaceful sleeper, tangled in the heavy bedsheets. She would sleep soundly for at least another two hours before she woke up to nag him about leaving without saying letting her know.

  Eila stepped into the washroom and splashed cold water over his face, letting the physical shock wash away the lingering uneasiness of the dream.

  He walked to the pantry, scanning the meager shelves.

  "Low on meat... hmm," he muttered.

  He made up his mind. The crisp morning air and the clear, quiet dawn outside the window offered the perfect conditions for a hunt. If the weather held, he might even track down a bull elk.

  He pushed open the heavy wooden door to the murky armory on the left side of the hut. He walked inside and bypassed the spears, taking his sword. It wasn’t required for the hunt, but the worn hilt put him at ease. Through the millions of times he had fought for the kingdom, bled for it, and won for it, the blade had been his only constant ally.

  Pulling his black cloak over his shoulders, Eila stepped out into the frost.

  He tracked in silence. Soon, he found a massive elk grazing near the treeline. Not quite a bull elk, but it would do.

  Eila raised a hand, pointing a single finger at the beast.

  "IGNIS MYTH: NIMPO."

  A compressed flash of searing, concentrated kinetic fire shot from his fingertip. It punctured the morning mist and struck the elk's skull, dropping the massive animal dead before it even registered the sound.

  Eila lowered his hand, letting out a long, quiet breath that plumed in the cold air. He walked over to the carcass, watching the wind ruffle its thick fur. Just a quiet morning. Just a normal hunt.

  He bent down to hoist the elk over his shoulder.

  Then, the birds and insects stopped chirping.

  The ambient noise of the woods ceased, replaced by a suffocating, physical dread that washed over the trees. It was a cold presence that absolutely shouldn't be here. And it was coming from...

  "IMARA!" Eila screamed. He abandoned the elk, the blood pooling and soaking into the frozen ground, and sprinted blindly back through the trees.

  He reached the clearing. The forest was eerily silent. The front door was unlocked, just as he had left it that morning.

  He burst into the foyer, his eyes darting frantically. There was... nothing out of order. No blood. No signs of a struggle.

  But he felt the crushing weight of the room.

  Eila turned slowly toward the kitchen.

  A man in a pristine black suit was sitting in Eila’s own wooden chair. He had poured a cup of tea. The gloved hand holding the china was perfectly still, the grip immaculate and firm.

  "You sure took a long time, Eila," the man said, his voice smooth and sterile. "I overstepped myself and poured some of the tea. Excuse me, if you will."

  Kaelen took a slow sip, then placed the cup ever so lightly onto the hand-carved table.

  Eila’s eyes snapped downward. Imara was curled on the floorboards beside the table, her hands clawing desperately at her own throat as she gasped and sputtered, fighting for air that wouldn't enter her lungs.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  "What have you done to her?" Eila croaked. His hand flew to the hilt of his sword, but the air refused to enter his own nostrils. The sheer density of the presence in the room was crushing his chest.

  Kaelen didn't even look down at the dying woman. He merely gazed out the kitchen window, observing the trees.

  "I haven't cast a single spell," Kaelen stated, his tone completely sterile. “It’s just her own weakness”

  His eyes snapped from the window, locking into Eila’s with terrifying speed.

  “Tell me, Eila, how do you feel knowing I have conquered the kingdom?” Kaelen asked, the question purely rhetorical. “How do you feel knowing that the people you desired to kill now kneel in front of me?”

  “What are you spouting?” Eila forced back a cough. He was crushing the doorframe just to keep standing. “I don’t care about Aethelgard. Step outside, please, you are killing her.”

  “The people who killed your sister, now are my loyal subjects,” Kaelen stated. He had no intention of moving out of the chair.

  At once, Eila stopped trembling. He went cold and rigid. The husband vanished, and the anomaly who once threatened to fell the sky appeared.

  “Don’t talk about her.”

  “Emilia...” Kaelen tested the words on his tongue. “She was weak, Emilia, flawed and-”

  Eila moved.

  He didn't scream. He simply vanished from the doorway, reappearing inches from Kaelen's throat, his sword drawn with desperate speed.

  Kaelen merely offered a faint, cold smile and raised a single, gloved finger.

  "LOGIC: SCHISMA."

  Eila's blade cleanly severed from the hilt, the upper half clattering uselessly onto the wooden floor. Before Eila could even process the broken steel, Kaelen moved. His polished heel sank directly into Eila's gut.

  The impact shattered the kitchen wall. Eila was launched backward through the splintering wood, crashing violently against the trunk of a massive oak tree. Blood sprayed from his lips, staining the greenery.

  Before Eila could even hit the ground, Kaelen was looming over him. Eila instinctively threw a desperate, jagged punch. Kaelen didn't even block it; he simply caught Eila by the throat, slammed his skull against a jagged stone, and hurled his body deeper into the dense forest.

  Eila crashed into the soft, damp earth. His survivor's instincts screamed. He forced his eyes open, instantly registering four cracked ribs. He had to look, observe, and predict the next attack.

  "Too late."

  Kaelen’s polished shoe connected with Eila’s jaw with a force belying his build.

  Eila’s body was launched through the air, tearing through the trunks of three solid oak trees before finally skipping across the dirt and collapsing near the lake, the cold water lapping at his boots.

  He gasped, his vision swimming in red. He tried to crawl. He tried to force his broken body to stand. He needed a weapon.

  Kaelen materialized beside him, stepping down hard onto Eila’s right hand, pinning it mercilessly into the mud. Kaelen's black suit didn't have a single speck of dust on it.

  "Tell me, Eila," Kaelen asked, his voice completely level as he looked down at the pitiful boy. "Are you afraid?"

  Eila spat a glob of blood onto Kaelen's shoe, his chest heaving.

  Kaelen merely looked at the blood, then back to Eila's eyes. "Tell me, Eila, what is the fundamental difference between a duty and a promise?"

  Eila gritted his teeth, pulling fruitlessly at his trapped hand.

  "A duty is merely a societal vow," Kaelen answered his own question, his tone measured. "It is assigned. Expected. A duty can be abandoned the moment the parameters of survival change. But a promise... a promise is a self-authored law. It is an absolute truth you bind to your own code."

  Kaelen leaned down slightly.

  "A duty should inherently be a promise, Eila. But men are too weak to bind themselves to absolutes. And do you know the most fascinating byproduct of a promise?" Kaelen tilted his head. "Hope. It introduces an unpredictable, chaotic variable into a perfectly solved world.

  His silver eyes locked on the struggling Hero.

  "Did you keep your promise, Eila?"

  Eila managed to raise his left hand.

  “CONCEPT: LITURA”

  A beam of absolute black light tore from his hand. Kaelen missed it by inches, it tore into the shoulder of his pristine suit, his skin visible from underneath. Instantly, Eila’s arm twisted and turned purple, with the smell of burnt flesh rising into the air.

  Kaelen was curious.

  “Eila...Eila...what are you trying to achieve?” Kaelen’s quiet voice carrying over the water flow. His certainty vanishing for the first time. “Are you, perhaps, hoping for an emotion out of me?” He answered his own question again.

  “Tell me, do you not remember the night where I was hurt the most? Alone and cursed?” Kaelen questioned, his smile eerily sad. "I now sit on the throne of the kingdom you once protected. I am the pinnacle of this world's power. My name is Kaelen. Tell me... do you truly feel nothing when you look at me? Are you that selfish?"

  “What are...you...talking about?” Eila choked out, his ruined arm smoldering.

  Kaelen’s eerie smile didn’t move an inch.

  “I see, very well.” Kaelen raised his hand. “ARC” he spoke quietly.

  An intricately designed curved short-blade formed in his hand.

  “This is farewell, Eila.” He raised the blade.

  Suddenly, the temperature plummeted. The birds fled from hundreds of trees, insects went dead silent.

  The skies tore open, and a figure landed between Kaelen and Eila. He wore an immaculate armor woven of spun gold and embedded with blood-red rubies.

  Breathe...is it even allowed to breathe in this presence? Eila thought. The damp air condensed, instantly becoming heavier and more suffocating than even Kaelen's pressure.

  The figure turned towards Kaelen.

  “Bow,” His voice was a magnificent boom. An absolute command. “For the king is here.”