Realm Lord

When Arthur’s eyes fluttered open, the familiar weight of exhaustion and battle-worn muscles should have greeted him. The acrid smell of blood, the echoing sounds of his companions’ voices—all of these sensations after their grueling fight should have surrounded him. Instead, silence enveloped him like a suffocating blanket.

Arthur blinked slowly, his vision adjusting to an entirely different reality. He was no longer standing in front of the devastated throne room, staring down at the corrupted king’s lifeless form sprawled across the marble floor. The memory of that final, decisive blow felt distant now, almost dreamlike. Instead of the scene of their hard-fought victory, Arthur found himself seated upon the very throne.

Where moments ago there had been chaos, destruction, and the remnants of their fierce battle, now everything appeared immaculate. The once-cracked pillars stood tall and unblemished, their surfaces polished to a mirror shine. The intricate tapestries that had been torn and bloodied during the fight now hung perfectly in place, their rich colors vibrant and untouched. The marble floor, which had been stained with the evidence of their struggle, now gleamed as if freshly cleaned by an army of servants.

Most unsettling of all, the throne room was completely empty. Arthur’s companions were nowhere to be seen. The silence was so complete that he could hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears, each pulse echoing through the vast, empty chamber.

Confusion gripped Arthur’s mind like icy fingers. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening. He opened his mouth to call out, to shout for his friends, to demand answers to the questions flooding his thoughts. But when he tried to speak, nothing happened. His lips remained sealed, unmoving, as if they were carved from stone. Panic began to rise in his chest as he realized that his mouth simply would not obey his commands.

’What the hell is going on?’ The thought screamed through his mind, but no sound escaped his lips.

Growing increasingly desperate, Arthur attempted to move, to stand from the throne and investigate this strange turn of events. But his body remained motionless, refusing to respond to even his most urgent mental commands. His arms stayed firmly planted on the armrests of the throne, his legs remained still, and even his fingers wouldn’t twitch despite his frantic efforts to make them move. It was as if he had become a passenger in his own body, able to think and observe but powerless to act.

The realization sent waves of terror through his consciousness. ’What the hell is happening to me?’

Then, without warning, his eyes closed—except Arthur himself hadn’t initiated the action. It was as if someone else was controlling his eyelids, blinking for reasons he couldn’t understand or anticipate.

When his vision returned, the world had shifted once again. The throne room had vanished entirely, replaced by what appeared to be a private chamber. Arthur found himself standing before an ornate mirror, its frame crafted from polished silver and adorned with intricate engravings of celestial symbols. But the reflection staring back at him was not his own familiar face.