Chris swallowed hard, forcing his racing mind to ground itself. "Give me a moment," he whispered to the messenger. "I'll be right down. Summon my personal guard, and shut the door on your way out."He turned to his uncle, a hollow smirk plastered on his face. "Time to go be the king."Marcell noted the underlying panic in his nephew's expression, making a silent mental note to address it later, and led the way out.The palace, known historically as the Temple of Time, sat atop an impossibly tall, sheer plateau that overlooked a vast, flat landscape. Because of its staggering elevation, anyone approaching the kingdom could easily be spotted from dozens of miles away.As Chris and Marcell stepped onto the grand landing that protruded out over the thousand-foot drop, Chris's personal guard stood waiting. They were a magnificent sight—clad in brilliant crimson and gold, carrying swords, bows, and axes of unparalleled craftsmanship. Their pikes and lances were polished to a mirror shine, catching the bright afternoon sun. From the ground below, their contingent must have looked like a second sun blazing on the cliffside."Give me a report," Marcell demanded, stopping a passing general. "What can we expect when they reach the gates?"The general stopped, his expression twisting into an indignant snarl. "I answer to the one true king of Alced, not some pampered advisor. Learn your station and stay there, old man."In a blur of motion, Marcell's hand shot out. He seized the general by the throat, lifting the massive man a clear six inches off the stone floor."You will watch your tongue, or I will snatch it out along with your throat," Marcell growled, his voice dropping to a terrifying register. "Do you understand me?""Enough!" Chris bellowed, his voice echoing off the palace walls. "You'll make us look weak."Marcell released his grip, and the general stumbled back, gasping for air. Regaining their composure, the company peered over the precipice to watch the small, unimpressive contingent winding its way up the mountain path."According to my scouts, they are a small but incredibly strange force," the general whispered, rubbing his throat."Strange how?" Chris asked. "Speak plainly."Marcell watched his nephew, a quiet spark of pride igniting within him. The boy was adapting to the crown remarkably fast."Well, Sire," the general began, "it's the damndest thing. They wear virtually no armor—mostly soft leather. They carry a single curved sword strapped across their backs, and a long and short knife at their belts. But Sire, it's the sheer demeanor of these people that made my breath pause. We approached them with two full contingents of our finest soldiers, and not one of them so much as blinked. They number no more than fifty, but even with three hundred of our archers trained directly on their chests, they didn't have a single care in the world. That is, until we addressed the lone woman among them. Instantly, all fifty men took up arms. I never even saw them move; it was just a flash of swords glinting in the sun. In that exact moment, every soldier's instinct I possess told me that if we attacked, we would fall to a man. I bow to no god, my Lord, but I would bet my own mother I just met a platoon of demons.""So, she has finally come," Marcell murmured under his breath.The surrounding men turned to him, waiting for an explanation."She is Sarata of the Rose Blossoms," Marcell explained to the group. "One of the last true oracles on this plane. She is a direct descendant of an ancient warrior race that ruled these lands long before humans ever arrived. You are absolutely right, General. If your men had loosed an arrow, you would have been slaughtered before the bowstrings finished snapping.""Why is she here?" Chris asked."She would have seen the exact same omens I did," Marcell replied heavily. "She knows the spatial shift has begun."The guards and advisors exchanged uneasy, skeptical glances, looking at Marcell as if he had lost his mind."Sire, you cannot seriously be listening to this," the general rumbled in his deep baritone. "This is absolute lunacy.""Mind your tongue before you lose it, Duwall," Chris commanded, his voice slicing through the doubt. "The man you are so casually disrespecting is not only my uncle, but he is likely the most deadly man in this entire kingdom."General Duwall blinked, looking at Marcell with a newfound, profound respect. "Lord Marcell... please forgive me. If I had known..."Marcell silenced him with a brief wave of his hand. "Chris, we must finish our conversation from earlier. But Sarata cannot be kept waiting."An oppressive silence stretched over the plateau as the mysterious party finally breached the outer gates. As they approached the massive mechanical bridge leading into the palace, Marcell leaned close to Chris and whispered a final, chilling warning: "Whatever you do, do not lie to her."With those words hanging in the air, the royal party marched down the grand staircase into the great hall, Marcell and Duwall leading the way."My Lady Sarata," Marcell began, bowing his head. "To what do we owe the pleasure?""Cut the shit, Marcell," Sarata barked, her striking eyes flashing with immediate anger. "I have absolutely no need for your pleasantries or your false charm. You'll have plenty of time to grovel to me later."Chris could have sworn he saw his uncle's caramel skin flush a deep, embarrassed crimson."Yes, my Lady," Marcell muttered, taking a step back into the shadows."So, this is him?" Sarata asked, her gaze sweeping over to Chris. "The boy king who can save us or kill us all on a whim. Isn't that just amazing?" she added, her voice dripping with sarcasm.Duwall instinctively stepped forward to defend his king, but Marcell placed a firm hand on the general's shoulder, shaking his head to stay him.Chris stepped forward, refusing to be intimidated. "My Lady of the Rose Blossoms," he said, keeping his voice steady.Sarata's sharp expression softened into a sly smile. "Now, his charm is actually genuine. I may not need to speak to you later after all, Marcell."Chris blanched, entirely at a loss for words. Sarata let out a low chuckle."Don't worry, Your Excellency, fate has entirely different plans for you," a voice whispered.Chris gasped. Sarata was looking right at him, but her lips hadn't moved. He couldn't tell if he was hearing her voice aloud or directly inside his own skull. Confused and desperate to test his sanity, Chris formed a reply purely in his thoughts, directing it at her.Sarata's smile turned seductive, her eyes tracing him from head to toe."This one is not nearly as innocent as he looks," she snorted aloud, turning back toward Marcell. "Suwally will be incredibly pleased when she arrives. Does he have absolutely no knowledge of what is to come?" she asked, her tone shifting from playful to genuinely surprised. "Marcell, what is the meaning of this? Why has he not been taught?"Before anyone could answer, she turned back to Chris. "Give me your hands."Chris hesitated for a fraction of a second, then slowly reached out. The moment their fingertips brushed, a violent explosion of pure white light erupted inside his mind.He didn't hear a voice; he felt it, pressing against his consciousness: What I will show you is for you alone. It must never be repeated in company that is not trusted with your very life.Time completely ceased to exist for Chris. He couldn't tell if a single second had passed or an entire millennium, but suddenly, every disjointed memory of his young life snapped into perfect, terrifying focus. Fragments of his childhood blended seamlessly with lifetimes worth of ancient, forbidden knowledge, flooding into his mind like a breaking dam. So many unanswerable questions were instantly resolved, while a thousand more terrifying ones took their place.When the light faded, Chris found himself on his knees, weeping uncontrollably. He lunged forward, throwing his arms around his uncle as the overwhelming weight of the universe crushed his spirit.When Chris finally opened his eyes again, he was staring at the worried faces of his inner guard. Distantly, he could hear Marcell and Sarata arguing in hushed, fierce tones across the room."It is too soon," Marcell hissed. "He cannot be tested yet! The boy doesn't even comprehend the scope of his own abilities.""That boy," Sarata snarled back, "is the only hope this world has for a future."As they noticed Chris pushing himself up to his feet, Marcell seemed to physically deflate, his eyes filled with a hollow, freezing dread.Sarata stepped toward the young king, her expression turning somber. "How is your swordplay?""Passing fair," Chris retorted, his voice raspy."Show me," she commanded.The final word hit the room like a physical shockwave, and the great hall instantly erupted into pure chaos. Thirty of Sarata's elite warriors drew their curved blades in a single, fluid motion. Just as quickly, the home guard drew their weapons, forming a defensive wall around Chris."Tell your men to stand down!" Sarata bellowed over the ring of steel. "Else they won't live to take their next breath!"Chris looked frantically to his uncle. Marcell, his face completely ashen, offered a grim, reluctant nod. Trusting his uncle, Chris raised a hand, shouting for his men to hold their positions."Uncle..." Chris whispered. But Marcell looked miles away, lost in a dark trance.Suddenly, a profound, unnatural stillness settled over Chris's mind. Every trace of fear, confusion, and human emotion evaporated from his awareness, leaving a cold, hollow vacuum. His entire existence narrowed down to a single, absolute command: Cut.Chris's physical form seemed to shimmer, blurring into a shadow.The great hall bloomed into a horrific mist of deep red.Faster than the conflict had begun, it was over. All thirty of Sarata's warriors lay motionless on the stone floor, completely dead, many missing limbs and heads. Chris stood in the center of the slaughter, his knuckles white around the hilt of his sword, his eyes wide and wild as he stared into nothingness, waiting for a next target that no longer existed.Sarata whispered a single, incomprehensible word that cut through the silence. The violent trance shattered instantly. Chris dropped heavily to his knees, his hands trembling violently as he clutched the bloodied sword.The home guard immediately rushed forward, forming a protective circle around him. Marcell stepped over the bodies, glaring at Sarata with pure hatred."If it means anything," Sarata said quietly, staring at the carnage, "it was entirely necessary."Hours later, night had fallen over Alced, and Chris sat alone in his bedchambers, still shaking from the adrenaline. He was only grateful that Angie hadn't been present to witness the monster he had become.A sharp knock sounded at the door, but Chris called out, "Come in," a second before the wood rattled.Marcell swept into the room, his face pale and set in stone. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it. "If it helps... I believe her. It was necessary."Chris glared up at his uncle, tears finally breaking through and streaming down his cheeks. "You knew," he shouted, his voice cracking with betrayal. "Everything she showed me... everything I just did... you knew?"Marcell didn't answer with words. He walked across the room, wrapped his arms around his nephew, and held him tightly. There, in the quiet dark of the palace, both men wept in rivers of shared grief.When they finally composed themselves, they returned to the grand study where Sarata sat waiting, grim-faced and silent. As Chris entered, he felt the heavy sensation of her eyes peering directly into the depths of his soul."Some would say you are cursed," she began without preamble, her voice echoing in the quiet room. "Some say you are part demon. Others claim you are the reincarnation of fallen, forgotten gods. And still, others believe you are the only salvation this world has left. In the annals of prophecy, you are an enigma. A void in creation. A being who simply should not exist. You are known by many names: the Wise One, the Destroyer, the Light, and the Great Nothing. You are the Chosen One, and you are the Great Betrayer."The room grew suffocatingly quiet."You possess the potential to usher this world into a glorious golden age," she continued, her gaze unwavering. "Or, you will rule it and all neighboring realms as a ruthless tyrant. You are named the rightful ruler of Alced, but you are also the one who must champion Earth against the cataclysmic threat to come. Beware, for the reverse is always possible. Within you lies a great, swallowing darkness, and the terrifying ability to manipulate the negation of magic to dominate the realms. I so dub you: Lord Astana, heir to the throne of Alced."She reached into her robes and produced a smoking bundle of herbs wrapped tightly in bandoo leaves, waving the vapor toward his face. Chris inhaled the sweet, heavy smoke, and the world vanished into blackness once more.