When Arthur’s eyes fluttered open, the familiar weight of exhaustion and battle-worn muscles should have greeted him. The acrid sll 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 mory 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 monts 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 glead 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 scread 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 ntal 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 beco 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 ?’
Then, without warning, his eyes closed—except Arthur himself hadn’t initiated the action. It was as if soone 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 fra 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.
’What the fuck!’
Instead of his own familiar features, Arthur saw a man of striking appearance. Short, golden hair caught the light from the room’s chandeliers, each strand seeming to shimr with an almost ethereal quality. Serene blue eyes, the color of a clear sumr sky, gazed back at him with an intensity that was both calming and unsettling. The man’s skin was flawless, unmarked by scars and blemishes. A rustled but well-grood beard frad a strong jawline, giving the reflection an air of regal authority.
The figure in the mirror wore a suit of armor unlike anything Arthur had ever seen. It was crafted from what appeared to be pure gold, each piece polished to perfection and adorned with intricate engravings that seed to tell stories of great deeds and noble victories. Despite its obvious weight and grandeur, the armor seed to fit the man perfectly, as if it had been crafted specifically for his fra.
Arthur watched in fascination and growing horror as the man in the mirror—for he was beginning to understand that this was not truly a reflection, but rather soone else’s body that he was sohow experiencing—reached for sothing he had been carrying. In his hands was an object that made Arthur’s blood run cold: a mask crafted to resemble the sun, its golden surface gleaming with an inner light that seed almost alive.
’The king!? I’m in the body of the king!? What the hell is happening?’
The questions tumbled through Arthur’s consciousness like a waterfall, each one more urgent and terrifying than the last. How was this possible? Was he dead? Was this so kind of afterlife experience? Or had sothing gone terribly wrong during their battle with the corrupted monarch?
Before Arthur could even begin to process these revelations, his contemplation was suddenly shattered by the sound of young voices calling out from behind him.
"Daddy!? Daddy!?"
The voices were high-pitched and lodious, unmistakably belonging to children. They sounded eerily similar to each other, as if they might belong to twins. The sound pierced through the silence of the chamber like arrows, filled with excitent and unbridled joy.
Arthur felt the king’s body turn around, a movent that happened without any input from his own consciousness. As they faced the source of the voices, two small figures ca running into the room with the boundless energy that only children possess.
They were girls, clearly sisters, and likely twins based on their similar appearance and synchronized movents. They wore matching dresses of the finest silk, colored in shades of pale pink and adorned with delicate embroidery that spoke of royal craftsmanship.
Without hesitation, both girls launched themselves at the king, wrapping their small arms around his armored form in enthusiastic hugs. Despite the hardness of the golden armor, they seed completely comfortable embracing their father, their faces buried against his chest as they giggled with pure happiness.
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