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.
