[He was astonished by the events unfolding before him]
[There was no way to describe what he was seeing, no path his mind could follow to justify the illogical truth pressing in on him]
[In his eyes, the world had always been cruel, not just in its sharp edges, but in its silence]
[He had lived his entire life in bed, unable to run, unable to play, unable to escape the confines of his frail body]
[The walls of his room had become his sky, the window his only glimpse of the outside world]
[And still, he survived]
[Not through strength. Not through power. But through will]
[So when he whispered that word, survive, something deep within him stirred]
[A locked door opened]
[And behind it, a memory drifted in like a ghost]
[It was ancient, delicate, as if it were made of ash and the wind might scatter it forever]
[But it returned to him all the same]
[And with it came a vision, a future swallowed by darkness, where all things had crumbled away and left him drifting alone in the void]
[Except, he was not alone]
[There was a gaze]
[And in that gaze, he saw a pair of eyes]
[They were pale, a white fog on a forgotten road, a veil across a dying horizon]
[In those eyes, he saw his end. The death at the edge of time. The final silence reaching for him]
[But that was not all he saw]
[Long ago, when Nicholas was still small, too small to rise from his pillow, too weak to hold a toy, his mother had asked him a question]
[It was night. The moon cast pale ribbons of light across the wooden floor, and the only sound was the soft rustle of her dress as she sat beside him]
[She looked tired, the kind of tired that lives behind the eyes, beyond sleep]
[Her hands were cold, but they cupped his cheek with unbearable gentleness]
["Nicholas," she asked, her voice like a lullaby trembling on the verge of a sob, "what do you want to be when you grow up?"]
[He knew what she meant, even if she didn't say it]
[He would never walk. He would never fight. He would never rule or conquer or become anything the world might admire]
[But he thought for a long time.]
["I want to be kind"]
[She froze]
[And then she smiled, a smile of sorrow and pride folded into one]
["Then you'll be more than I ever was," she whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead]
[She died two days later]
[And for years, Nicholas let that memory sink beneath the weight of bitterness, pain, and rage. He buried it, sealed it, forgot it]
[But now, in the heart of this abyss, with the world cracking beneath his feet, he remembered]
"Survive? Survive what? Myself? Others? You?"
The other me did not respond
He couldn't
There was no answer that would change the truth
He simply reached out a hand and lifted me, his fingers shaking with something deeper than fear
He looked up, as if praying to a god that had long since abandoned us
Then he turned his gaze back to me, placing both hands on my face
And he smiled
A sad, desperate smile
"It is our destiny to be absurd," he said. "To be vile. To be monstrous"
His voice cracked
"And yet I beg you, be kind"
The world shattered
Darkness crumbled into light
And I fell
I fell from that impossible place and awoke to find my body floating gently in the air, like a feather caught in breathless stillness
Then gravity returned, and I dropped, collapsing onto my bed with a harsh thud
I gasped, wheezing as the weight of reality settled back in
Groaning, I turned my head, and there they were
Three of them, kneeling before me. My most loyal servants
And among them, I recognized him instantly
Ouroboros
I sat up slowly, my spine aching, but my heart strangely clear
Cracking my neck, I drew in a long breath
"Hope I wasn't gone too long," I said quietly. "I had something I needed to remember."
Mirabel looked up, her brows furrowed
"Just what did you do?"
I smiled and leaned forward, as if revealing a secret not meant for this world
"I came to an understanding," I said
"I need to become… kind"
I was given a second chance, to control my fate, to live beyond those white sheets.
To be free and to move without pain, to laugh without fear, to love without regret.
I am going to embrace my delusion and live this absurd life until I die, or until I am erased.
Because if I lament and grovel at my own weakness… if I continue sitting on that throne doing nothing.
If I find myself lost or hating, or vengeful, if I can't control my power, if I seem evil, I cry.
If I sing without a tune, speak without a purpose, act without a cause.
I will cast myself into an abyss.
I wish to be like a bird, flying, soaring in the sky, above all others. I wish to embrace my insignificant life.
And be absurd.
I wish to be absurd until the very end.
Looking down at the three people before me, I could only smile.
"Stand."
They all obeyed.
My eyes drifted toward Ouroboros.
"You. You have it, don't you? Mind giving it back?"
He flinched at my words. Then, with a solemn nod, he walked toward me.
Without hesitation, he reached deep into his chest, plunging his hand through flesh and bone.
There was no hesitation. No cry of pain.
When he pulled his hand free, he held a crown.
I had given each of my main servants a representation of myself, a piece of what I had lost, something sacred, an ability, an idea, or an item.
This was reflected in the titles I had bestowed upon them.
Ouroboros… he was different.
He bore the only title I could still remember.
"Ouroboros, Crown of the King."
He coughed violently, the crown slipping from his hands and landing in mine.
Then he collapsed.
His body twisted and spasmed on the floor, bones cracking like branches underfoot.
Blood spilled from his lips as he screamed, and then, silence.
He did not rise.
I looked down at him, confused… but also slightly irritated.
"Hmm. Maybe I got it wrong."
Lancerial spoke softly from behind me.
"It's a bit off… from what it truly was."
I glanced down again and let out a quiet sigh.
"Ouroboros, the King's Crown."
His body stirred, trembling as he gasped and coughed up another mouthful of blood.
He looked as though he had just seen death incarnate.
"Perfect," I said quietly. "Now, for the rest of you… I'm afraid you'll have to wait a little while longer."
"Of course, my king," Lancerial replied, bowing once more.
I turned my gaze toward Mirabel.
"Call Kivana. We need to talk."
There was a faint feeling I had, a binding, a shackle in that held me, I wanted to break it.
More so, I wanted to question someone, I wanted to ask questions, I was a curious king, wasn't I?