Aetheron's vision blurred. The weight of the blade in his hand felt different—not heavier, but fuller.
The throne room faded, dissolving like mist. Then—
He was somewhere else.
A World of Kings
He stood in an endless hall.
Colossal statues lined the walls, each depicting a figure clad in regal armor, their faces obscured by time.
Not statues. Thrones.
Each one bore a sword embedded in its armrest.
And at the very end of the hall—
One throne sat empty.
"You walk the path of Sovereigns."
The voice resonated through the chamber, deep and ageless.
Aetheron stepped forward. Each step echoed.
One by one, the statues turned their heads.
Eyes blazing with forgotten authority locked onto him.
Watching. Judging.
"What makes a king?"
The question was not a whisper.
It was a demand.
Aetheron exhaled. He gripped his sword tighter.
Then—
The statues moved.
The Judgment of Kings
The first statue drew its blade.
Aetheron barely dodged as a titanic sword cleaved down. The force shattered the stone floor beneath him.
Another lunged.
Aetheron twisted, parrying—but the impact nearly shattered his arms.
He was fighting Sovereigns of the past.
Every ruler who had ever claimed a throne.
Aetheron's blade clashed with another strike. Sparks flew. His feet slid back.
This wasn't a battle for survival.
This was a trial.
The Chains of Rule
Aetheron dodged, barely escaping a sweeping blow that split the hall in two.
The second statue stepped forward, its voice a rumble of mountains.
"A king does not bow."
Chains shot from the walls, wrapping around Aetheron's limbs.
They burned. Not with fire, but with weight.
The weight of duty. Sacrifice. Power.
Aetheron gritted his teeth. It wasn't about breaking free.
It was about accepting the burden.
He took a step forward—the chains did not stop him.
Another step. They loosened.
One more—they shattered.
The statues paused.
Then, they knelt.
The Final Throne
Aetheron looked up.
The empty throne at the end of the hall was waiting.
His pulse pounded in his ears.
This was the last step.
He approached.
The moment his hand reached out—
The statues spoke in unison.
"Do you claim the throne?"
Aetheron's fingers hovered over the armrest.
He could feel it—the weight of sovereignty.
A choice.
To rule.
Or to walk away.
The air froze.
Aetheron closed his eyes.
Then—
He made his decision.