Orion's eyes snapped open.
For a moment, he wasn't sure where he was. He wasn't in pain, but he wasn't comfortable either. The air around him felt heavy, thick, like it was alive. He pushed himself up from the ground, his head spinning.
The surface beneath him was smooth and cold, like polished obsidian. It reflected his image faintly, distorted and wavering as though it wasn't solid at all. He looked up, and the sight before him made his breath catch.
This wasn't the real world.
This was inside his mind—he knew it instinctively.
The realm stretched endlessly in both directions. To his left, everything shimmered in warm, golden light. The air was lighter there, filled with soft, melodic whispers and the faint hum of something pure and good. Trees with emerald leaves and white, radiant bark stood tall, their branches swaying gently despite the stillness of the air. Rivers of liquid light flowed through the glowing grass, their currents creating a soft symphony.
To his right, the world was its opposite. Darkness rolled like a fog, thick and suffocating. Twisted, gnarled trees loomed, their branches clawing at the air like skeletal fingers. The ground was cracked and dry, and streams of black, oily liquid snaked through the dirt. Whispers echoed from the shadows, low and insidious, speaking words Orion couldn't understand but still felt in his bones.
And in the middle of it all stood a throne.
The throne wasn't just a seat—it was alive. It pulsed faintly, as though it had a heartbeat, and its surface shifted like liquid silver. It was massive, its arms curling upward like branches of a great tree, but its design constantly changed depending on how he looked at it. From one angle, it seemed regal and welcoming, gleaming with gold and white light; from another, it appeared jagged and sinister, a spiked black monstrosity that seemed to feed on the shadows around it.
The throne sat atop a circular platform, carved from the same polished obsidian as the ground. Around its base were faint glowing lines, weaving intricate patterns that hummed with an energy Orion couldn't place.
The throne, he thought, his heart sinking as realization struck. It controls this realm... my consciousness.
Whoever sat on it would decide the balance of his mind, his choices, his very being.
But the throne was empty.
He tried to stand but froze when he felt something cold and sharp biting into his right wrist. He looked down and saw a heavy chain, thick and black as midnight, binding his hand to the ground. The links glowed faintly with crimson runes that pulsed like embers.
"Not again…" he muttered, tugging uselessly at the chain.
"You've slept long enough."
The voice echoed from the icy side, calm and familiar. Orion froze, then slowly turned his head.
From the shimmering winter light stepped Light Winter.
He stood tall and regal, his white cloak flowing as though caught in an unseen breeze. His face was calm, glowing faintly, and his silver eyes carried the weight of wisdom and endless patience.
"Orion," Light Winter said, his voice soft but clear, "it's time."
Before Orion could respond, another voice rumbled from the opposite side.
"Time is up," the voice growled, low and venomous.
From the blackened expanse emerged Dark Winter. His cloak was jagged and tattered, trailing behind him like smoke. His face was hidden beneath a deep hood, but his crimson eyes burned through the shadows, unyielding and cruel.
"You've lingered long enough, boy," Dark Winter snarled, his voice sharp like breaking glass. "It's time to end this pointless charade."
Orion's eyes darted between the two figures. He clenched his jaw, his voice trembling with frustration. "I don't have time for your games. What do you want now?"
Light Winter smiled faintly. "We're not here to waste time, Orion. We're here to decide who will take the throne."
Orion stiffened, his chest tightening.
"The throne?" he echoed. "But… I…"
Dark Winter interrupted, his voice booming. "You're not fit to sit there," he growled, his crimson eyes narrowing. "We've tolerated your kindness long enough. You're good, Orion, but good isn't enough to do what needs to be done."
Orion glared at him, tugging harder at the chain on his left hand. "And you think you're better? You think you can handle my life better than I can?"
Dark Winter stepped closer, his figure towering, his presence oppressive. "I know I can. You hesitate, you falter, you care. And that's your weakness. You'll crumble under the weight of your own emotions, and this throne isn't for the weak."
Light Winter raised a hand, stepping forward to stand between Dark Winter and the throne. "Enough," he said firmly, his voice carrying authority. "Orion isn't weak. He's everything he needs to be—everything we need him to be."
Dark Winter scoffed, crossing his arms. "Spare me your speeches, saint. We've been stuck with this version of him for too long. It's time for someone who understands what needs to be done."
Light Winter's voice softened, but his words were no less certain. "This version of Orion is the best version. He's balanced, he's strong, and he's resilient. He's learned to fight, but he's also learned to care. That's why he deserves the throne—not you, not me. Him."
Dark Winter's laugh was harsh, echoing through the realm. "You're wrong, as always," he spat.
Before Orion could react, Dark Winter raised a hand, and two more chains shot out from the ground. One wrapped around Orion's right hand, slamming it down, while the other coiled tightly around his neck, forcing his head downward.
Orion gritted his teeth, struggling against the restraints, but they were unyielding.
"Playtime is over," Dark Winter said, his voice cold and final. He turned toward the throne, his black cloak trailing behind him like a storm. "I'm taking control now. And I'll show you what it really means to live."
Light Winter's face darkened, his silver eyes narrowing. "You'll destroy him," he said, his voice low and dangerous.
Dark Winter paused, turning his head slightly. "Better destroyed than weak," he hissed.
As Dark Winter began his march toward the throne, Orion struggled harder, the chains biting into his skin. His voice rose in desperation.
"Get back here! I'm not done! This is my mind, my throne! You don't get to take it from me!"
Dark Winter didn't look back. "Then stop me."
Dark Winter's cloak rippled as he ascended the steps leading to the throne, his presence commanding, his every step deliberates. The air seemed to tremble with each movement, shadows swirling at his feet like obedient hounds.
At the first step, Wrath stayed behind.
Wrath was a hulking, primal version of Orion, his massive frame rippling with muscle. His eyes burned like molten fire, and jagged cracks of glowing red snaked across his charcoal-black skin. He carried no weapons, only fists that radiated raw, destructive energy. Wrath crossed his massive arms as he stood on the step, his growl low and guttural.
"This far is enough for me," Wrath said, his voice like thunder. "I've done my part. Go, King, and claim what's yours."
Dark Winter gave a slight nod and continued upward, leaving Wrath behind as a sentinel of unyielding rage.
At the next step, Deceit lingered.
Deceit was lean and angular, his skin pale as ash and his eyes gleaming like shards of shattered glass. His smile was unsettling, never reaching his cold, calculating eyes. A swirling black mist clung to his form, hiding his movements like a phantom. He bowed deeply, his voice silken and oily.
"Majesty," Deceit purred, "I will remain here to ensure no one interferes with your rise. No one will see what they're not meant to see."
Dark Winter didn't respond, but his shadow flared briefly, and Deceit stepped back with a smirk, vanishing into the mists.
As Dark Winter climbed higher, Vengeance stopped at the next step.
Vengeance's presence was sharp and unrelenting, his armor jagged and splattered with ghostly traces of blood that never faded. His eyes burned like smoldering coals, and his voice was cold, almost lifeless. A massive, cruelly shaped blade rested on his shoulder, dragging behind him with a metallic scrape.
"I'll wait here," Vengeance said, his tone devoid of warmth. "If anyone dares follow, I'll cut them down where they stand."
Dark Winter barely acknowledged him, his crimson eyes fixed on the throne above.
As he climbed further, one step away from the throne, Greed stayed behind.
Greed's form was eerily elegant, his armor blackened but adorned with gold accents that shimmered faintly, reflecting a false radiance. His golden eyes gleamed like twin suns, sharp and hungry, and his cloak rippled as though lined with countless coins. A sly smile curled his lips, his expression unreadable, but his hands always seemed restless, twitching as if they craved to hold something more.
Dark Winter moved to take the final step when Greed reached out and grabbed his wrist.
Dark Winter turned sharply, his crimson eyes narrowing. His voice came low and sharp, like the crack of a whip. "Why do you stop me, Greed?"
Greed's smile didn't falter as he stepped closer, his golden eyes meeting Dark Winter's with calculated calm.
"My King," Greed said smoothly, his voice rich and layered with false reverence, "I wouldn't dare stop you—only advise you. Let me speak."
Dark Winter stared at him for a long moment before tilting his head slightly. "Speak, then."
Greed chuckled softly, his tone shifting to one of conspiratorial warmth. "You are the strongest of us—there's no doubt about that. Your strength is unmatched, your power unquestionable. But... why waste our most powerful card so soon?"
Dark Winter's eyes narrowed further, though he didn't pull his wrist away. "Explain."
Greed's voice became almost soothing, the tone of a snake offering wisdom. "You don't need to take the throne now, my King. Let me hold it for a time. Let me take the reins, deal with the trivial matters, and clear the path for you. And when the time comes, you can take the throne back—it has always been yours, after all."
"And why would you deserve the throne, even for a moment?" Dark Winter asked coldly.
Greed leaned closer, his golden eyes gleaming. "Because I understand the game, my King. No one sees the value of pieces like I do. No one knows how to play the board like I do. Let me manage what you shouldn't have to dirty your hands with. While you conserve your strength, I'll ensure no one dares to challenge you. When the throne is yours again, it will be uncontested."
Dark Winter didn't respond immediately. He tilted his head, his shadow flickering as though mirroring his thoughts.
"And what do you gain from this?" he finally asked.
Greed grinned, his teeth glinting faintly. "Only the satisfaction of serving you well, my King."
Dark Winter stared at him for another long moment, his crimson eyes boring into him. Finally, his grip loosened, and he released Greed's hand.
"Very well," Dark Winter said, his voice low and menacing. "You have your chance. Do not waste it."
Greed's grin widened, his hands twitching with anticipation as he stepped forward toward the throne.
Meanwhile, on the icy side of the realm, Light Winter knelt beside Orion, his silver eyes filled with urgency.
"Hold still, Orion," he said softly, placing a glowing hand against the chain around Orion's neck. "I can't break them all, but I can give you something."
Orion gritted his teeth as Light Winter's energy flared, the icy glow spreading through the chain. With a sharp crack, the chain around his neck shattered, falling away into nothingness.
Orion gasped, his breaths coming sharp and ragged. "You've got to stop him. If Greed takes the throne—"
"Not yet," Light Winter said, cutting him off. His voice was calm but strained, his glowing hands trembling. "You're not ready yet. You need to wait, to regain your strength."
Orion glared at him, his frustration clear. "There's no time for waiting!"
Light Winter's gaze softened, but he placed a hand on Orion's shoulder. "Trust me. Trust yourself. When the moment comes, you'll know what to do."
At the throne, Greed's hands hovered just above its armrests, his golden eyes glinting with satisfaction.
"It begins," he whispered, his voice dripping with triumph.
And the realm held its breath.