I died on a Tuesday.
It wasn't a dramatic death. No slow-motion car crash, no screams, no last-minute revelations. Just a wet road, an impatient truck driver, and me-a tired salaryman crossing the street with one eye on my phone. I was replying to an email, trying to placate a client I'd already given everything to. The rain made the screen slippery, and I missed the green light turning red.
The headlights came fast-too fast for me to do anything but freeze. A moment of brightness, the deafening sound of the horn, and then-nothing.
No tunnel of light, no pearly gates or flames. Just an endless, weightless void.
I wasn't sure for how long I floated in the air. It may have been seconds, years, or decades. I tried speaking, but no voice arose. I tried to move, but no body existed. Just silence.
First, I panicked. Was this it? Was this death? A blank space, a hollow eternity? It wasn't peaceful, like people always said. It was suffocating. I thought about my life. My apartment, cramped and cold. The pile of laundry I'd been meaning to do. The half-empty fridge. My parents, who I'd stopped calling because I was always too tired. Would they mourn me? Would anyone?
Finally, my mind started to shut off too. I didn't even think about who I was anymore or what I had left behind. I was becoming nothing.
And then I woke up.
The first thing I noticed was softness. A bed. No, not just a bed—a mattress so plush it felt like lying on air. I blinked against the golden light streaming through tall windows. The ceiling above me was impossibly high, painted with scenes of gods and battles I didn't recognize.
I sat up slowly, my head pounding. The room was enormous, with marble floors gleaming in the sunlight, curtains so heavy they could block out a hurricane. The walls were lined with intricate carvings, statues of men-strict, regal, and familiar in a way I couldn't place.
"Where.?" My voice caught. It sounded different-deeper, smoother, more authoritative.
I rubbed my temples, trying to remember. The truck. The headlights. The void. And now this.
A mirror stood across the room, its frame gilded with precious metals. I stumbled toward it, my legs shaky, like I hadn't walked in years. When I saw my reflection, I froze.
The man in the mirror wasn't me.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and impossibly handsome. His hair was jet-black, falling just past his ears in a way that seemed effortlessly styled. His skin was flawless, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass. And his eyes—piercing and golden—seemed to hold the weight of commanding an army.
"What the hell?" I whispered, raising a hand to my face. The man in the mirror mimicked me perfectly.
Before I could, the door creaked open.
"My lord, you're awake," a soft voice said.
I turned abruptly. A bevy of women entered, one after another, each more breathtakingly beautiful than the last. Their gowns flowed like water, and their hair shone in the light. They moved with fluidity, their eyes downcast, but I knew sharp glances were being cast my way.
"My lord?" I repeated, my voice breaking.
"Yes, my lord," one of them said, stepping forward. "We must prepare you for the council meeting."
"Prepare me?" I asked, my brain still struggling to keep up.
She didn't answer. Instead, she gestured, and the others advanced. Before I could react, they were untying my robe.
"W-wait!" I yelped, backing away. "What are you doing?"
One of them paused, tilting her head like I'd said something strange. "Your attire must be perfect, my lord," she said, her tone gentle but firm.
They moved fast, disregarding my protests. My embarrassment did not seem to bother them at all as they replaced the robe with something much heavier-a deep crimson tunic embroidered with gold, and a long cape. A crown was attached to the top of my head; the cold metal sent a shiver down my spine.
After they had finished, they stepped back and bowed slightly. "You look magnificent, my lord," one of them said.
I barely heard her. My mind was reeling, trying to make sense of the situation. The reflection in the mirror was even more imposing now, a figure straight out of a fantasy novel.
"Please follow us," one of the women said, gesturing toward the door.
I hesitated but allowed myself to be led through a series of endless hallways. The walls were lined with paintings and sculptures-men in armor, draped in royal colors, with eyes that seemed to follow me. Their expressions were cold, commanding, and.familiar.
Eventually, we stopped before a pair of massive double doors. They swung open, revealing a cavernous room.
The first thing I saw was the throne.
It was huge, cut from black stone and gilded with gold, set upon a raised dais. The room was silent; the air was thick with something I couldn't place.
The women gestured for me to ascend.
I climbed the stairs, my movements slow and uncertain. When I reached the top, I turned to look at them. They nodded, their faces unreadable.
"Sit," one of them said.
The word still echoed in my mind as I lowered myself onto the throne.
As soon as I sat, pain exploded in my head.
Images flooded my mind—blood-soaked battlefields, screaming crowds, the clang of swords. A castle burning. A man's face twisted in rage as I ordered his execution. A woman weeping as I banished her children.
Among the fragments, a single name repeated over and over: Darius Kael.
It wasn't mine. It was his, the name of the man whose body I now was forced to occupy. Darius Kael, Emperor of the Callous Empire, Conqueror of Kingdoms, Breaker of Treaties. A tyrant so feared and hated that his name alone could birth rebellion.
As the memories faded, one truth set in my mind: I was trapped.
The Callous Empire was vast, including territories that had once been thriving, independent nations. However, its expansion had been an ungovernable one, driven by the greed and need for domination by Darius. He overextended his resources, broke alliances, and made many enemies on all sides.
Now, those enemies had united. A coalition of kingdoms, warlords, and free cities had formed to destroy the empire. They were already at the borders, their armies larger and better supplied than anything the Callous Empire could muster.
And I was at the center of it all.
A man despised by his own people, trapped in a throne surrounded by enemies. The empire was crumbling, and so was my life—again.