Ezra's boots scraped against the cracked stone as he approached the door.
The city around him was dead.
Not abandoned. Not ruined.
Just… dead.
Buildings leaned at impossible angles. The streets were paved with fractured glass, reflecting nothing.
And above him—
The sky was wrong.
Not dark. Not bright.
Just an endless, shifting grey.
Ezra's breath came slow. Steady.
The whisper inside him was silent now. Watching. Waiting.
His fingers twitched toward his dagger. "Alright. Let's get this over with."
He stepped forward—
And the door pulsed.
Not like something moving. Not like something waiting.
Like something alive.
Ezra hesitated.
His instincts screamed trap.
But there was nowhere else to go.
The city stretched endlessly in all directions—an impossible, repeating maze.
This door was the only thing that mattered.
Ezra exhaled sharply. "Fine. Be dramatic."
He gripped the handle—
And pulled.
The door swung open.
And inside—
A throne.
Dark. Empty. Waiting.
And the moment Ezra saw it—
The whisper inside him spoke.
"This is not yours."
Ezra's chest tightened. "Yeah? Then whose is it?"
No answer.
Just silence.
And then—
A footstep.
Not his.
Behind him.
Slow. Deliberate.
Ezra turned—dagger ready.
And saw—
Himself.
Not the twisted faces from before.
Not a doppelgänger.
Just—him.
Standing in the doorway.
Watching.
Expression unreadable.
Ezra's grip tightened. "...Alright. That's new."
His other self didn't move. Didn't speak.
Just smiled.
And then, in a voice identical to his own—
"You shouldn't have opened that."
The throne shuddered.
And the world collapsed.