THE CALL OF THE THRONE...
The ruins were silent.
The air was thick with the weight of forgotten history. Ancient stones lay shattered, their faces worn by time, their stories lost to the winds. Elias stood at the edge of the crumbled temple, staring into the dark abyss that lay beneath him, the broken foundations of a long-lost civilization. And yet, despite the stillness, despite the emptiness of the place, Elias could hear it. A pulse. A whisper. A heartbeat that wasn't his own.
His fingers twitched involuntarily, and his heart began to beat faster, as though responding to some unseen call. The throne from his vision—the one that had haunted his nights—was here. Somewhere. It was real.
And it was waiting for him.
Seraphina's voice broke through the fog of his thoughts, distant but urgent. "Elias, don't!"
He barely registered her words. His mind, clouded with the weight of the visions and the magnetic pull of that distant throne, was moving on its own accord. His feet carried him forward, step after step, despite every ounce of resistance in his mind. The ground beneath him seemed to shift, as if the very earth was guiding him. He could feel the power radiating from the shadows ahead.
The world around him blurred.
The ruins faded.
And suddenly—
He was somewhere else.
THE GOLDEN HALLS...
The transition was instantaneous, as though the very fabric of reality had torn apart and stitched itself back together in an instant. Elias staggered for a moment, his senses struggling to adjust. He blinked, trying to make sense of the place that now surrounded him. He was no longer standing amidst the ruins of an ancient temple. Now, he found himself in a vast corridor, stretching endlessly before him, bathed in an ethereal golden light.
The walls were lined with symbols, intricately carved into the stone. They shimmered, ancient and familiar, as if they had been waiting for him to recognize them. There was a power in this place—undeniable and overwhelming—a presence that seemed to linger in the very air, thick with both history and sorrow. It was a presence that was no longer there—but had once been, and that absence made it all the more palpable.
At the end of the hall stood a throne.
It was impossible to ignore.
A throne of obsidian and gold, massive yet elegant. It hummed with power, its very form radiating a dark yet mesmerizing energy. The throne was empty. Waiting.
And for some reason, Elias knew—he had always known—it was meant for him.
"You have finally come, King."
The whisper came from everywhere, surrounding him, inside him. It was no longer distant, no longer ethereal. It was all-encompassing, sinking into his bones, wrapping around his mind.
Elias's breath hitched.
He stepped forward, drawn toward the throne like a moth to a flame. It was an irresistible pull, one that he could not fight, one that he did not fully understand.
The air around him seemed to crackle with anticipation. The throne was waiting, and it knew him—knew him in a way that nothing else did. The weight of that knowledge pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating.
But why? Why did it call to him so? Why did it feel like it had always been waiting for him?
"You are destined for this," the voice murmured, now more than a whisper, but a soft hum that reverberated deep within his chest.
Elias wanted to run. Wanted to turn back.
But his feet wouldn't obey him.
THE CHOICE BEFORE HIM...
A single step. That was all it would take.
One step, and everything would change.
His body screamed at him to stop, to retreat, to wake up from whatever nightmare this was. But his mind—his mind was already lost in the allure of the throne, in the promise of power that it whispered. The desire to claim it, to sit upon it, to embrace his destiny… it was overwhelming.
"No," he whispered to himself, his voice breaking the silence of the hall. "I can't."
But deep down, he knew the truth. He had always known. The throne had been calling to him long before he had ever set foot in these ruins. The whispers had been in his dreams, in his thoughts, gnawing at the edges of his consciousness.
"Take your place," the voice urged again, soft and patient, but with an undercurrent of something else. Something darker.
Something hungry.
"You were meant for this."
Elias's fingers twitched at his sides. His breath caught in his throat. There was no going back. No escaping what he had been born for. The throne had claimed him long before he had ever set foot in this hall.
But then—
A voice. A familiar, grounding voice that shattered the illusion.
"ELIAS!"
The vision shattered.
SERAPHINA BREAKS THROUGH...
Elias gasped, his knees buckling as he stumbled back. His vision swam, the golden halls and the throne vanishing in an instant. The pulse in his chest began to slow. The whispers faded, leaving behind only the stillness of the ruins.
Seraphina's hand was on his arm, gripping him tightly as she yanked him away from the edge. Her breath was uneven, her face pale with concern. Her eyes were wide, her expression a mixture of fear and confusion.
"Where the hell did you just go?" she demanded, her voice tight with panic.
Elias blinked rapidly, trying to bring himself back to the present. He was back in the ruins—real, tangible, solid—and yet the remnants of the vision lingered like a haunting aftertaste. The weight of the throne was still pressing on his chest, and he couldn't shake the feeling that it was still out there—waiting for him.
He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat.
"I saw it again," he managed to say, his voice hoarse. "The throne. It's real."
Seraphina's grip tightened on his wrist. Her eyes searched his face, a mixture of worry and anger in them. "Then you have to stay away from it."
Elias finally looked at her. His gaze, usually calm, now held a flicker of something else—something darker. Anger. Frustration.
"You don't understand," he muttered.
Her jaw clenched. "Then explain it to me."
But how could he? How could he explain the call of the throne, the pull that was so real, so undeniable, that he feared he might lose himself to it?
THE TEMPTATION...
Elias pulled away from Seraphina, his hand brushing her arm as he took a step back. Her heart sank at the movement. She had seen this before. The way he was slipping away from her—again. And each time it happened, it felt like a little piece of him was lost.
"Don't do this, Elias," she pleaded, her voice trembling with desperation. "Whatever this is—whatever this throne wants—it's not worth losing yourself."
He turned away from her, his back to her as he faced the broken ruins. The wind stirred, swirling the dust around them.
"What if I'm already lost?" he said, his voice barely a whisper.
Seraphina froze.
His words hit her like a blow to the chest. This was different. It wasn't just about the throne anymore. It was about Elias himself, about something much darker than the temptation of power.
For the first time, he sounded… tired. As though the weight of the throne was no longer the only burden he carried. He was doubting himself—doubting who he was, what he had become.
And that terrified her more than anything else.
THE FINAL WARNING...
The wind howled through the ruins, carrying with it the faintest of whispers, only audible to Elias.
"You cannot run forever, King."
His hands curled into fists, his nails biting into his palms. He could ignore it. He could try to fight it. But deep down, he knew the truth. The throne wasn't just a vision. It wasn't just a figment of his imagination. It was real. And it was waiting for him.
Soon—he would have to answer. The whispers would grow louder. The temptation would become too much to resist.
But when the time came, would he be strong enough to say no? Or would the throne claim him, as it had always intended?