A young man in mage’s robes came through the door. A nobody. Just an acolyte courier with a small wooden box in his hands. Not even a fully fledged apprentice yet.

  “Your Majesty, I was sent to bring you your order personally, sir.”

  He was nervous. Tense. This precious lamb must have practiced a thousand times before ever tapping at Magnus’s door. The human kept his eyes to the ground. He would not dare raise them to the King.

  Magnus wasn’t so lofty as to not appreciate a candlewick with at least half a brain.

  “That’s wonderful news, London! I didn’t think it would be ready for another week. You boys have been busy lately.” Magnus’s smile filled the room—its golden radiance far too blinding a light.

  The young man perked up at his name. Blinked. Swallowed.

  “I-I-I didn’t—how’d you know my name, sir? Y-y-your Majesty, sir?”

  Magnus let out a warm chuckle, tilting his head ever so slightly—thoughtful, deliberate.

  “I always make note of the promising newcomers to the Tower. Not everyone earns the right to walk its halls, you know.” A pause to watch the sparkle in his eyes.

  Calculated.

  “Let me shake your hand, boy.” He extended his own with practiced ease, an invitation wrapped in velvet.

  When he reached out, Magnus grabbed that hand, pulling the boy close, giving him a good, firm shake.

  “I know you’re gonna do great things—big things.” The words landed like a prophecy. Like a promise.

  Shocked and awed by even being in the King’s presence, he responded, “Thank you, sir! Your Majesty, sir. I promise—I won’t let you down!”

  He was star struck.

  Spellbound.

  The young ones were always so easy.

  Magnus laid a hand on the human’s shoulder, gentle, firm—heavy as a crown. Allowing him to bask in the glory of his King was a mercy that Magnus was more than willing to give.

  With a knowing smile, he said, “I know you won’t, London. Now let’s get you back to your work. I’m sure you’ve got a lot to do, son.”

  Magnus had already taken the box from London without the young acolyte’s notice. Then with a gentle push, he was led out the door. A smile plastered on his face all the way back to the Magic Tower, his chest swelling with a pride that was never his to begin with.

  At last, solitude.

  Magnus lifted the lid of the box—deliberate, reverent—as if unearthing a delicate relic of old.

  The anticipation soaked him with death’s terrible, eternal whispers. Whispers he refused. Death was for mortals. Not god self-made.

  Nestled in velvet, untouched, untainted, lay a glass dome resting upon its polished wooden base. With practiced ease, he lifted it free, the velvet ensuring not a single blemish marred its pristine surface.

  He set it upon his desk with measured grace, then lifted the dome from its base, unveiling the craftsmanship beneath. The wood bore an intricate etching—a magic circle, its geometry sharp, its purpose absolute. Delicate runes wove through the wood, deceptively simple yet laden with power—every line a thread in his grand design.

  A prototype for what he had in store.

  Could he not have done this himself?

  Of course, but a King’s hands were meant to command, not to toil. He wouldn’t want to be stolen from his… musings. It wouldn't do to be distracted.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  The abyss curled back into place—replacing his mask. His fingers curled around his treasure, unwilling to part with even a breath of it.

  How could he?

  It was all he had. He brought it to his nose once more, savoring the very texture of the lilies and the rain. He longed to capture that beauty within his bare hands, and he very soon will.

  He originally meant to use test subjects with a little more… body, a beetle, a rat, perhaps a human finger, but his treasure would do.

  Failure did nothing to the subject within… usually.

  His fingers brushed the surface, a final caress, before setting the sacred object upon the magic circle. It would need to be imbued with his own mana for it to work.

  Child’s play for him.

  Yet even if it took half of the city to seal his gift away within its reliquary, he would do so without hesitation. Coal existed to be burned after all and diamonds should be forever.

  With just as much care in removing it from its box, Magnus encased his beloved lily within the glass dome. He lifted the velvet like revealing a grand prize. The single, ghostly strand of hair gleamed as it twined around the stem, a thread of silver spun from divinity herself.

  Beautiful.

  Perfect. And it all belonged to him.

  He drank it in, ensuring everything was in place—just so.

  Magnus delicately conjured his mana, his will, unto his fingertips. Glittering green and gold seeped into the etched wood like pouring water into a channel.

  It lit, the lily suspended itself… but only for a breath.

  The light receded.

  The stem drooped.

  It didn’t work.

  Again.

  No matter. It was only the first attempt. He could make it work surely if that leech could unlock the secrets of stasis then so could the Eternal King!

  His fingers ghosted over the base, magic poised to seep into the runes—then, the knock came. His nails bit deep, splitting flesh, blood beading—then nothing. Whole again. He folded his hands over his desk, his unfinished masterpiece mocking him in silence.

  It would have to wait.

  “Come in, come in! No need to be shy!” He called out with the warm, welcoming embrace of an old friend. The mask slipped back into place like it was his very own skin.

  Flawless.

  The door clicked open then shut. Geneva, his secretary, slipped through the door with practiced grace. The light clack of shoes tapped across the stone floor before she placed a file on his desk.

  “Your Majesty, the Tech Division has confirmed the dam’s reconstruction has been postponed until the Refugee Encampment Proposal has been pushed forward. And, as it stands, I’ve been informed that the Vampiric Court along with the Goblin Horde plan to oppose the proposal.”

  He shook his head, a sigh heavy with disappointment.

  “Gosh.” The melancholy was palpable. “That is… such bad news. You know I really thought we would be able to come to an agreement on that. It breaks my heart, Gen. A real tragedy. No homes, no hope… and they refuse to help?” Magnus chastised them.

  Geneva nodded along, her own disappointment showing.

  “I’m very sorry to have to bring you this news, sir. It’s quite shocking.”

  “Isn’t it though?” Magnus leaned back in his chair, thinking.

  “Well,” he thought for just a moment, tapping a finger against the back of his hand, “There’s gotta be something we can do.”

  “If anyone can find a solution, it’s you, Your Majesty. I’m certain they’ll see how wrong they are once you’re able to explain it to them.” She gave him a reassuring smile.

  “Thanks, Gen. That means a lot. Well, ma’am, don’t let me keep you. Off you trot!” Magnus sent her away with a wave and a smile.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Geneva reached for the door, just about to head out before turning back.

  “By the way, the lily is a lovely addition to the office, Your Majesty. They don’t normally bloom this time of year.”

  Magnus turned towards his glass case with a delighted but polite grin.

  “Why thank you, Gen. I thought it would liven—” Magnus stopped the moment his eyes fell upon his treasure.

  His lily was suspended in the air, afloat like a feather in the breeze.

  It shimmered with an energy he had never seen before—an ethereal light, a seeping presence too divine to ignore. The reliquary was already alight with the faint white glow of mana. Mana that did not belong to Magnus.

  “...Up the place.” He finished. His eyes fixated on the flower, wondering just how the magic circle beneath it was activated.

  The delicate strand of ghostly, silver hair caught the light, twinkling like the light of the stars. It twirled around the flower, a string of fate that danced, binding with its eternal beauty.

  A whisper from the divine herself, calling him to take her home.

  — h o m e…

  He wanted, no, needed to touch her radiance.

  He reached for her, velvet-wrapped fingers grasping the dome, but it was sealed tight. It could not be removed from its base. A fissure of rage split through his spine.

  How dare he be denied?

  He would pry it open, he would shatter it if he must, yet not even a whisper of resistance even as he used his sickly green magic to attempt to break it apart. The glass dome remained untouched, untainted. Heedless of his struggle.

  Magnus’s breathing became erratic. He actually dared to touch his reliquary with his own bare hands. Denial a reality too much to bear.

  It was as if the very air around him shattered to pieces.

  His hand decayed then repaired again and again, every sinew of his tendons ripped and sewn anew.

  The air froze and burned as his lungs collapsed and expanded in the same breath.

  His own ears burst with the music of the universe as it sang with silence, forever and ever and ever.

  It was pleasure.

  It was torment.

  It was everything and nothing all at once.

  And through his own obliteration and creation, he was bathed in blinding, divine white light, purifying him to his very bones, casting the shadows of his skeleton along the walls like a kaleidoscope within a prism.

  It was beautiful.

  It was terrifying.

  It was meant to be—

  — m e a n t t o b e…

  He heard the tick of his clock. Not even a second had passed, but he felt as if all the universe had unfolded before him. Bestowed upon him by the divine herself—his treasure made of quiet stardust.

  Before he could stop himself, the darkness of his smile bled straight through his mask, captured within the glass before him.

  How fortunate for Geneva that she wasn’t there to witness it. How fortunate the city below still moved and breathed in blissful ignorance.