The Door of Forgotten Kings
Ezra stood before the door.
It was massive—taller than any cathedral, its black surface shifting like liquid shadow, rippling with every breath he took.
The air was thick, charged with an energy that made his skin crawl.
Behind him, the masked figure remained silent. Watching.
Waiting.
His other self had vanished.
Ezra exhaled, his fingers tightening around the dagger at his side.
"This feels like a really bad idea."
The whisper inside his head stirred again, a cold weight pressing against his thoughts.
"It is."
Ezra huffed. "Great. At least we agree on something."
The door hummed, vibrating deep in his bones.
And then—
It spoke.
Not with words.
Not with sound.
But with understanding.
A voice that had no source, no origin—just a feeling that sank into his skull like an ancient truth he had always known but never heard.
"You have forgotten."
Ezra's breath hitched.
He hadn't expected to understand it, but he did.
Not just the words.
The weight behind them.
This wasn't just a door.
It was a test.
It wasn't asking who he was.
It was asking if he remembered.
Ezra swallowed hard. "You're gonna be real disappointed, then."
The door shuddered.
Not with anger.
With patience.
"Step forward, Sovereign."
Ezra hesitated.
The whisper in his head was dead silent.
No warnings. No cryptic remarks.
Just waiting.
He took a slow, careful step—
And the world tilted.
---
He was somewhere else.
Not the ruined city.
Not the throne room.
A place before all of that.
A grand hall, lined with mirrors.
Each one showing a different version of himself.
A boy standing at the edge of a battlefield, blood on his hands.
A man seated on a black throne, eyes heavy with exhaustion.
A figure draped in a cloak of stars, looking out over a world falling apart.
Ezra's breath caught.
These weren't just illusions.
They were memories.
Fragments of lives he had lived, or could have lived.
And at the center of it all—
A single, empty chair.
Not a throne.
Not a seat of power.
Just a place to rest.
Ezra felt something tighten in his chest.
A whisper not from his mind, but from the past.
"You were never meant to rule."
His fingers twitched.
He didn't understand.
He was supposed to be reclaiming something, wasn't he?
His lost title. His forgotten past.
But now—
Now it felt like he had been running from something all along.
And the door…
The door had just been waiting for him to realize it.
Ezra took another step forward.
The mirrors shattered.
And the world swallowed him whole.