The Throne Left Empty

The world shattered.

Not with a roar, not with destruction—but with absence .

Like a stage going dark. Like a story coming to a stop where it shouldn't.

Ezra walked through the collapsing throne room, unbothered, as the grand hall of obsidian crumbled around him.

Behind him, the throne remained—untouched, unclaimed.

The air shivered .

Reality itself seemed to hesitate, like it hadn't expected this outcome.

He almost felt bad for it.

Almost.

"You look way too satisfied with yourself," his other self remarked, walking beside him.

Ezra smirked. "Did you expect me to sit down and play emperor?"

A chuckle. "I expected you to be predictable."

Ezra scoffed. "Then you really don't know me."

The throne room was almost gone now , fading into empty space.

And yet— the weight hadn't lifted.

The feeling of something unfinished clung to Ezra's skin like a second shadow.

He frowned, slowing his steps. "…Why does it still feel like I made a mistake?"

His other self tilted his head, amused. "Because you're finally seeing it."

"Seeing what?"

The silence answered for him.

Ezra turned—

And froze.

The throne room was gone.

But the throne wasn't.

It still sat there, in the void. Alone. Waiting.

And for the first time, Ezra realized—

It wasn't a throne.

It was a prison.

The air grew thick , pressing down on him like unseen hands.

A whisper stirred in the nothingness— not from his mind, not from himself.

"You turned away."

Ezra clenched his jaw. "Yeah. I did."

"Then who will take your place?"

Ezra stilled.

For a moment—just a moment—he understood.

The throne had never been about power .

It had been about containment .

It had been keeping something in.

And by walking away— he had let it out.

The weight on his chest became suffocating. His hands curled into fists.

His other self grinned.

"You just made things interesting."

Ezra cursed.

And then—

The void cracked.

And something woke up.