Shards of the Throne and the Night Watchman

The secret wall closed behind me. Locked. Silent. And now I was alone—with a group of armed people who looked like unfinished sketches from a forgotten history book.

This room… whatever it was supposed to be. It looked like a forgotten temple, with cracked statues and royal crests scratched off the walls. Dim torchlight danced across a dusty ceiling. And in the center of the room: an old iron chair. A throne? Or maybe an ancient shoe rack? I had no idea. But everyone was staring at it like it was made of solid gold.

And then, they stared at me.

Why? Who knows. Maybe because I was the only one here wearing a towel.

"I just want to pass through," I said, raising my hands like I'd just been pulled over on a fictional highway.

The woman in the robe looked at me. Her gaze was sharp—like an HR manager who just found your Facebook post trashing the boss.

"No one merely 'passes through' this place," she said. "Those who arrive… are always summoned by history."

I looked at Valmor. Valmor gave a low bark, then sat like a meditating Buddha.

"Don't look at me. I don't even have personal history," he muttered.

People started whispering. Some were saying my name. But not Aria, not even "the woman who got lost in the bathroom." They called me something else: The Third Candle.

I blinked.

The third... what?

"We believe that three lights will guide the rebirth of Astralis. Two have gone out. But the third—the one not born of royal blood—still burns. That's you."

Oh no. Not another prophecy. That's the third one in two weeks, and all of them got the wrong person.

"Listen," I said, "I can't use magic, I can't do politics, and if you need someone to make speeches, I'm better off selling snacks. So please, don't drag me into your grand tale. I'm team exhausted and just wanna go home."

The woman stepped closer. "It's precisely because you don't want power… that you can be trusted with it."

Oh great. Classic logic: the person who doesn't want to be the leader = best leader. Try that reasoning with a bus driver or a pilot. I'd rather walk, thanks.

Valmor chimed in, "Well, if she becomes queen, at least the menu would have sweet tea."

Then, from behind the left wall, came a loud sound. An old man—dressed in faded golden armor—entered. In his hands: a scroll and a broken sword.

"It's time to choose," he said. "We move tonight. And we need someone we can trust to hold the true seal of Astralis. The fake ones… are already in the hands of traitor factions."

And somehow, that scroll was handed straight to me.

I stared at it. My hands shook. The true royal seal of Astralis. With this… I could declare anything. Legitimize anyone. Start a war. Or... tear it up and use it as emergency tissue.

"Why me?" I asked, nearly exasperated.

Because, they said, "...you've never taken a bribe."

Then came an explosion from above. A sharp whistle followed. Another attack had begun. Guards began to move.

And me?

I stood in the center, holding the kingdom's seal, wearing stolen flip-flops, and wondering… is bathing in this kingdom considered illegal?

Valmor stood beside me, watching the fire flare up in the corridor.

"So… you wanna be queen?"

I sighed. "No. I just wanna stay alive."