The Weight of a Throne
A spark jumped when metal hit rock again.
It landed without much force.
Heavy.
Final.
Floor tiles split apart under the blade's edge, branching like frost across stone. Cracks crept outward, quiet, jagged lines breaking the hush of the open yard.
Frozen air sat heavy in his lungs.
Then -
Footsteps.
Soft.
Measured.
Not loud.
Not rushed.
Approaching.
Leon froze.
A blade floated upward, caught between fall and strike, held still by shaking limbs plus sheer refusal to yield.
A hush dropped like a stone. Silence pressed in, heavier than before.
Frozen mid-movement, tendons burned under pressure instead of speed.
His shoulders burned.
His forearms shook.
Quivering ran through his thighs, like they were seconds from collapsing. A shaky weakness pulsed there, ready to buckle without warning. Each breath made them tremble more, close to folding under their own weight.
