Aric stood at attention in his military uniform, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders straight.
Before him, King Aldrey stood in the palace garden where green grass swayed gently in the breeze.
The king tossed seeds to the birds, their chirping and tweeting filling the air with peaceful sounds of nature.
King Aldrey turned and handed the remaining feed to Aric.
"We can go now," he said quietly.
Aric smiled and gave a slight bow before following the king to the waiting carriage.
As they rode back toward the palace, Aric's eyes constantly scanned the road—ever watchful, ever alert. It was his duty.
He whistled softly to the horses, keeping them at a steady pace.
Then he saw it.
Dust rising in the distance. Too much dust for a single traveler. Moving too fast.
Aric's hand moved to his sword.
The riders shlioutte camecloser, their faces covered like bandits. An assassination attempt. How did they get inside the palace grounds?
Aric's jaw tightened. "Your Majesty, hang on!"
"What?"
"We're being attacked!"
Aric pulled out his sword, the blade singing through the air.
I'll defend you to the end, he muttered to himself.
An arrow whistled past his ear.
His hand shot up—pure instinct—and caught the shaft inches from his face. He gasped, staring at the arrow trembling in his grip, then grabbed the reins to steady the panicking horses.
Crossbows. They have range. He cursed under his breath.
How can I fight them from here?
The horses screamed.
Another arrow struck true.
The animals collapsed mid-gallop. The carriage tumbled, wood splintering, metal shrieking against stone.
Aric's head cracked against the ground. His vision swam. Dust filled his lungs. His uniform was filthy, torn, but his sword—his sword was still in his hand.
"Your Majesty!" He dragged himself up, his bleeding leg as he dragged himself toward the overturned carriage.
Steel flashed behind him.
Aric spun, slashing upward. His blade opened the bandit's stomach. The man staggered back, eyes wide with shock, and collapsed.
"Amateurs," Aric spat.
He reached for the carriage door—
Pain exploded in his leg..
He grunted, refusing to scream as the arrow pierced his thigh. Another arrow buried itself in his shoulder. A third aimed straight for his heart..
He caught it.
His hand closed around the shaft, blood running down his arm. With a roar of rage and pain, Aric charged the archer.
His sword took the man's arm at the elbow, then plunged into his chest.
The bandit crumpled.
Aric's breath came in ragged gasps. Blood soaked his uniform. His vision blurred at the edges.
"Your Majesty..."
He limped to the overturned carriage and wrenched the door open. The entire thing lay on its side, wheels still spinning uselessly in the air.
"No. No, no, no..."
He crawled inside.
King Aldrey lay in a spreading pool of blood.
A splintered piece of wood jutted from his stomach. His skin was already pale, cold. Dying.
"We need—we need to get you healed." Aric's hands shook as he reached for the king. "Don't worry. I'll save you. I'll—"
"Aric. Stop."
The king's voice was barely a whisper. He gave a faint smile, his eyes already glazing over.
"You know I won't make it."
"No! Don't say that!" Aric shook his head violently. Tears burned his eyes, rolled down his cheeks. "Don't you dare—"
"I know I won't make it myself." The king coughed, blood bubbling at his lips. "That bastard thinks he succeeded... but he's wrong."
"I'll get you out of here. I'll—"
"Aric. Stop." The king gripped his hand weakly. "I don't have much time left."
He reached up with trembling fingers and removed the crown from his head. The golden circlet gleamed even in the dim wreckage of the carriage.
"I can't die with this power," Aldrey whispered.
Aric's eyes widened. "Wait—I'm not worthy. I don't have royal blood!"
"You were like a son to me." The king coughed again, weaker this time. "I'm more proud of you than that bastard I call son."
"I will avenge you," Aric swore, his voice breaking.
Aldrey laughed—a wet, rattling sound. "Taking the crown will be the best revenge. So please... at least fulfill my dying wish."
Aric wiped the tears from his face and lowered his head.
"I, Aldrey, King of the Valami Kingdom and Sovereign of the Seven Dimensions..."
Seven Dimensions? The words were foreign to Aric. He'd never heard of such a thing, never been told. But he was too emotional to question it now.
"...crown you, Aric, Heir to my thrones."
The king placed the crown on Aric's head.
The world shattered.
Aric's eyes blazed with blue light. He felt himself pass through glass—no, through reality itself. Visions exploded in his mind:
Different dimensions. Different thrones. Different worlds.
Fire and darkness.
Eternal night and blood-red moons.
Floating cities and angelic warriors.
Primal forests where beasts ruled.
He felt like he was in all of them at once.
Standing on seven thrones simultaneously. Connected to everything. Everywhere. All at once.
Then reality snapped back.
He was in the carriage again. The king was still in his arms.
But King Aldrey's body was already cold. His pupils were dilated, staring at nothing.
He was gone.
Aric pulled the king closer and hugged him tight, the crown burning on his head, power thrumming through his veins.
And in the wreckage of an assassination, surrounded by bodies and blood, Aric Thornheld became something he never asked to be:
King of Seven Dimensions.